#this is my favorite pairing and I will fight you for it

[piastri-fvx]

A Ferrari fan and a Red Bull Driver. Max Verstappen.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x FerrariFan!reader, Max Verstappen x Leclerc!reader, social media and a very short irl part

Summary: When Max Verstappen develops a crush on a Ferrari fan, who happens to be a Leclerc.

Word Count: 1,089

Face claim: different girls from pinterest & Sabrina Carpenter

Disclaimer/s: None!! Just fluff and a bunch of bickering.

Authors Note: yayyyy second story, here we go!! Hope u enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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@yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, alexandrastmleux, lorenzotl, jade_distinguinn, charlotte2304 and 637.581.274 others

yourusername family day in the paddockkkk ❤️

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alexandrastmleux trop belleeee liked by creator

-> yourusername my wife 💕

-> charles_leclerc ???

user1 okay but Max posting her...

-> user2 HE DID???

-> arthur_leclerc he did?

-> user3 i smell overprotective brother

-> yourusername @arthur_leclerc don't even

charles_leclerc my favorite little sister ❤️ liked by creator

-> yourusername i'm your only sister?

-> user4 damn 💀

-> user5 i'm so invested in the Max and Leclerc stuff

user6 i need more footage of y/n meeting people in the paddock 😣

-> user7 real

jade_distinguinn 🥰🥰🥰 liked by creator

-> yourusername my loveee 🩵

-> user8 awwww

maxverstappen1 loved meeting you liked by creator

-> user9 what is going on

-> user10 someone please pinch me

user11 you are gorgeoussss liked by creator

-> yourusername thank youuuu

user12 woahhhhh 😍

user13 oh to have y/ns life

@maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, user1, alexandrastmleux, landonorris, estebanocon and 4.284.395 others

maxverstappen1 finally summer break

tagged: @yourusername

| view all comments...

yourusername forza ferrari 🥰

-> maxverstappen1 no

-> user1 i'm afraid she slayed

charles_leclerc why are you posting my little sister???????

-> maxverstappen1 what? which sister? you have a sister?

-> user2 damnnnn, the gaslighting

user3 i'm so invested in all of this

landonorris i don't know about you guys, but this looks like a girlfriend appreciation post to me 🙃 liked by creator

-> user4 i fear he ate

-> user5 damn, lando has a point

-> arthur_leclerc they're not dating

-> user6 he refuses to believe it lmao

user7 the leclerc brothers being in denial is my favorute thing ever

-> yourusername real

-> user8 omg hiiii

-> user9 is that a confirmation?

arthur_leclerc no

-> user10 overprotective brother alert

user11 MAX LIKING LANDO'S COMMENT ABOUT Y/N BEING HIS GF????

-> user12 i'm so glad i get to live in this world

user13 okay but why is no one talking about how pretty she is?? like damn liked by creator

scuderiaferrari she's ours

-> redbullracing she won't be for long liked by creator

-> user14 not ferrari and red bull fighting over her 😭

user15 just fell to my knees in a parking lot

-> user16 valid reaction

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Sitting in the passenger seat of Max's Aston Martin, y/n let out a thoughtful hum, directing her gaze to Max. He glanced at her, noticing the weight of her gaze on him.

"Penny for your thoughts, mijn liefde?" He spoke up, his voice softer than usual. He seemed to have noticed her thoughtfulness as her mind seemed to be racing. He knew the expression on her face all too well.

"What if they're mad..?" She then spoke, her body visibly tensing at the thought. Her shoulders slumped, making his eyes meet hers again, now filled with concern.

"Lorenzo, Arthur and Charles?" He asked, despite already knowing the answer. Of course she was talking about her brothers, she had been quite anxious to tell them about her relationship with Max, and Max knew that.

She tilted her head, her eyes full of nervousness. "Yeah," she simply said, nodding her head and biting her lips, looking out the window of the car to try to distract herself from her thoughts.

"Why would they be? You make me happy. I love you and you love me. They should be happy for us," Max calmly spoke, attempting to make her relax a bit. And he seemingly succeeded, as she slightly relaxed.

"Yeah, you're probably right," She couldn't help but feel butterflies in her stomach as he said that he loved her. He had said it before, since they had been dating for multiple months at this point, but it still felt like the first time.

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@charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, redbullracing, landonorris, lorenzotl and 1.384.294 others

charles_leclerc me when my little sister hangs out with my rival 😒

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maxverstappen1 did someone mention me? liked by creator

-> user1 max verstappennnnnn

user2 lestappen?

landonorris wait until you see his newest post, charles liked by creator

-> user3 i love how invested in this lando is

-> user4 he's just like us

-> user5 he lives for the drama

user6 y/n mentioned

maxverstappen1 me when y/n leclerc 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

-> arthur_leclerc i will fight you.

-> lorenzotl me too. back off, verstappen

-> charles_leclerc i will crash you into the barriers on purpose if you hurt her

-> user7 them wanting to fight max is so funny to me

user8 the last few months on f1 social media have been so amazing 😭

alex_albon max has rizz

-> user9 true

-> user10 preach, alexander albon

user11 do do do do max verstappen

-> user12 i live for that song 😭

@maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, redbullracing, charles_leclerc, niallhoran, louist91, liampayne, joaofelix79 and 5.482.385 others

maxverstappen1 girlfriend appreciation post

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yourusername mon amourrrrr 🥰 liked by creator

-> maxverstappen1 forever yours ❤️

-> user1 your honor, i love them 😭

-> user2 we got y/n and max together before gta 6

user3 i mean, we did get lestappen ☺️

-> user4 yeah, just with a different leclerc than we thought

-> user5 this is so cute

user6 i hope they get married

-> user7 same

louist91 so happy for you both!! liked by creator

-> yourusername thank you, lou!!

-> user8 i love that she's friends with zayn, louis, liam, harry and niall 😣

liampayne yayyyyyyy!! now she won't have to pine when we text or call and talk about how amazing you are and how much she likes you liked by creator

-> yourusername i'll still do that, what are best friends for? 💕 liked by creator

-> user9 i love her sm

-> user10 i love their friendship

zayn my boy finally got the girl liked by creator

-> maxverstappen1 such a romantic way of saying it

-> user11 so real of them

niallhoran romeo and juliet minus the dying liked by creator

-> user12 so slay of niall to be here

harrystyles wanna write songs about you and him with me? liked by creator

-> yourusername check our chat 🥰

-> user13 HS4?????

-> user14 featuring y/n?

-> user15 y/n in her singer and songwriter era?

-> user16 oh, i am SO here for this

joaofelix79 congratssss liked by creator

charles_leclerc don't your dare break her heart, verstappen liked by creator

-> user17 he wouldn't

-> maxverstappen1 i wouldn't, she'll be my woman forever

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A/N: woooooo!!! second story in two dayssss!! thank you so so much to everyone who liked and reblogged my story, and thank you to everyone who follows me now <333 let me know if you have requests or you want to be on my permanent tag list!!!

[hvnlygrl]

hii can u do rafe cameron

can u pls do soft!rafe cameron or soft!jj maybamk where reader and him get into an argument and then he storms out and then the next morning reader gets her period, and when he comes home he just sees her lying on the bed eith a heating pad so he decides to make her a cookie skillet with nutella in it and ice cream on top of it and when he gives it to her she immediately starts sobbing and covering her face with the back of her hand telling him how shes so sorry and that she wished she never foughr with him and then he just comforts her and helps her eat while they watch a movie

i take it all back.

pairing — rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count — 1.3k

warnings — lotta cussing, reader gets a little mean, argument between rafe/reader, hurt/comfort.

synopsis — after a fight with rafe due to your hormones during that time of the month, he goes out of his way to make you feel better.

notes — sorry i kinda went in a little bit of a different direction with this i hope that's okay! but the general idea is still the same... thank you for the request! it's such a sweet idea <3

it had never bothered you before, the sound of rafe on his game in the spare bedroom, but for some reason the loud sounds of him on the headset with his friends were driving you up the wall while you tried to watch your show in the living room. 

you sighed out in annoyance when you heard him for what seemed like the 20th time in 5 minutes, “GO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? TOPPER GET HIS ASS!” 

you clicked the volume up on the t.v. in front of you, head beginning to ache from the loudness of the show mixed with the loudness from the game room. you were unsure of how to handle the situation. you didn’t want to ruin rafe’s fun on the game, and you surely didn’t want to start an argument with him but you couldn’t take it anymore. 

you paused the show, stood from the couch and stomped your way down the hallway. you didn’t bother knocking on the door since you knew he wouldn’t hear it, instead opening it as soon as you reached it. “rafe,” you called out. no answer. he continued clacking at the keys on the p.c., shouting orders at topper and kelce over the headset. “rafe,” you called out again, quite a bit louder this time. still no answer. 

at this point you were fed up. you were unsure of where the blind rage came from, but before you knew it you yanked the headset from his head. 

“what the-y/n? what the fuck are you doing?” he shouts at you, his eyes flitting back and forth between the computer screen and your angered expression. 

“can you shut the fuck up, dude? i’m trying to watch my show,” you grumble at him as if it's obvious. 

“woah,” he cocks his head back at your statement, “chill out.” 

now you’re really pissed. “don’t tell me to fucking chill out!” 

“babe, it’s not that serious,” he continues clacking at the keys on the game. 

“it is that serious. you try watching your favorite show and listen to me hooting and hollering from the next room. it’s fucking aggravating and i can't take it anymore right now.” 

rafe rolls his eyes. “i don’t know what you want me to tell you, y/n, it’s really not that serious. i’m doing my thing and you’re doing yours. you don’t see me busting through the door to get on your ass about the t.v. being too loud.” 

you can hear the oohs and ruh-rohs coming from the headset, only adding fuel to the fire. 

“oh my god, dude, can you just act like a fucking adult for five minutes? you don’t have to play fortnite every single night with your gay ass homeboys. maybe you could spend time with your girlfriend instead of being on the game from the second you get home until hours after i fall asleep.” 

“that is so not true and you know it, bruh.” 

“if you’re gonna play the game and not even interact with me, then just go do it at your own damn apartment. i’m not fucking dealing with this right now. i have a migraine and i don’t want you here tonight.”

rafe can't ignore the pang that shoots through his heart at your words. “seriously? you’re kicking me out?” 

“yeah,” you mutter softly before leaving the room and heading back to the living room. cramps begin overtaking the muscles in your stomach, only adding to your agitation. you breathe out shakily, your throat beginning to tighten as you watch him grab his bag and storm out. 

once the door slams behind him, a wave of guilt washes over you, your eyes watering as you smack yourself for kicking him out. all you wanted was for him to stop being so loud and now he’s on the way back to his apartment, pissed at you for embarrassing him in front of his friends and for sending him home.

you lie down on the couch, allowing the tears to stream freely as your thoughts get darker and crueler toward yourself. you sob deeply, arms wrapped around a pillow until you finally fall asleep. 

about an hour or so later you wake up, shuffling into the bathroom, you notice your appearance in the mirror; cheeks puffy and eyes swollen from crying. the sight only makes you feel worse. you sit on the toilet, letting out a harsh sigh when you notice the blood that pooled in your favorite pair of panties. after already feeling like a piece of shit both physically and mentally, here was mother nature three days early, ready to screw you over even more. 

you couldn't help but tear up again at the inconvenience, suddenly realizing what happened tonight. you wanted to slap yourself for being so stupid and not noticing the signs, but you knew that it was too late now. after heading to your bedroom to find a new pair of underwear and shorts, and spotting the dirty pair before throwing it into the wash, you head back to the living room. 

your heart beats in your throat as you pull out your phone to text rafe. 

after the conversation with him you felt a lot better about the situation, but you were still feeling pretty upset. you rummaged through the kitchen, checking the cabinets and the fridge and freezer for any type of food that would satisfy your cravings. of course, you had absolutely nothing that would help. you sighed as you shuffled back toward the living room, opting to just lie on the couch and watch your show until you fell back asleep. 

you knew the thought was dramatic, but you couldn’t help but wonder when your life turned into this; alone in an apartment that was too big for you with nothing you wanted and no one to share it with. 

and then you heard a knock on the door. despite it being his signature knock, you couldn't stop yourself from checking the peephole, heart fluttering when you saw the blonde on the other side of the door.

you quickly opened it, a soft smile on your lips. “what are you doing here?”

“did you really think i was gonna let you be alone on night one?” rafe raises a brow at you before revealing two grocery bags he’d been hiding behind his back. he had made a run to the local store for all your favorite sweets, chips, icecream, drinks, and anything else he could think of. he even bought you a heated stuffed animal that could be thrown into the microwave and used as a heating pad.

“baby,” your lips curl down into a frown, eyes watering at the gesture, “you’re too nice to me.” 

“of course i am,” he chuckles as he sets the items down on the coffee table, “you’re my girl.” 

you watch in awe as he grabs your favorite cup, fills it with ice and pours your drink into it. then he grabs the stuffed turtle (your favorite animal) and heads to the kitchen to throw it into the microwave for a couple minutes. 

“get comfy, babe,” he calls out to you, “get your show set up, do whatever you gotta do.” 

you smile at him sweetly. “you didn’t have to do all this, rafe.” 

“i know,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “i wanted to.” 

“thank you,” you whisper when he brings the warmed turtle over to you. you moan happily when you stick it onto your lower abdomen, the sensation immediately easing some of the pain. “i don’t deserve you.” 

“sure you do,” rafe huffs as he kicks his shoes off and gets comfy next to you, “how many times have you taken care of me? saved my ass without me even thinking to ask you for help?” 

you nod, “yea, i guess you’re right. i’m sorry about what i said earlier baby, i take it all back.” 

“don’t stress,” he holds his hands up, “water under the bridge, my girl.” 

you smile at him, admiring his features before turning your gaze back to the t.v. and snuggling in closer to him. “i love you.”

“i love you,” he parrots back, hand rubbing at your lower back in the spot that he knows typically bothers you. 

-> back to masterlist

taglist — @lanasb0ngwater

[cherryxbooo]

maybe sth with Gavi where he's interviewed and talks sweetly about his girlfriend, who then teases him about it?

Favorite whipped guy

Summary: Gavi is interviewed after a match, revealing how much he admires and loves his girlfriend. She later takes full advantage of this and teases him relentlessly.

Note: It’s been a while since I’ve written anything for Pablo, and I’ve had this request in my inbox for a long time, so I decided to finally do something about it. Hope you guys like it! 🤍

Reader x Pablo Gavi

Genre: fluff

The soft morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting the room in warm, golden hues.

I stirred awake slowly, stretching my limbs under the cozy blankets.

Beside me, Pablo was still sound asleep, his face half-buried in the pillow.

His tousled hair, messy from sleep, caught the morning light in a way that made my heart swell.

I turned onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow to take in the sight of him.

Peaceful and boyish, his features relaxed in a way I rarely saw during the day.

It was moments like this when he looked completely unguarded, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Pablo,” I whispered, my fingers lightly brushing against his cheek. He didn’t stir.

“Cariño,” I tried again, this time pressing a kiss to his temple.

A soft groan escaped his lips, and he shifted slightly, but his eyes remained shut.

“No,” he mumbled, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep.

“Five more minutes.”

“You said that yesterday,” I teased, tracing small patterns on his bare shoulder.

“And the day before that. But today’s important, remember? Match day?”

He groaned louder this time, pulling the blanket over his head like a child trying to block out the world.

“Don’t care. Stay here with me.”

I laughed softly, leaning closer to whisper in his ear.

“If you don’t get up, I’ll tell your coach you’re skipping breakfast because you wanted extra sleep. I’m sure he’d love that.”

That got his attention. The blanket lowered slightly, revealing one squinted eye.

“You fight dirty,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a lazy smile.

“Whatever works,” I replied, pressing a kiss to his nose before slipping out of bed.

As I padded over to the closet to grab my robe, I heard a muffled complaint from behind me.

“You’re leaving me? Traitor.”

I turned back to find him sprawled dramatically across the bed, one arm thrown over his face.

“You’re insufferable,” I said, rolling my eyes playfully.

“And yet, you love me,” he retorted, his grin widening.

“Unfortunately I do” I shot back, though my tone was filled with affection.

By the time Pablo had finally dragged himself out of bed, I was already in the kitchen.

The smell of coffee filled the air, and the sound of eggs sizzling in the pan added a comforting backdrop to the morning.

I was focused on flipping the eggs when a pair of familiar arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

“Buenos días, guapa,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Pablo,” I said, trying to wriggle free. “I’m cooking. Let me go before you make me burn something.”

“No,” he said simply, tightening his hold. “This is better.”

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

He hummed in agreement, resting his chin on my shoulder as he watched me work.

“You smell nice,” he commented, nuzzling his nose into my neck.

“Pablo!” I scolded, trying to maintain my focus. “Breakfast first, cuddles later.”

He sighed dramatically, finally releasing me. “Fine. But only because I’m starving.”

As we sat down to eat, his playful side gave way to something softer.

He reached across the table, lacing his fingers with mine as we ate in comfortable silence.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but sincere.

“For what?” I asked, looking up at him.

“For everything,” he replied. “For making mornings like this feel special.”

I squeezed his hand, a warm smile spreading across my face. “You’re welcome. But don’t forget, you owe me cuddles after this.”

Pablo stood by the door, his training bag slung over one shoulder, looking every bit like a sulking child.

His bottom lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, and his brows furrowed as he fixed me with those dark, soulful eyes.

“Are you sure you can’t come today?” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of disappointment and hope.

I sighed, walking over to where he stood. “I wish I could, Pablo, really. But I have back-to-back classes, and if I miss today, I’ll fall behind.”

His frown deepened, and he leaned his weight against the doorframe, letting his bag slide to the floor.

“It’s not the same without you there,” he mumbled, looking down at his feet.

I softened at his words, my heart tugging at him wanting me at his match.

I wasn't used to seeing Pablo this clingy and soft. Don't get me wrong he loves to show his affection but with limits, but today it seemed like he didn't care.

Stepping closer, I placed my hands on either side of his face, tilting his head up to meet my gaze.

“I know, cariño. But I’ll still be watching, and I’ll be cheering for you just as loud from here.”

“It’s not the same,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time.

His arms slipped around my waist, holding me like he was afraid to let go.

I leaned in, resting my forehead against his.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. When you come home tonight, I’ll be waiting right here, ready to hear all about how you smashed it on the field.”

He sighed, his breath warm against my skin. “I don’t care about the match as much as I care about you being there.”

My chest ached at his honesty, and I cupped his face, brushing my thumbs gently across his cheeks.

“We both know how much football means to you." I started,

"And, you know how proud I am of you, right? Whether I’m in the stands or miles away, it doesn’t change how much I believe in you.”

His eyes softened, and the pout faded slightly, replaced by a small, reluctant smile.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

“You deserve it,” I said, standing on my toes to kiss him properly.

His lips lingered on mine, warm and tender, as though he was trying to store the moment for later.

When we finally pulled apart, I rested my hands on his chest.

“Now go. You’re going to be late.”

He groaned, his arms tightening around me for one last hug. “I don’t want to leave.”

I laughed softly, smoothing the back of his hair. “Go, you big baby!”

He nodded, finally pulling back, though his hands lingered on my waist. “Only if you promise to text me during your break.”

“Deal,” I said, giving him a playful nudge toward the door.

He grabbed his bag, opening the door before adding some final words.

“I love you,” he said, his voice filled with emotion.

“I love you too,” I replied, my heart swelling as I watched him leave.

As the door clicked shut behind him, I sighed, already missing his presence.

But I knew the day would pass quickly, and soon enough, he’d be back, wrapping me in his arms like he never wanted to let go.

The roar of the Camp Nou crowd echoed around Pablo as he stood on the field, catching his breath.

The final whistle had blown, sealing their 3-1 victory. Pablo had scored the second goal, and the adrenaline of the match still coursed through his veins.

As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he reached for his phone, seeing a message from his girlfriend waiting for him:

So proud of you, mi amor. You were amazing.

A smile tugged at his lips as he read her words, the warmth in his chest competing with the thrill of the win.

Pocketing his phone, he walked toward the media area, his enthusiasm dampened slightly.

Interviews were his least favorite part of game day, but they were a necessary routine.

The reporter greeted him with a bright smile, microphone in hand.

“Pablo, congratulations on the win! You played an incredible game, especially that goal in the second half. How are you feeling right now?”

“Thank you,” he replied, running a hand through his damp hair.

“I feel great. It’s always a good feeling to win, especially in front of our fans at Camp Nou. The whole team worked hard, and it’s nice to see that pay off.”

The questions followed in rapid succession, match tactics, team strategy, his thoughts on the opponents.

Pablo answered each one quickly, his eyes occasionally darting toward the locker room. The sooner he was done, the better.

Then, the interviewer shifted gears, her expression softening.

“One last question, Pablo. Your passion on the field is undeniable. Off the field, who inspires or supports you the most?”

He paused, a small smile creeping onto his face. Without hesitation, his thoughts turned to Y/n.

“Honestly? My girlfriend,” he admitted, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“She’s my biggest supporter. She’s always there for me, no matter what.”

The interviewer’s smile widened. “That’s so sweet! What’s the most important thing she’s taught you?”

Pablo chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She’s taught me to stay grounded, to never forget where I came from. And… to believe in myself when things get tough. She’s my anchor.”

“That’s beautiful, Pablo. I’m sure she’s very proud of you.”

“I hope so,” he said, a shy grin breaking across his face.

The interviewer thanked him, wrapping up the segment.

Pablo quickly left the media area, relieved to be done, and ready to go home.

As Pablo stepped into the locker room, the sound of Pedri’s loud laughter greeted him.

His teammate stood by his locker, already half-changed and clearly up to something.

“Whipped!” Pedri called out, pointing at Pablo with a mischievous grin.

“What?” Pablo asked, feigning innocence as he tossed his bag onto the bench.

“Oh, come on hermano,” Pedri continued, strolling over.

“I was right there waiting for my turn to take the interview after you, and you were all ‘My girlfriend this, my girlfriend that.’ It was disgustingly sweet, really.”

“Shut up,” Pablo muttered, the heat rising to his cheeks.

Pedri wasn’t done. “I think everyone deserves to hear this,” he said, turning to the rest of the locker room.

“Guys, did you know Gavi can’t stop talking about his girlfriend? She’s his anchor, his biggest supporter. Isn’t that cute?”

The room erupted in laughter and playful jeers.

“Aww, little Gavi’s in love!” Ferran teased, winking.

“How does it feel to be whipped, hermano?” Balde chimed in, smirking from his corner.

Pablo groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

Pedri threw an arm around his shoulders, grinning.

“Don’t be shy, Pablo. We’re happy for you. Truly. But don’t think we’re letting this go anytime soon.”

Pablo glared halfheartedly at his friend before pulling away. “I’ll shut you all up at training, so watch your backs,” he retorted, smirking.

“Sure, sure,” Pedri said, his laughter following Pablo as he headed for the showers.

Meanwhile,

I was sitting across from my friend at a café, enjoying a much-needed lunch break.

She scrolled through her phone while I finished my sandwich, her eyes suddenly lighting up.

“I didn’t know your boyfriend was such a romantic person,” she said, smirking at me.

I blinked at her, confused. “What are you talking about?”

She turned her phone around, showing me a tiny clip of Pablo’s interview.

My heart skipped a beat as I watched him speak so earnestly about me, his voice filled with affection.

I covered my mouth, a mix of embarrassment and pride washing over me. “He said that?”

“Every word,” she said, grinning. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, girl.”

I couldn’t stop smiling as I replayed the clip in my mind.

After we finished eating, I hurried to my car and pulled out my phone to watch the full interview again, too impatient to wait until I got home.

Hearing Pablo talk about me so openly, with so much love, made my heart feel like it might burst.

I felt like a teenager whose crush just gave her attention, all over again.

The sound of the door opening pulled me out of my thoughts. I glanced up from the couch, where I had been absentmindedly scrolling through my phone.

I caught a glance of Pablo stepping inside.

His shirt was still damp from his post-game shower, and his eyes lit up as soon as he saw me sitting there.

Without a second’s hesitation, he dropped his bag to the floor, his steps purposeful as he made his way toward me.

Before I could even react, he scooped me up into his arms, spinning me around with a soft laugh.

“Pablo!” I gasped, gripping his shoulders to keep from slipping. Wondering where he still got the energy from after his match.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my cheek as he held me close.

“You saw me this morning,” I teased, trying to contain the laughter that bubbled up in my chest.

“And it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, ignoring my playful protests. “Feels like forever.”

I could hear the faintest hint of a pout in his voice, and it made my heart flutter.

I loved how much he missed me, even though we had only been apart for a few hours. It made me feel loved, seen, and cared about.

He set me down gently, but still kept his arms wrapped around me as if he didn’t want to let go.

I smiled up at him, loving the way his warmth enveloped me.

“You’re dramatic,” I said, my voice full of affection.

“And you love me for it,” he replied, flashing me that dimpled grin of his that always made my stomach do flips.

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

“You’re lucky I do,” I said, pressing my lips to his cheek briefly. “Now sit down before you make me late with dinner.”

“Oh, dinner!” he said, suddenly alert, as if he’d forgotten about it.

“I’m starving. What’s for—”

“You’re not starving,” I interrupted with a grin, nudging him toward the couch.

“You’re just looking for an excuse to not help in the kitchen.”

He sat down next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

“Guilty,” he said, his voice playful as he leaned in and kissed the top of my head. “But can you blame me? I’ve missed you all day.”

I nestled into him, letting myself relax as I sighed softly. “It’s good to have you home.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to my hair and then started telling me about the match, the atmosphere in the stadium, how the crowd had been absolutely electric, and how the team had all worked together to get the win.

He was glowing with excitement, and it made me smile to see him so happy.

“And the goal?” I asked, my voice teasing as I nudged him with my shoulder. “How was that?”

“Perfect,” he said, a little too smug for my liking, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sure it was,” I replied dryly, knowing how modest he was when it came to his performance on the field.

“Actually, it was,” he said with a grin, leaning closer to whisper in my ear.

“I couldn’t have done it without the team, of course. But the goal? Pure magic.”

I laughed at his confidence, shaking my head.

“Okay, okay. I believe you, superstar.”

Pablo’s hand found mine, and he squeezed it gently, his fingers intertwining with mine as he continued to recount the game.

I loved hearing him talk about football; there was such a passion in his voice that I couldn’t help but get caught up in it, too.

As the evening went on, the conversation naturally shifted.

He started asking about my day, how my classes went, and if anything exciting had happened.

I told him everything, how I was buried in assignments but that my afternoon had gotten better once I saw the match result.

“Did you see that interview?” I asked, looking up at him with a teasing smile.

His brow furrowed immediately. “What interview?” he asked, though his voice betrayed a hint of nervousness.

I raised an eyebrow, unable to hide the smirk.

“Oh, nothing. Just a little something I saw on my lunch break. A certain football player was talking about his girlfriend.”

Pablo’s face went red in an instant. “You saw that?”

His eyes widened, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Of course I saw it,” I teased, leaning in closer to him, my voice low.

“I was wondering when you’d start gushing about me publicly.”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands, his cheeks turning even redder.

“I didn’t mean to... I just got asked about you, and... well, you know how it is.”

I grinned, unable to resist teasing him more.

“Oh, I know. You went on and on about how I’m your anchor. Very sweet, by the way.”

“You’re gonna hold that over my head, aren’t you?” he muttered, his hands still covering his face as he tried to hide his embarrassment.

“Of course I am,” I said, leaning forward and gently pulling his hands away.

“It was cute, Pablo. Honestly, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I didn’t either,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“But when they asked... it just came out.”

I smiled softly, brushing a stray piece of hair from his forehead. “I liked it,” I said, my voice quieter now.

“I think it’s really sweet that you care so much.”

Pablo sighed dramatically, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “Fine, fine. You win. You’re right. I guess I’m a little whipped.”

I leaned in and kissed him lightly, my lips lingering against his for a moment.

“I don’t mind,” I murmured against his lips. “You’re my favorite whipped guy.”

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around me.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, pulling me closer so that we were wrapped in each other’s arms on the couch. “But only because it’s you.”

We stayed there for a while, the world outside our little bubble fading away as we simply enjoyed being in each other’s company.

Dinner being long forgotten.

The teasing slowed, replaced by soft moments of quiet affection as the evening stretched on.

And in that moment, with his arms around me, his heart beating steadily under my ear, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

The end

[margeoww]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Him being menace in the paddock and their son, Jack just shaking his head at his dad's antics. Clearly fed up. Then teamed up with his mama against his papa. While everyone is just entertained by it. . You decide how it goes. Thanks!! :))

Wolff in the Paddock

back to my masterlist

pairing: toto wolff x wife!reader (feat. Jack)

summary: toto wolff’s antics in the paddock reach new levels when his son, Jack, teams up with you to play pranks on him. The result? Chaos, laughter, and a reminder that even the boss isn’t safe from his family’s mischief.

warnings: fluff !!

The paddock was alive with its usual buzz, a hum of engines, chatter, and flashing cameras. In the midst of it all, Toto Wolff was striding around like he owned the place—well, technically, part of it. His deep voice carried over the noise as he barked orders, waved at cameras, and threw the occasional wink in your direction.

Jack, your seven-year-old son, walked by your side, a miniature replica of his father in looks but already wise enough to shake his head at Toto’s antics.

—Why is he like this? —Jack muttered, shooting his dad a skeptical look as Toto dramatically gestured at the Mercedes garage while explaining some technical detail to an engineer.

You smirked. —Your dad’s always like this in the paddock. You know that.

Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a move that was far too adult for his age. —It’s embarrassing. Does he have to be so… extra?

Before you could respond, Toto turned toward the two of you, his face lighting up like a kid spotting his favorite toy.

—Ah, meine Liebe! —he called out, striding over. —And my little man! Have you come to watch me dominate the paddock?

Jack rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck.

The chaos started not long after.

Toto decided it would be funny to challenge Jack to a pit stop drill. The mechanics, clearly amused, set up a miniature tire-changing station just for Jack.

—I’ll go easy on you. —Toto said, crouching next to his son and ruffling his hair.

—Don’t patronize me. —Jack shot back, glaring at him.

The crew laughed as Toto, utterly unfazed, leaned in closer. —Oh? Big words for a little guy. Let’s see if you can back them up.

Jack looked up at you, exasperated. —Mama, are you going to let him talk to me like that?

You crossed your arms, fighting a smile. —I don’t know, Jack. He seems pretty confident. Are you going to let him win?

Jack’s eyes narrowed. —No way.

The drill commenced, with Jack fumbling adorably with the small tools while Toto exaggerated every movement of his own performance, hamming it up for the audience that had gathered.

When Toto inevitably “won,” he stood up, arms raised like he’d just won a Grand Prix. —And that, my son, is how you dominate a pit stop!

Jack groaned and turned to you. —Mama, we have to do something about him.

It didn’t take long for you and Jack to hatch a plan.

When Toto wasn’t looking, Jack snuck into the hospitality area and swapped his father’s usual black coffee for decaf. Meanwhile, you coordinated with a few team members to have Toto’s chair replaced with one that squeaked every time he moved.

The results were immediate.

Toto took a sip of his coffee, paused, and frowned. —What is this? It tastes… weak.

Jack shrugged innocently. —Maybe you’re just not as strong as you think you are, Papa.

Toto narrowed his eyes but didn’t respond, distracted by the squeaking of his chair as he sat down for a meeting. He shifted once. Squeak. Twice. Squeak.

By the fifth squeak, Toto’s face was a picture of annoyance, while Jack could barely contain his laughter.

You leaned against the wall, casually sipping your drink. —Is everything okay, dear?

Toto shot you a suspicious look. —Did you two…

—Us? —you interrupted, feigning innocence. —Why would we do anything?

Jack grinned. —Yeah, Papa. Why would we?

By midday, the entire paddock was in on the joke. Mechanics chuckled as they watched Toto glance warily at his coffee cup, and drivers smirked as they passed him squeaking his way through meetings.

At one point, Lewis Hamilton walked by and patted Jack on the shoulder. —Nice work, kid. Keep him on his toes.

Toto eventually cornered the two of you in the hospitality area.

—You’ve turned the paddock against me. —he accused, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Jack crossed his arms, mirroring his father’s stance. —Maybe next time you’ll think twice before embarrassing me in public.

Toto glanced at you. —And you? Are you part of this rebellion?

—Of course. —you said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. —It’s called teamwork. You should try it sometime.

By the end of the day, Toto was back to his usual self, though he couldn’t resist pulling Jack into a bear hug, despite the boy’s protests.

—You might win today. —Toto said, ruffling Jack’s hair again. —but remember, I’m still the boss.

Jack smirked. —For now.

As the three of you walked back to the car, the paddock still buzzing with laughter from the day’s antics, Toto slipped an arm around your waist.

—I suppose I should be grateful. —he said. —You two make life interesting.

You smiled. —Just returning the favor.

Jack groaned. —Please stop being sappy. You’re embarrassing me again.

And with that, the Wolff family left the paddock, leaving behind a trail of laughter and a reminder that even in the high-stakes world of F1, family came first.

[k0yaz]

I saw that you were wanting requests for Mizu, so hiii, I have one! :)

What about one where fem! Reader takes care of Mizu when she’s injured or just back from a long day (stitching wounds, massaging hands and stuff when she’s sore, preparing her favorite meals, etc.)?

And then when she finally convinces Mizu to come to bed for the night, Reader holds her to her chest and just lets her focus on her heartbeat while she helps her relax and fall asleep.

Just overall fluff, y’know?

Hope this request is okay!

remnants of firewood and steel.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, descriptions of wounds idfk, girls kissing oh no, wlw, shy mizu my beloved, uhm idk she gets naked but not in a sexual way you little grabby hand freaks, obv lemme put that more formally lol, nudity, mizu being my lil cutie patootie blinded by revenge, someone send me back to 1657 please I need to hold this woman so bad, ik this has nothing to do with him but can I beat the fuck out of mikio thanks, number one mikio hater and number one mizu lover, not proofread.

A/N: ok so I do have a mizu fic saved with this exact banner if the author of the fic finds this I DIDNT STEAL UR BANNER I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST PLS DONT EXECUTE ME anyway FIRST FIC OF 2025 YAY mizu deserves the world pleasee i remembered in ep 5 when mikio’s fugly ass said that she liked dried mackerel and I can’t stop thinking about that she’s so cute I’m sobbing🕯️

A quiet hiss sizzled through the tense push of Mizu’s teeth grit together as your fingertips grazed the seeping wound gashed along her forearm. Carefully examining the split ends of skin patterned down to halt at her wrist, the cool air pelting against the wood of the door to your shared home spilled through a small crevice cracked open in exposure to the interior warmth.

Each sweep of the frigid breeze fanning against your flesh only served to ease the discomfort wrenching in you upon hearing your girlfriend’s strained sounds of agony from the sunken wound embedded into her arm, followed by a sharp exhales expelled from her lungs each time she withstood the pain of you stitching each wound slit across her body closed. Mizu only groaned in response to your futile effort to minimize the sting of the needle protruding through her flesh, as the string threaded across the reddened opening searing the exposed muscle.

“Mizu, what did I tell you? You can’t keep being reckless and get hurt like this.” You scolded her firmly as you closed up the scarring of her stitched wound, trying your best to shut your mind and disregard her pained expression. It already hurt you enough seeing the wounds adorned across her skin as a grim reminder of every battle, every ache twisted into her chest in the gruesome state of her physical and emotional fights, lingering along with the tainting stains of her past betrayal.

Only a defeated hum vibrated against the bandages circled around her throat, your hand momentarily rising to carefully tug at the plastering utilized to mask her lack of an adam’s apple. Your irises, now harboring a softer, more hazed flicker outlined around them in a sense of tenderness tilted up to meet Mizu’s own, silently inquiring her permission to tug off the bandages. The ripples of air continued to draw inward like a disruption cutting the warmth of your home, inducing an odd tranquility within the thick atmosphere clouding the air in a mix with the trailing smoke.

“How did you get hurt this badly again?” You muttered in a gentler tone than before, eyes locked onto her unfeeling expression as you carefully unwrapped the bandages tightened against her skin. Your hands trailed down to the base of her neck as they cascaded down onto the floor, carefully kneading her skin in a heartfelt massage.

“Just got ambushed by what I assume to be someone sent by Fowler again.” She sighs, allowing the bandages to fall loosely down her chest and pool onto the floor, similarly to a downpour of blood spilling from an enemy’s throat. You drew in a breath as you nodded in response, carefully pushing aside the bandages curled up onto the wooden floorboards while you rested the ridge of your palm against Mizu’s sweat-laced throat. “Still won’t get off your ass?”

Mizu huffed out a quiet laugh, folding up the orange tinted glasses between her fingertips as she set them atop the pool of bandages tucked away to the side. Reaching up, you proceeded to caress the side of her face smoothly, palm running along her defined cheekbones while she tilted her head to lean into the gesture of clinging attachment, tugging at the center of both of your hearts in a loving connection that wordlessly tied you two together at the shoulder.

You beckoned her to lay back comfortably rather than to strain herself by kneeling before you, her knees likely aching as the chafed against the hard wooden floors. With a benign push to her shoulder, Mizu leisurely reclined down onto her discarded kimono sprawled out below her, her back weighing against the pressure applied to the freshly closed wounds slashed along her spine as well. Her eyes narrowed in the meantime while you kept away from her for a short while, fixing a beverage off to the side while she was flat against her back, shoulders relaxed and lowered to press onto the hard lined wood.

The simple home she shared with you, isolated from the whereabouts of large urban areas around Japan, fostered the calming, homely serenity of where she had grown up with Master Eiji. Close to, yet distanced from Kohama. Remnants of the familiar scent of burning firewood and steel seemed to float around in a ghostly sense, despite the charcoal fueled shadow of metal remaining nowhere to be seen in your home.

On top of the racing memories swirling around her thoughts, replaying echo after echo of her past recounting her life up to this point, she always found refuge within the grasp of your arms whenever you held her close to your chest, heartbeat thudding against the shell of her ear in rhythmic, yet soft knocks. Not only did the gesture soothe her with an audible memoir of her lover’s presence, reminding her that she was currently loved and held in the grasp of the woman she cared for most…

It also reminded her that you were still alive.

The remnants of firewood and steel, the salty odor of fish on occasions when you cooked it, even the smoke floating from the dim lighting of the candle alongside your presence was the heartfelt reminder that you were still there with her. And she swore to protect you to her limit, or die trying.

A mellow aroma began to waft through the air in a snaking path of steam, dispersing across the enclosed space to induce a rush soothing Mizu’s tense muscles and your own cluttered thoughts. Her eyes flickered down to the sight of your hands held out as they curled inward in a cusp, carefully grasping the porcelain teacup you spent a fortune on from the time you had visited Edo.

Steam continued to arise from the hot tea rippling in a pattern of emanating rings expanding from the center and dissolving around the edges while you kept blowing away the steam fogging up your line of sight. Mizu shakily elevated herself from the kimono bedding her back, hand shielding her wound to avoid any possible risk of the flesh tearing open again.

Now half dressed—left in nothing but her harem pants and chest binding, she slowly parted her lips to taste the aroma for a brief moment, clamping them back shut as you knelt before her to extend your arms in her direction. She couldn’t help it. There was something about seeing you face to face which enveloped her whole body in an intoxicating warmth she didn’t want to escape from. The burning urge to cup your face and press a solid kiss directly onto your lips right in that moment.

A shame she had to restrain herself to suppress that humanity she craves that she could wallow in. She couldn’t cling to that sliver of hope that she could live normally…not when she was so dead set on killing the remaining three.

Mizu greatfully accepted the cup in both hands, allowing the sleek porcelain to slip between her palms as she brought the steaming rim to her lower lip. You watched intently as she sipped the tea, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she savored the flavor of the hot beverage. Clearing her throat, Mizu commented on the taste, albeit a bit hesitantly as you could tell by the embarrassment which you learned to pick up on throughout the course of your relationship.

“…could you make it sweeter..?”

“I thought someone so coldly powerful and unfeeling preferred a more bitter note in her tea?”

“Please, (Name)…do you get off on assuming these things while im on here unable to swallow without it hurting?”

“Ah- right. Your injuries…sorry, love.” you mused, taking the cup back to add the hint of saccharine the samurai oh-so-desperately wanted. “While you’re at it…take everything off while you sleep. I don’t want you to feel constricted by any clothing—especially those bindings on your chest. It’s not good for your breathing.” You added while fixing her tea, earning a subtle nod from Mizu as she tugged at the waistband of her pants, pointer finger testing the elasticity.

While she disrobed, another pungent smell stung her nostrils sharply, yet it didn’t take long for her to pick up on the familar scent of a snack she quite enjoyed. Salty. A metallic yet earthy odor clinging to the back of her throat as she took in the smell.

“Dried mackerel?”

You smiled at her question, giving her a brisk nod before setting the cup back down before her now fully bare frame. Mizu’s toned arms gleamed a gentle gold from the faint candlelight, her slender yet muscular form encompassed in the captivating glow of orange gold. She could only manage a weak smile in response as you handed her a bowl of the dried fish she secretly adored, alongside the newly sweetened tea, basking in the gentle fuzzy feeling overtaking you upon seeing your usually stoic girlfriend genuinely happy.

—

“Was there a need for you to take everything off too…? You’re not injured, (Name).”

You simply shrugged as you rolled over beside her on the heaping futon, noticing her gaze avert from yours bashfully. Cupping her cheek, you firmly turn her head towards you, yet lacking any forceful action, allowing her head to turn along with the motions of your hand guiding her. Those bright blue eyes boring into you with a heightened intensity—cutting through the flesh and bone spiritually and ingraining into your very soul as it burrowed deep within the wisp of your heart.

A symbol of her impurity and ‘filth ridden’ origins that outcasted her from the rest of society, kicking her off to the side like some stray. Yet to you, they were only a beauty to behold. An impurity you yearned and longed for, the metal of a sword that required a hammering that retained some of that impurity. The fire in her edge was almost perfect, despite the monstrosity she saw in herself everytime she looked.

The monstrosity in which you wished you help her see was perfect.

You exhaled a gentle breath as you pressed your shoulder to Mizu’s, the skin to skin contact emitting a sort of raw affection ignited between the two of you as you sought more of the gentle heat. Her fingers hesitantly crept up between yours as your hand rested between your chest and hers, your own fingers quickly clasping her hand tightly as you laced your own fingers without a second thought.

Mizu blinked, breath catching in her throat as you brought your joined hands to your left breast, resting the back of your knuckles against your skin comfortably. Your heart. Her hand was on your heart. Thousands of questions began to conjure up in her supposedly resting mind, not being able to believe the sight before her as she took notice of your steady breaths.

That wasn’t enough proof.

Was your heart still beating..? She couldn’t feel it through your palm…

You noticed the change in her demeanor in a matter of seconds, your head lifting from the edge of the futon to pay attention to her seemingly frozen self.

“Mizu..? Is something-?”

“Your…heartbeat.” She breathed out, fighting back the quivering tension plaguing her throat. You were all to familar with when she got like this, so exhausted to the point where she believed that everything around her was playing tricks, the one time she was left especially vulnerable in need of your support.

You nodded, leaning over to capture her lips in a slow, languid kiss as you attempted to ease her stress. Hand traveling to her nape, you brushed away her now loose hair, flowing past her shoulders whenever she undid the bunched up topknot. In a nurturing embrace, you slowly guided Mizu’s head down to your bare chest, illuminated by the filtered moonlight as the blown out candle’s smoke continued to float through the air.

Gentle breaths accompanied the steady thuds of your heart pushing against your chest with each pulse, slowly relaxing the built up anxiety raging throughout Mizu’s mind. The vibrations of your heart pulsating within your chest rang along her ear as well, gradually lulling her to sleep in comfortable solace, knowing that you’re still alive.

You were still alive. You were with Mizu, and loved her with all you had.

A/N: I was supposed to post this on January 1st absolutely not lmfaoooo but shh anyway I have no authors note other than I’m in love with mizu agagagaga sorry guys leaked the script for the end of the show she actually marries me

AND DONT YOU DARE ANY OF YOU TRY FIGHTING ME ON THAT SAYINF “uhm no it’s actually me!! SHUT UP I GET IT NOW LEAVE ME ALONE AND STOP REFUTING MY CLAIM WE CAN SHARE OUR BELOVED SAMURAI DONT BE GREEDY

someone get her brown contacts for those baby blues I’m shaking

[mercy-burning]

We’re Really Gone

Mercy’s Ficmas 2024 | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: You wake up New Year's morning next to your boyfriend, realizing that once you leave, you'll be gone for good. Based on the song "gone" by VÉRITÉ. Category: Angst Content: breakup, crying, no explicit smut but it's heavily implied. Word Count: 1.3k

If you know me at all then you know that VÉRITÉ is easily my favorite artist at the moment. She has been for a while. This song came up on shuffle on my way home from Target on Black Friday, and between the gray snowy skies and the empty road I was on, immediately I had a vision and a feeling, and the closing chapter to Ficmas was here, in a messy, mournful little bow (even if it's one of the first ones you're getting...just work with me here LMAO) . I hope you've enjoyed your holiday! I love and appreciate you more than you know <3 Happy New Year!

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

It's not a surprise that the bedroom is dark when I open my eyes. I don't want to open them, but once I realize that he's still beside me, probably asleep, I know it's safe.

Still, it doesn't ease the dread I feel deep in my gut as my vision adjusts to the dark. Blue hues fizzle in around me as Spencer's shape starts to define, his features slowly fading into view. I'm surprised that he's facing me, to tell you the truth. At some point during the night, I would have imagined he'd finalize our end with the metaphoric turning of the back. In some twisted way, it might have been easier to get through this morning that way— not having to face him. But nothing in my life has ever been easy, so why should this be any different?

I don't want to lose him, anyway. I will, that much is certain, but if I can prolong it by committing his peaceful, resting features to memory as the last worry-free moment we share, then maybe it won't hurt as much in the end.

Please don't let that be wishful thinking, I plead in my head, over and over like a prayer. It's hard to imagine what I might find in his eyes when he finally wakes up, though it also occurs to me that he might wake up and refuse to look at me, pretending to sleep until I give up and just leave. Perhaps this is just as hard on him as it is on me...

A quick flashback of the blank look on his face as I came undone underneath him the night before, his name a hushed and desperate longing for redemption on my lips, makes my blood run cold; He didn't even enjoy himself. Last night was merely a formality to him, a parting of ways to leave me satisfied one last time. Whether or not he knows if it worked, I'm positive now—as I regain my memories of the last couple of hours— that he doesn't care. I remember now feeling it in every touch. Where he once was so careful and meticulous, last night he was lifeless. Not necessarily rough and unforgiving, but... indifferent. Talented and mission-oriented still, but that's all it had been— A task.

Still, as I watch him sleep soundly, I pretend that there had been some residual love resting there in our atmosphere amongst the indifference. It's the only way to keep me from bolting in shame.

At least, for now, I have this peace. This quiet and calm. In sleep, Spencer isn't indifferent. In sleep, he is here, with me. He is warm and present and not yet haunting. Here, in sleep, he is mine.

I resist the urge to reach out for him like I always have. I don't want to wake him and risk losing his warmth, though I long to feel it in full force, even if for a second or two. I try to recall his hands on my skin, hot and electric even in emotional stasis, and tears prick the back of my eyelids.

He shouldn't see me like this. I should leave. But I can't. I'm too selfish.

I suppose that's always been the problem.

Our last big fight before last night's events had been unresolved. I let him go to bed angry, too stubborn to apologize, and for days we just... fizzled. At first it wasn't cause for concern; unfortunately it had become routine for us after an argument to just ignore each other for a while until we became too restless, settling for a resolution through tongues and limbs and sheets. Sometimes a hot shower. But our cold shoulders only lasted a day before then.

This time it was three.

Part of me wonders if he wanted to hold on until the end of the year. It wouldn't surprise me. As much of a romantic as he is, I wouldn't put it past Spencer to have made this some sort of symbolic "final act" before purging himself of me entirely, leaving me behind in his past and using the New Year to look forward.

Part of me also wonders, though, if maybe I'm just that cynical.

He stirs beside me then, nearly startling me. My heart leaps out of my chest and catches in my throat. I'm forced to hold my breath, and I can't bring myself to close my eyes.

This is it. It's happening.

Spencer's eyes are warm and soft for a brief moment in time as he registers the face in front of him. My features seem to take a moment to fade into clear view, because once they do, that warmth is simply gone.

I almost start to cry. My breath hitches.

"You didn't leave yet," he says. A curious observation.

"I will... But I don't want to... Not yet."

I want to hold on just a little longer, I tell him with my eyes.

He blinks slowly and somberly. I understand.

When my knuckles brush his, he merely holds still, not reciprocating my search for cold comfort. He's already gone, yet he allows me to stay. He doesn't even look at me like he pities me. He just looks tired, which breaks my heart considering we'd just slept for hours.

I'd done that to him.

Hot pressure forms behind my eyes, and with a harsh blink, the floodgates open.

Tears fall silently down my face as I squeeze Spencer's hand. He lays there and watches me cry, and I feel miserable. I should have just left.

But I didn't.

I should have fought for him, but I didn't. I should have admitted that I was stubborn and wrong and sorry, but I didn't. Slowly but surely, I was getting spoiled thinking we could cure every problem with a kiss. I took advantage of his forgiveness one too many times, and now I'm paying the price as he watches me.

Eventually, I tire, too. My face is hot and my hand is sore from gripping his so harshly. The room has brightened a little more, but it's still quite purple and hazy. It's probably not even 6AM yet. The sun is rising, and yet I feel like I'm being drained of all my life force.

But then, after a few beats of solemn silence between us, I can finally speak.

I whisper it, afraid I might hurt him otherwise. In every other aspect of our relationship, I've been loud. My loving him was aggressive and possessive, my opinions brash and my expectations bold.

After all of that intensity, he deserves a little sweetness.

"Okay."

The word dismisses him— dismisses us. It built a lot of courage for me to muster it, but it had to be done.

Spencer doesn't say a word as he peels the covers away from his body and rolls over, breaking the spell, and my heart, in the process.

As he pads off to the bathroom and takes his warmth with him, I let go of a long, unsteady breath and follow suit, feeling soreness in every limb as I dress.

My legs shuffle heavily towards the door, miscellaneous belongings in hand, and that's when I hear the bathroom door open.

I know I should turn around and say it to his face, but... once a coward, always a coward, I suppose.

Still, for all the weakness and dread that overwhelms my bones, I tell him over my shoulder with sincere strength, "I'm sorry, Spencer."

I'm not even sure he'll respond. But he doesn't have to. He deserves to hear it from me at least once before we part. Not that it will do much, but I feel guilty all the same.

My hand twists the doorknob, and just as I'm about to close the door behind me, I barely hear his voice, warm and gentle as ever.

"I'm sorry, too."

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

Love I should've warned you I'm a stick of dynamite Threat of explosion Constantly strapped to your side

'Cause I'm afraid of losing Everything I'm ruining There's no getting used to The quiet you're leaving Is louder than screaming

So leave the clothes and mess we made up all on the floor 'Cause when we put them on we're not in love anymore 'Cause I know when we go, we're really gone

--VÉRITÉ, Gone

[avengerscompound]

The Tower - Merchandise

The Tower - Merchandise

Series Masterlist

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1394

Warnings:  none

Synopsis:  The kids have a lot of Avengers merchandise but there is one member of the family that's not represented.

Author’s Note: Requested by @thealfxmountains on Tumblr. You can send in your requests too.

Merchandise

Takes place between Unexpected and The Queen of Asgard.

Tony was the first one to buy any Avengers merchandise for the children.  He was always a fan of having Iron Man things around.  Framed Iron Man posters decorated both his lab and our home.  The day I’d found little Avengers onesies while out shopping with him had definitely stoked the fire when it came to dressing them in branding - specifically Iron Man branding.

So before the babies were even born, they had several Iron Man outfits, mobiles, and a couple of stuffed toys.

To balance it out, the others would all buy things for them too.  Some were keener on the concept than others but there was always Avengers merchandise around.  It was quite fun pointing out who each person was to the kids.  Thor loved that there were toys of him he could give the kids.  It made him feel less anxious about leaving and having them forget him.  There was always a plush toy of him they could cuddle in bed when they missed him.  Sam was quite into them too, and liked to get Falcon toys over clothing.  Clint loved Hawkeye merchandise that didn’t just feature his face, so the babies ended up with so many t-shirts with purple targets and chevrons on them.  Natasha had no strong feelings either way except that there should be products featuring everyone, so she’d make sure to try and balance it out by buying things representing all of the family.  Everyone else was different levels of neutral to uncomfortable with it, but even Bruce who found it embarrassing that there were even Bruce Banner toys in the first place, didn’t voice their concerns around the kids.

By the time Riley and Pietro were four they had a good collection of Avengers merchandise, mostly clothing, but also plush toys, Lego, and a full set of action figures that included both Hulk and Bruce.

The action figures became a firm favorite at that age.  The great thing about having Avengers as parents is the toys depicting them are equally at home playing fighting games as they were in the doll house playing family.

It was a delight seeing them play with them, whether it be taking them out to their slide and dropping them off the top or tucking them into bed in their doll house.  So many children play family with their toys.  Our kids got to play them with toys of their actual family.

Tony and I were playing with the kids when one very glaring issue was pointed out.

“Oh, Cap, give me so many kissies,” Tony said in a slightly high-pitched voice.  He pressed the heads of the Captain America toy and the Iron Man toy together and made kissing sounds.

“No, Daddy!” the twins yelled, and Riley pushed her hands between the two toys.  “No kissies,” she said.

Tony laughed. “What?!” he said, pretending to be surprised by the children’s reaction to making the toys kiss.  “But I love kissies.”  He leaned over and pepper wet kisses to my neck and cheek, making me squeal in surprise.  “See.  Kissy, kiss.”

“Too many kisses!” Riley squealed and pushed us apart again.

I lost it laughing and picked up Riley, kissing her face.  “Mommy!” she squealed.

“Daddy,” Pietro asked, in a soft little voice.

“Yeah, buddy?” Tony asked, picking him up and putting him into his lap.

“How come dares no mommy doll?” he asked.  “Dares all… the daddies.  Daddy Tony, daddy Bwuce, daddy Steeb, Daddy For, daddy…”

“Oh yeah, all of them.  And Mama, and Daj,” Tony agreed.

“Yeah!” Pietro said.  “But no Mommy!”

Tony clicked his tongue.  “That is an oversight,” he agreed.

“You could pretend that Barbie is mommy,” I suggested.

“No, Mommy!” Pietro laughed.  “You are Ewwy, not Barbie.”

Riley climbed off my lap and went to get one of the barbies.  She was completely naked and her hair was all over the place. “Barbie is too big.  See?” she said, holding her up beside the Iron Man figure.  When held side-by-side the Iron Man’s head was only at Barbie’s boobs.

“He’s not mad about that,” Tony joked.

I laughed and elbowed him.  “Behave yourself,” I scolded.  I reached over and ruffled Pietro’s hair.  “I’m not an Avenger, Piet,” I said.  “The others have toys because they’re all Avengers.”

“Only ‘vengers have toys?” he asked.

“That’s right,” I said. “Just the Avengers.”

“So Barbie is a ‘venger?” he asked.

Tony burst out laughing.  “She should be.”

“No,” I said to Pietro.  “There are toys of other things, but people want toys of the Avengers.  They don’t want toys of your mommy.”

“I want a toy of my mommy,” Pietro said, sticking his bottom lip out.

“Oh, no, Piet,” I said, giggling.  I squished his cheeks, leaned in, and kissed over his face.

Tony clicked his tongue, his foot tapping against his calf.  “You know what, Piet?  I’ll look into it.  Okay, kiddo?”

Pietro hugged him.  “Fank you, Daddy,” he said.

I all but forgot about that conversation not long after it happened.  The kids sometimes had funny ideas but they were little and didn’t usually hold onto them for long.  They certainly didn’t mention getting a mommy doll again.

A few months later, everyone was coming in for dinner when Tony came up with a package.  “Hey kiddos,” he came.  “Did your daddy Tony come through for you, or what?”

The twins looked up at him in unison. “Pwesent?”

“You spoiling them again, Tony?” Sam asked.

“We noticed a huge discrepancy a few months back while playing with the toys,” Tony said.  “I just made sure to rectify it.”

“Tony!  You didn’t!” I gasped.

He grinned at me.  “Oh, I sure did.”   He handed me the box with a flourish.  He’d already opened it so I pulled back the flaps and pulled out a square foam block.  Nestled inside was a little action figure, made in the same style as all the Avengers ones the kids owned.  The same size. The same points of articulation.  The same molded hair.  But this one had my wavy brunette hair and blue eyes, and it was wearing a Black Sabbath T-shirt and a skirt with a galaxy print.

My heart fluttered.  “Oh my god, Tony.  She’s wearing what I was wearing when I met you,” I said.  I honestly couldn’t believe he even remembered that.  It had only stuck in my head because of how woefully undressed I’d been for the Michelin Star restaurant he’d taken me to.

“Oh really?  I wonder how that happened?” he asked.  “I asked for an Iron Man T-shirt and red and gold booty shorts.”

I got up and sat in his lap, wrapping my arms around him and nuzzling his jaw.  “This is honestly one of the most romantic things you’ve ever done, and it is going to come back to you tenfold,” I whispered.

He patted my hip.  “Well, I do like the sound of that.”  He kissed my cheek and I hugged him a little tighter.  “But it’s not for you, dear.  That belongs to Riley and Pietro.”

I laughed and got off him, going over to the twins in their high chairs.

“What is it?” Steve asked as I showed the kids.

“The kids were wondering why there were toys of all their parents except for Elly.  So I commissioned Hasbro to make one of her,” Tony explained.

“Holy shit,” Sam said.  “That’s wild.  Nice work, Tony.”

Riley walked the toy across her tray to Pietro.  “Pied! Inside voices!” she said, pretending to make the toy talk.

Pietro started giggling. “Kay, mommy,” he whispered.

“Wow, she’s just like you,” Clint joked.  “What else does mommy say, Riley?”

“Ummm… she say,” she thought for a moment then held the doll out and rocked it back and forth.  “Wets go, beans.  Den we say, Mommy, we not beans - we’re kids!”

We all laughed.  “That is what happens,” Clint said.

“Can I see, Riley?” Wanda asked.

Riley held it up for the doll to show Wanda.  Wanda leaned in and took a close look.  “Wow, they did a good job.  That’s definitely you, Elly.” 

“Well, what do you think, kids?  Do you like her?” Tony asked.

Riley hugged the toy to her body.  “I wuv mommy!” she shouted.

Everyone laughed and Steve put his arm around my shoulders.  “We all love mommy too,” he said.

~ END ~

[riizegasm]

One Hell of a Drug || J. SC

❀ pairing: plug!sungchan x situationship!reader; fem!reader

❀ genre: fwb to lovers, suggestive (like it gets hot and heavy), minor fluff, minor angst

❀ word count: ~5.5k

❀ warnings: explicit language, sungchan sells drugs, alcohol consumption, recreational drug use, making out, heavy petting, dry humping, use of pet names (doll, babygirl, baby, etc.), very minor blood and injury, MDNI!!!

❀ summary: Patching up Jung Sungchan was not what you’d expected to be doing on the most random nights. But even when you try to distance yourself, you learn that Sungchan is one hell of a drug that you just can’t seem to quit.

❀ a/n: Happy New Year babes!! This is honestly the spiciest thing I’ve ever written, so let’s see how it goes! I promise it still has plot and deep introspection, because it wouldn’t be a Brea fic without it. As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are encouraged. Happy reading!

A frantic round of knocks at your door is not what you expect to wake you up at 3am on a random Thursday. You live in a fairly quiet area, your own apartment building safe and full of peaceful families. Most shops close around 10pm, meaning the streets are just about cleared out by 11pm. So why would anyone be at the door unless…?

Your sleep-clouded mind doesn’t even perk up enough to peek through the peephole, safety be damned. You simply swing your door open, jaw dropping when you see the bloodied figure in front of you. 

“Sungchan?”

The man bites back a wince as his mouth curls into a pained smirk. “Good morning, doll.”

For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming. It feels like if you pinch yourself hard enough, you’ll wake up back in your bed where you belong. But no, you’re definitely awake. The metal door handle is cold underneath your fingertips, socked feet planted firmly on the ground. This is real. You’re really at your door at 3am. Sungchan is really at your door at 3am…again. 

“What are you doing here?” You question, voice still thick and sluggish from sleep. 

Sungchan’s smirk deepens, a clear attempt to hide his pain. “I just wanted to see my favorite girl.”

At your unimpressed glare, Sungchan smiles sheepishly. “Okay, maybe I need some help. I didn’t really know where else to go.”

His voice trails off towards the end of his sentence, small and vulnerable in a way that you’ve never heard before. You hate the way your stomach twists in knots at the sound, wanting nothing more to reach out and comfort the man in front of you. But you can’t. You told yourself you wouldn’t. It’s just so hard to not reach out and caress his swollen face when it sits right in front of you. 

After a moment of silence, you sigh, opening up your door a bit wider. “Fine. Come in.”

You watch as the man enters your apartment, shrugging off his shoes and leather jacket in the entryway. He moves like he’s familiar with the place, and you hate the fact that he actually is. He makes himself comfortable on the couch, wincing as he sits down. His posture is overly relaxed, despite the way he’s definitely in pain. 

“I’ll go get the first aid kit,” you mumble, slipper clad feet shuffling down the hallway. 

At this point, it has become somewhat of a routine. Sungchan would show up bloodied and bruised, either from a deal gone wrong or his temper getting the best of him. He was no stranger to fights, as most people would be in his line of work. Every time he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would make his way back to you to patch up his wounds. 

You don’t quite know why he always asks you to put him back together when he falls apart. 

It’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything, far from it actually. Sungchan made it very clear that he doesn’t date, but you would be lying if you said you had no interest in dating him. Since the moment you two met, you couldn’t fight your mutual attraction. One thing led to another, and then you two were hooking up under the haze of a hotboxed car. 

You said it would only happen once. And you meant it, you really did. But all it took was Sungchan offering to smoke you out for free for you to end up in his car again…and again…and again. Hooking up in the car then became hooking up in your apartment, which then became patching him up in the early hours of the morning. He was a drug that you couldn’t quit, not that you wanted to. 

However, you can’t deny how burdensome it is to constantly patch him up after his bad choices. He had always told you how dangerous his work was, about how being the campus plug had its drawbacks. You never believed him until he showed up for the first time with a black eye and split eyebrow from getting pistol whipped in the face. Ever since, you’ve been his favorite doctor, despite the way that it tears you up inside. 

A few weeks ago, you had told him you were done. It was too much to care about his whereabouts in the dead of night and wonder if he would come to you injured and in pain. You said it was the last time you would patch him up, and that if he wanted to keep getting himself into trouble, he would have to make it someone else’s problem. Sungchan, as spiteful as he is, told you that you’d never see him again. Clearly, that resolution didn’t last long. 

Sungchan is holding his side when you return with the first aid kit. You force yourself to look away from the bulge of his biceps and the form of his chest in his black tank top. Now is not the time to be admiring the man in front of you, not when he’s bloodied and clearly in pain. 

You sit on the coffee table in front of him, wordlessly beginning to attend to his wounds. Sungchan takes it well for the most part, only wincing at the sting of antiseptic on his cuts or groaning when you place a little too much pressure on his bruises. It isn’t until you’re patching up his split knuckles that you notice his stare. 

“What?” You ask, a little breathless when you meet his eyes. 

Sungchan has always had this way of looking at people that makes them melt. Maybe it’s the big brown eyes, or the subtle intensity behind them, but it always makes people a little weak in the knees. You would’ve hoped that after almost a year of sleeping with each other that you’d be immune to it. 

Clearly, you’re not. 

“I can’t just look at you?” Sungchan responds, smugness coloring his words. “You’re just so beautiful.”

A flower of warmth begins to blossom in your core. “Shut up.”

“What? I’m serious.”

You roll your eyes. “No you’re not. I think you got punched a little too hard in the head this time, buddy. Save your slick talk for someone who isn’t nursing you back to health.”

“Doll, there’s no one else I’d want to use it on.”

There it is, the glaring problem with Jung Sungchan. He always runs his mouth around you, showering you with sweet talk and an illusion of loyalty. But none of it is real. He has a way of making you feel like you’re the only girl in his life, like you’re the only girl in the world. You know he doesn’t mean it, though. You’re just another girl in his rotation. As painful as that may be to admit, it’s better than believing his lies. 

You simply roll your eyes at the man’s comment, placing a final bandaid over his knuckles. “There, all done.”

“Cute,” Sungchan coos. “I’m happy to see you got Snoopy ones this time.”

It had been a deal that the two of you made a while ago, back when Sungchan first started showing up all bloodied and bruised. Part of his payment for your first aid would be sporting whatever cute band aids you decided on. You always said that if he wanted to flaunt his toughness with his scars and bruises, you’d be sure to undercut it with a bit of cuteness. Since then, you’d been rotating which characters you use, from Disney princesses to Hello Kitty, always with the objective of softening Sungchan’s look as much as possible. 

You’re not quite sure it’s working, since the entirety of campus still seems to quiver in fear when Sungchan strolls by. As much as Sungchan loves it, you can’t help but laugh, knowing how much of a softie the man is at heart. 

“How can I pay you back this time, doll?”

The answer rolls off your tongue easily, like it always does. “You can stop getting into fights.”

Sungchan sighs, leaning forward in his seat so that you two are only mere inches apart. Like this, you can admire the pretty length of his lashes and the angelic shape of his lips. Even all banged up, Jung Sungchan is the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. 

“You know I can’t do that. It’s part of the job.”

“But you could try to control your temper a bit more,” you argue. “I know that it isn’t always your fault, but it’s not like you ever shy away from a fight.”

“Because, if I let people bitch me, I’m putting myself in danger.”

“You’re putting yourself in danger right now!”

Sungchan sighs, flopping backwards onto the couch. He’s quick to let out a groan while he clutches his side, the movement clearly too much for his injured body. 

“Don’t move. I’m getting you some ice.”

He’s still in the same position when you return, clutching his side while his face is twisted in pain. The sight alone makes your own body throb, as if sharing his injuries. You’ve never considered yourself to be an empath, but the way that Sungchan’s pain always feels like your own makes you want to adopt the label. 

“‘Chan,” you whisper, placing the ice pack on his ribs. “You can’t keep doing this. One of these days, you’re going to end up really hurt, or worse. I want better for you.”

“You think this is what I want for myself? You think I can just up and stop this whenever I want?”

You wince at the tone of Sungchan’s voice, growing way too loud for so early in the morning. 

“No, I—,”

“It’s not that fucking simple and you know that! And still, here you are bitching at me. I don’t need that, you know.”

“Sungchan, please, just—,”

“And why do you care, anyway? If I wanted a girl to be telling me what to do, I’d get a girlfriend or call my fucking mother. You’re not either, so please don’t act like you have a say in this. I don’t need that. I don’t need you to be that. Hell, I don’t need anyone to be that.”

You don’t even get to respond before Sungchan is springing to his feet, adrenaline clearly eclipsing any of his residual pain. He gathers his stuff and leaves in a hurry, not even bothering to tell you goodbye. He slams the door on his way out, leaving you with nothing but an ice pack melting in your hands.

.         .         .

Your blood freezes in your veins the next time you see Sungchan. It’s a simple Friday night party off campus, one with too much alcohol and too much weed and too many drunk college students grinding on each other. So really, you shouldn’t be surprised to see Sungchan there, especially knowing he likely supplied the weed that everyone’s smoking. But after a couple weeks of not laying eyes on him, the sight of his mouth lazily wrapped around the rim of a beer bottle is enough to stop your heart. 

“What are you looking at?” Your friend Eunseok calls before following your line of sight. “Oh come on, Y/N. I thought you were done with Sungchan.”

“I am!” You hate how defensive your voice sounds, inevitably giving away your lie. “I’m just surprised to see him, is all. It’s been a while.”

Eunseok rolls his eyes. “It’s been a while for a reason. Leave him alone. Let’s get a drink or something.”

You willingly follow behind Eunseok as he tugs you through the crowded apartment. He only lets go when you reach the kitchen, shoving a solo cup full of questionable liquid into your hands. You don’t even blink before draining the contents of your cup, wincing as the liquor burns its way down your throat. 

The warmth that it leaves in your stomach is barely enough to eclipse the pang of hurt that has settled in your core since the moment you set eyes on Sungchan. You know that you’ll need at least a couple more to even begin to enjoy yourself, knowing that the source of your pain is only a few feet away. 

It’s how you end up four drinks deep only about an hour or so into the function, teetering on the line between tipsy and drunk. There’s a pleasant warmth flooding your face; you’re thankful it goes unnoticed due to the blush you’d applied before you came. You feel fluid, almost, body moving languidly to the music blasting throughout the apartment. It makes it easier to enjoy the party, melting into the sea of dancing bodies as you accept another drink from Eunseok. 

You don’t decide that it was a bad decision until your vision begins to swim. All of a sudden, the pleasant warmth becomes an oppressive heat, forcing you to look for an escape. It’s hard enough to get yourself to focus, but eventually you find your way over to the balcony door, stumbling a few times and righting yourself with the help of the wall. 

Once you actually make it onto the balcony, you can’t help but sigh in bliss. The crisp air feels delightfully soothing against your skin. A brief breeze carries a smell of the city, which isn’t the most pleasant, but it beats the combined smell of liquor, sweat, and weed that clouds the apartment. 

“Thought you were too good for parties.”

The sudden voice makes you jump out of your skin. You whip around to face its owner, only to instantly regret the way your vision is slow to catch up. However, despite the drunkenness, you would know that pair of large doe eyes anywhere. 

“What are you doing out here Sungchan? Go away.”

You’re sure that your voice sounds less than convincing. Sungchan seems to agree, if the way he smiles slowly and continues to approach you is anything to go by. You hate that you want him to be even closer, to close the distance between you two. But it’s not what he wants. Even your drunk brain knows that. 

“I saw you stumble out here and wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Sungchan responds with a nonchalant shrug. “How many drinks did you have?”

You roll your eyes, arms crossing firmly in front of your chest. Sungchan’s eyes dart down to watch the way the position squeezes your chest together just so. He’s always been a fan of that part of you. 

“Why do you care?”

Sungchan shrugs again. “Because I just care. I don’t want you to get hurt. There are some bad people out there.”

“Yeah, like you?”

“Ouch,” Sungchan feigns offense. “You wound me, babygirl.”

“You fucking deserve it.”

“Maybe I do. That doesn’t change the fact that I want to make sure you get home safe tonight.”

“I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

You try your best to step around the tall man, only to stumble sideways into the balcony railing. At least the alcohol shields you from the pain, but it does little to quell the embarrassment. You can hear Sungchan chuckle, before an arm comes to pull you up. 

“Yeah, you sure look fine to me. Come on, I’m taking you home.”

You let out a weird mix between a groan and a whine. “I’m fine. Leave me out here.”

“Nope,” Sungchan chuckles. “We’re going home now.”

Sungchan’s grip is gentle, yet insistent as he begins to drag you through the crowd. On the way out you manage to catch Eunseok’s eye, giving him a brief thumbs up while he motions for you to call him later. It’s enough for you to breathe out a sigh of relief, stumbling behind Sungchan as you struggle to keep up with his quick pace. Fuck him for having such long legs. 

Eventually, you reach Sungchan’s car, a place that you’re unfortunately too familiar with. You slide into the passenger's seat as little more than a mess of limbs, causing Sungchan to chuckle. He leans over you to secure your seatbelt, close enough that the warmth of his body can be felt through the fabric of your thin crop top. Even in your drunken state, you can feel the way your heart twists at the close proximity. 

The warmth is gone as quickly as it comes, though. Sungchan simply makes sure the seatbelt is secure before shutting your door, leaving you in a brief bout of cold and silence. You hate the way that you already miss him in the few seconds that it takes for him to round the car and slide into his own seat. What’s even worse is the way that you can’t suppress your dopey smile when he begins to drive. You’ve always loved being his passenger princess. 

The ride back to your apartment is virtually silent, especially as you focus on not throwing up in Sungchan’s front seat. It feels like ages before you arrive, and when you do, Sungchan is instantly rounding the car to open your door and help you out. You open your mouth to refuse the hand he offers you, but the complaint instantly dies when you stumble a bit coming out of the car, falling face first into Sungchan’s chest. Wow, you must be drunker than you thought. 

“Woah there,” Sungchan groans, catching you by the waist. “You have to stand up properly, babygirl.”

You simply hum, nuzzling further into the thick fabric of his hoodie, intoxicated by the mixed smell of cannabis and Dior Sauvage that always clings to him. “But you’re so warm.”

“I know, but we gotta get inside. Come on.”

It takes a moment, but Sungchan’s able to pry you away from him just enough to support underneath your arm. He all but drags you along as he enters your building and makes the ascent to your apartment. He only relaxes once he makes it into your space and deposits you soundly on your bed.

It’s hard to tell what happens next, as your eyes begin to feel heavy from the comfort of your bed. You can barely feel some pressure being relieved from your feet, accompanied by twin thumps against your carpeted floor. The world seems to go still for another moment, before you feel something cool and wet dragging across your face. 

Instinctually, you flinch away, only to be shushed by a calm voice. When your eyes begin to flutter open, a pair of large brown ones are staring back at you. 

“Shhh, relax, doll,” Sungchan coos. “I’m just taking off your makeup.”

You can’t tell if it’s the soft timbre of his voice, the fondness in his gaze, or the alcohol that makes your stomach swim. It’s impossible to ignore, though. A firm tingling feeling floods your body in the way it always does around Sungchan. You hate how he always has such an effect on you. 

“Sungchan?” Your voice comes out as little more than a thick whisper. 

“Hm?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Sungchan just shrugs, a small smile blooming on his flawless face. “You always take such good care of me. I thought it was about time that I returned the favor.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before the coolness of the makeup wipes are leaving your face, Sungchan taking a step back. He tosses them in a small trash bin before turning back to you. You feel the heaviness of sleep pulling at your eyelids once more, fighting you in a battle that you know you are bound to lose. 

“Get some sleep, Y/N,” he whispers. “I’ll see you around.”

The next time you open your eyes, sunlight is streaming in through your curtains. Sungchan has left you with nothing but a splitting headache and the tacky residue of makeup remover staining your face. 

.         .         .

You’re left to wonder if that stood as Sungchan’s resignation from your life. You don’t hear from him or see him for weeks, despite the fact that you know he’s still plenty active on campus. No matter where you look, though, you can’t seem to catch sight of him. 

All things considered, you shouldn’t even want to. But nothing can stop the butterflies in your stomach every time you think about him, about the feeling of the makeup wipe on your face, about the soft timbre of his voice as he sent you off to sleep. It’s addictive, as everything about Jung Sungchan is. But he said it himself. 

You’re not his girlfriend. He wasn’t even looking for one. You should never get your hopes up. 

Your mind is running through those three sentences like a mantra late into the evening one night when a knock sounds at your door. Instantly, your stomach plummets, knowing there could only be one person on the other side. 

Your suspicions are confirmed the minute you open the door to a pair of brown eyes staring down at you. In the place of what you thought would be relief lies a white hot anger. It creeps up through your core, settling thick in your esophagus. You can’t even take in Sungchan’s bruised state, too busy being absolutely furious at his audacity. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You spit.

Sungchan tries to smirk, only to instantly bite back a wince. “I need you.”

You can’t help but scoff. “I thought you didn’t need anyone.”

“I don’t need anyone. I need you.” Sungchan’s face melts into desperation, eyes widening impossibly so. “Please, babygirl. Please help me.”

You wish you were a stronger person. You wish you were a person who could curse Sungchan out and then slam the door in his face. You wish you were a person who could say that he’d never see you again and mean it. But you’re simply you, so you do the worst thing imaginable. 

You go get your first aid kit. 

Sungchan is clearly in pain when you return, sprawled out across your couch with an arm covering his eyes. The beginnings of a nasty bruise peeks out where it lies high on his cheekbone, bright reds beginning to fade into deeper purples and blues. His knuckles are swollen and split like they usually are, but nothing else seems quite out of the ordinary. The injuries are far less than the usual ones that he comes to you to treat, a cloud of doubt beginning to fog up your mind. 

“I can only treat the knuckles,” you state as you sit in front of him, snatching his arm from over his eyes before he can register your presence. “The bruise just needs ice and time to heal. You know that.”

Sungchan sighs. “I know.”

“Then why are you here? You could’ve bandaged your knuckles by yourself.”

“I told you,” Sungchan sighs, finally looking down to where you’re fussing over his hands. “I need you.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

The man doesn’t bother refuting your claims this time. He simply watches as you take the time to disinfect each individual knuckle. You handle his injuries with such care, the type of attention that makes Sungchan sick if he thinks about it too hard. He chokes down the thought of what could be as you pull away, finally turning behind you to grab bandages. 

“Y/N, I—,” Sungchan cuts himself off, an immovable lump forming in his throat. 

“What?”

Your unimpressed glare does nothing but make Sungchan chuckle, always amused by your tough exterior. It’s one of his favorite traits of yours, not that he would ever tell you that. No one is able to put Sungchan in his place like you are, especially not with a single look. Sungchan has tried endlessly to fight the way it makes his stomach swarm with butterflies. 

“Never mind,” Sungchan responds after a moment. “Thank you as always.”

You only give him a simple hum of acknowledgement as you work on bandaging his final few knuckles. It’s easy to get absorbed in the intricacies of his injuries. It feels like every time you patch him up, you’re diving headfirst into an anatomy textbook, forced to confront the complexities of the human body. “The Anatomy of a Drug Dealer” has a nice ring to it.

“Sungchan,” you say softly, “why did you take care of me that night? After the party.”

The man in question just shrugs languidly. “Like I said, you always take care of me, so I wanted to take care of you.”

“But why? The last time we saw each other, you were very adamant about not wanting or needing me or my help. So why now?”

Sungchan sighs. He could say it. He could come clean right now and finally tell you everything that he’s been dying to since the day he met you. It could be simple. All he needs to do is tell the truth, and it could all be over. Instead, all he manages to produce is a rush of words. 

“You scare me.”

You look at the man as if he’d grown another head, nothing but sheer confusion crossing your features. Here is the most feared man on campus, telling you that he is scared of you. Sungchan can sense how perplexed you are, immediately beginning to backtrack when he notices your expression. 

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that,” Sungchan groans, slapping a hand over his forehead, “you care for me in a way that no one ever has. You look at me and genuinely care about my wellbeing and making sure I’m safe. No one gives a shit about who or where their drugs come from, as long as it’s not overpriced. But you’ve always given more of a shit about me than the weed and that scares me. It scares me because I give a shit about you, too.”

You stare at the man in disbelief, struggling for a moment to find your words. “Sungchan, are you saying that you care about me?”

“Fuck, of course I care about you. But the way that I care about you is…”

“Scary,” you finish. 

Sungchan simply nods, finally letting out a relieved sigh. He had no idea how much this fear had been weighing on him until the pressure had been lifted. But that weight is instantly replaced with something physical as you place yourself right onto his lap, looping your arms around the back of his neck. His eyes widen in minor surprise at your close proximity. 

“‘Chan,” you whisper, not wanting to be too loud in the newfound closeness. “How about I cut you a deal?”

“What is it?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the man’s breathlessness, reaching down to wrap his arms around your waist. “I’ll keep caring for you, patching you up, being there for you, and a whole lot more if you start openly caring about me just as much.”

“Like a relationship?”

“Maybe we’ll get there. But for now, I just want you to be honest with me. I want you to tell me how you feel. I want you to tell me what you really want.”

Sungchan swallows thickly, allowing you to shamelessly track the bob of his throat as he does so. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Then kiss me.”

That seems to be all of the permission that Sungchan needs before he’s surging forward to claim your lips. He starts off surprisingly gentle, a sharp contrast from the deep, passionate kisses that usually accompany your hookups. This time, he’s kissing you like you’re something fragile and delicate, something he cares about enough to not break. 

When the two of you part, it’s with a wet smack of your lips, despite the kiss not being particularly deep. But both of you are panting like you have just run a marathon, a combination of the adrenaline and the closeness making you both breathless. Sungchan’s long lashes flutter open after a moment, meeting your gaze with an intensity that you haven’t seen in weeks. For once, you don’t hate the heat that begins to bloom deep in your core. 

You’re not quite sure who leans in first, but before you know it, the two of you are kissing again. This time it’s much more reminiscent of the kisses you two usually share, a deep meeting of lips and tongue as if you were to devour each other. Sungchan wastes no time in pulling you closer in his lap, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to nibble on your bottom lip. 

The fabric of his jeans is rough against the thin cotton of your pajama shorts, and you’re sure Sungchan can feel your heat through the minimal layers. It doesn’t stop him from using his grip on your waist to begin to guide the movement of your hips against his. The friction is obscene, pleasured sparks shooting up your spine at the continued contact. 

You throw your head back in a quiet moan as the two of you connect at the perfect spot, Sungchan’s own groan coming out as little more than a deep rumble in his chest. Sungchan begins to trail kisses up your neck and jaw, which quickly turn into harsh nips and sucks. It’s only when you glance downwards and are met with the sight of a deepening bruise on the man’s collarbone that you realize just how detrimental this could be to the man below you. 

“S-Sungchan,” you stutter around a gasp. “We should stop. You’re still hurt.”

Sungchan pulls away from your neck with a wet sound that has your cheeks heating, hands keeping you firmly in his lap. “I don’t give a fuck. I want you.”

“I know, I want you too. But—,”

“But nothing,” Sungchan interrupts. “You took such good care of me, doll. Now let me take care of you.”

You think about it for a second, taking in the swollen tingle of your lips and the incessant throb in your panties. You take in Sungchan’s pleading eyes, noting the way his dark irises have been overtaken by blown pupils. You take in the bruise on his cheekbone and the split of his knuckles and think about the anatomy of his injuries. That’s what allows you to realize that you’re both just human. 

“Okay,” you whisper after a moment. “Take care of me, Sungchan.”

.          .         .

No one ever talks about just how good the bittersweet pressure of being stuck between a rock and a hard place can feel. The rock can be Jung Sungchan, pressing you into a hard place, which just so happens to be the passenger’s side door of his old car. 

One hand presses firmly into your waist, keeping you pinned to the car door, while the other cups your cheek. His lips are fervent against yours, ravishing yours in that heated but lazy way they always do. The taste of cigarettes is heavy in his mouth as he presses it into yours, making every bitter hint of tobacco explode on your tongue. His overwhelming height and strength make it so that you can’t move, the car door handle pressing uncomfortably into your lower back. But with the way Sungchan is kissing you, you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

“Fuck,” Sungchan curses as he pulls away from your kiss. “The things you do to me, babygirl.”

You can’t help but continue to ogle his lips, swollen and spit slicked from the intensity of your kiss. The deep rasp in his voice never fails to light a fire in your veins, sending electricity shooting through your entire body. He seems to notice the effect that he has on you, smirking slightly as he takes in your disheveled state. No matter how many times he has seen you fall apart at his every touch and kiss, it never fails to boost his ego. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” You ask, suddenly aware of how your voice comes out in a whine. 

Sungchan chuckles, squeezing your hip. “I can’t, doll. I have to do a few more deliveries tonight.”

“And I can’t come with you?”

“I have some dangerous clients tonight,” Sungchan states with a sigh. “I don’t want you to be there if anything goes down.”

“Promise me you’ll at least be careful.”

Sungchan smiles. “Of course I will. I gotta make it back home to my girl at the end of the day.”

Warm lips leave a lingering kiss on your forehead before he finally lets you go. He climbs into his car with a wink, loud bass of his favorite song filling the air as the engine roars to life. And then he’s gone, speeding off into the early evening.

But this time, you know he’ll come back to you, and only you. He may have knuckles that will need to be iced, a split lip that needs to be disinfected, or even some bruises that need to be catered to. This time, you’ll be happy to patch them all up, knowing that the one who will be taken care of at the end of the night is you. 

.FIN.

[midnightrain-and-cleandays]

Born wicked(my thoughts/ analysis on wicked)

Hello everyone! So a couple of days back I asked if yall would like my thoughts on Wicked and alot of you said yess sooo here we are. Now before we start i do wanna say i will also be doing an analysis in this post. Because as someone who has spent years in the hannibal fandom i have had multiple conversations with people about the analysis of the show so of course i have to bring that into this post so let’s begin and hopefully you guys enjoy!.

I first remember watching the movie, it had such a great first impression on me, i’ve seen alot of musical movies and this one was of my favorite movie musicals i’ve seen.

It has so much depth and deep meaning to it and after learning more about it im genuinely so impressed by how they did this movie, there are four scenes in the movie that kind show how much detail they put into this movie.

1. Is elphie and Glinda first meeting and glinda saying she doesn’t care what people think and elphie calling her out saying yes you do.

2. Which goes into scene two where we get the OZdust scene where when everyone is watching Elphie dance we see feiryo say “she doesn’t care what people think “ and glinda says “yes she does “

This is one of my all time favorite parallels because of multiple reasons, in several instances throughout the movie we see how much Glinda does definitely care what people think specially while at shiz everyone loves her, she has two people who follow her everywhere and specially because in the scene where Glinda is getting ready for the OZdust scene and the Hat is brought out and one of her friends point out how it’s “ugly “ she is suddenly trying to find an excuse as to why she has it.

Elphie reasons is so completely different, she always been over looked specially by her family, and the only way she really got attention was when she was supposed to look over NessaRoes. Then she gets to Shiz and suddenly all eyes are on her, but for the wrong reasons and along with the “wizard and i” scene, in the song we hear what Elphie truly dreams of and how desperately she wishes to be seen, how she wants to do good and how she wishes people could look past her green skin and genuinely see the good person she is.

Thats where we get back to the OZdust ball room scene and we get to the dance scene, and in that scene we start to see where Glinda and Elphie kinda don’t care what people think. Specially Glinda, this is one scene where she truly doesn’t care this one time even when her friends try and stop her and she still does the dance anyway.

Next is the defying gravity scene and the deleted scene where Elphie promises to not leave Glinda behind again.

In the defying gravity scenes we see them fighting and we saw them almost escaping together. Elphie kept her promise…till Glinda was the one we broke it, she couldn’t go with Elphaba and she had her reasons, we can speculate those and why she didn’t go. But in the end it was Glinda who broke that promise.

Those are just four scenes that add (and would add) so much depth to the movie, I genuinely love everything about it from the acting to the little details, specially the shoes that nessa gets at the beginning of the movie, in the original book the shoes weren’t red they were silver and I loved how they showed both pairs of shoes.

I also loved how even the second time you watch it you catch more than the first time you watched it. The movie has so much emotion and love put into it as well as thought, i also loved how they sung live, it makes the movie feel more real.

I genuinely felt it was a smart decision todo such a thing, and in all honesty I don’t think it would’ve done so well if they hadn’t of sung live. Of course they would’ve done amazing but not like they would have of they hadn’t of sung live.

So inclusion, this movie has a genuine 10/10 from me and one of my favorite 2024 movies, now that it’s out on streaming I would give it watch again (which i will be doing) and I would definitely recommend it to anyone interested in it.

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Go-on Wings!!

Plus the inks layer!

[introspectivememories]

everybody gets on shouto's case for being arrogant before the sports festival but like was he wrong to be arrogant???? if i was trained since 5 and then i enrolled in a school for hero hopefuls who have just started training their quirk, their body, and their minds for the job, god i'd be so fucking arrogant too. everything his peers are learning, shouto already knows!! flying spin kick? boo, boring!! he learned that at six. incorporating your quirk into your fighting? lame, yawn! he's been doing that his whole life. fighting quirkless? his father may be a piece of shit but endeavor is nothing if not thorough.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Another fun thing about this pairing is that the taller bigger guy canonically dislikes fighting, does not want to get into a fight please, and routinely gets his ass kicked when he is forced to fight.

The shorter one, on the other hand, once tried to fight an entire mob by himself, routinely flying tackles people, and probably should've gone into rugby instead of cricket.

[shxdowedterios]

I'm just saying it would heal me to see Sonic and Shadow fight at the peak of their abilities, man...... like. Early seasons RWBY levels of choreography pacing and camera work. That would fix me a little bit...

[fisherrprince]

waaaait the entire 14 ost is on Spotify/apple music !!!!!! waaaaaaaiit!!!

[lovrboyx]

im so tired of this shit on my face