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sailorsoons · 5 months ago

Text

Amnesia (c.sc)

PAIRING: Choi Seungcheol x f. reader

Summary: Choi Seungcheol has never been the type to commit to relationships - casual is more his thing. You’re fine with that - except you and Seungcheol seem to be terrible at casual when it comes to one another.

WC: 11,920

GENRE: Friends with benefits to lovers

AU: Smut, Angst if you squint

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Under the cut

A/N: This fic was posted on my original blog which has been deleted. I am now reposting it. I hope it does half as well as it did when I originally posted this story - thank you to everyone who left amazing feedback the first time. It genuinely made me so happy and I am so sorry that it got sent to the moon where I can no longer read it.

A/N 2: Thank you @yoongukie-ff for sending me your original reblog of this to pull the summary information from. I appreciate you and I love you!

MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAG LIST | ASK | PLAYLIST

Warnings: Recreational drinking, mild jealousy from both reader and Cheol, themes of self doubt/relationship doubt, light depictions of anxiety regarding ambiguous relationships, explicit language, Cheol and reader are both idiots, explicit sexual content including oral (f. and m. receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple stim, breath play if you squint, unprotected vaginal sex, a lot of bodily fluids like spit and cum, multiple smut scenes, hair pulling, light spanking, sub-space adjacent feelings, being a lil silly goofy during sex sometimes, stupid ass nicknames at the end because I’m a millennial and I’m cringe sometimes.

DAY ONE

YOU'RE A GONER AS SOON AS YOU LAY EYES ON HIM. You know it before Jeonghan properly introduces you, shouting over the rock music that is blaring in the dive bar you like to hang out at on Friday nights. The neon from the sign creates a blue silhouette around Seungcheol as he smiles and holds a hand out to you. You can barely pull yourself together to shake his hand - warm, firm - too busy staring at his face.

Choi Seungcheol is what your best friend Vin likes to call pretty motherfuckin handsome. He’s got dark, warm eyes that light up playfully when they meet yours, full lips the color of crushed rose petals, a square, firm jawline and silky dark hair that falls in his eyes when he tilts his face down to hide a smile at something Jeonghan says.

Crushed against the wall of the booth, you feel the cold glass of your beer warm against your palms as you steal glances at Seungcheol. He’s directly across from you, angling his broad shoulders to fit snug into the corner of the booth, lounging backward as he observes the argument brewing between Joshua and Jeonghan.

He even dresses well. Fitted t-shirt paired with light wash jeans and boots, a fancy watch reflecting the burning neon on the wall next to him, delicate chain necklaces tucked into the collar of his shirt.

It’s the way he wears them that speaks to you, though.

“Do they do this often?” his deep voice drags you from your reverie. You blink, gathering yourself when you realize he’s leaning forward a little, addressing you. He sips his beer before tilting the tip of the bottle toward Jeonghan and Joshua. “It’s like they're married.”

“You have no idea. Wait until game night.”

“Oh yeah. Jeonghan told me about game night.” Seungcheol’s mouth twitches in a smile. “You’ll be there?”

“Every Sunday. Do you like games?”

Something about the glint in his eye makes your stomach flip. You sip your beer just to give you something to do, feeling more drunk off the easy confidence he exudes as he shrugs. “Depends on the game. I’m competitive.”

“So am I.”

He grins. “I look forward to it, then.”

Warming up to Seungcheol is easy. He’s the new hire at Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s office, and they both felt confident enough to bring him into the fold. You can see why - he’s kind and funny, and there’s a charm to him that draws the people around him like moths to a flame. Even with just the four of you sitting in the booth, you feel the magnetism.

Friday nights at Rusty’s has been a tradition with Jeonghan and Joshua since you had been in college, filling yourself on five dollar wings, three dollar beers and occasionally lukewarm mozzarella sticks. Normally Vin, Wonwoo and Mingyu would be around, but tonight it’s just the smaller group.

Jeonghan and Joshua slide out of the booth to play darts, shoving one another back and forth, the drink in their step making them a little off balance. You smile fondly as you pluck another beer out of the bucket of ice, struggling to pop the top, your wet hands sliding against the metal cap.

Wordlessly, Seungcheol holds his hand out. Flushing from the neck down, you hand it over to him with a silent thank you. He pops the top easily, bicep flexing for a moment before he passes it back over, shooting you an award winning grin.

“Wow, so strong.”

He pouts and you swear you see stars. “Hey, I am strong.”

“No, no, you are. Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m new.”

“Huh.” You sip your beer, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat. It does nothing to soothe the heat spreading over your skin under the sole attention of Seungcheol. “I don’t remember that being a rule.”

“I never was one to play by the rules anyway.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you cheat at games like Jeonghan does.”

“I like winning.”

You roll your eyes. From the edge of your vision, you see people leave the pool table. Eager to stand up and stretch your legs, you start to slide out of the booth, the wood grain scratching against your jeans as you do.

“Come on then, cheater. Let’s play pool.”

“I’m down.”

Seungcheol follows you. Your fingers grip the glass of your drink tight, knuckles straining. You move around tables and duck around other patrons, hyper aware of the way Seungcheol keeps close to you, the heat of him against your back.

Next to the rows of dart boards are two pool tables, the felt a faded green with beer stains and other mysterious smudges on the surface. You grab a cue from the rack on the wall, spin it in your hands, and hand it over to Seungcheol. He eyes it, running his fingers along the splintered and dented wood.

Grabbing your cue in one hand and the triangle rack and set it on the table while he collects the balls from the table and the pockets, rolling them over to you. A few feet away, Joshua is already accusing Jeonghan of cheating. You don’t know how you cheat in darts, but you do know if there is a will, Jeonghan will find a way.

“Dangerous to let them have sharp objects,” Seungcheol notes, sliding the last ball over to you. You huff out a laugh, rolling the rack of billiard balls back and forth to set them. “You’re not going to get violent with me, right?”

“I don’t know, are you going to cheat?”

His smile is wicked. “Me? Definitely not.”

“Hmm. Not convincing.”

Seungcheol presses the flat of his palm over his chest, drawing your eyes to how thick he is in the chest area. You swallow thickly as he says, “Cross my heart.”

“Whatever you say. What are we playing for?”

“What will you give me?”

You look up at the shift in his tone. Dark. Flirty. He leans against the pool table, resting his hip casually as he crosses his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his arms flex, totally focused on the way his eyes are only for you. Intent. Meaningful.

A warning goes off in your head. You already feel the pull to him, the innate attraction that has your heart hammering. You should brush off the flirtation, move on to other things. Relationships aren’t really your thing, but there’s something about him that makes you know you’ll want more.

You already do want more.

“What do you want?” you ask softly, ignoring your better judgment.

When Seungcheol smiles, you know you’d give him anything. Everything.

“I can think of something, I think.”

DAY SEVEN

“I like this,” Seungcheol says, voice rough from use. He buttons his jeans, looking over at you. You’re still half-alive on your bed, a sheen of sweat covering your body. The sheets stick to you when you roll to look at him. “Are you good with casual?”

You’re only half listening, too distracted by his flexing abs. “Hmm?”

Seungcheol looks good tonight. He looks good every night, but tonight he’s in dark jeans and a white sweater. The sweater looks soft like his hair, which has grown longer and hangs in his eyes as he looks down to slip on his shoes.

“I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment but this,” he answers, flicking his fingers between the two of you. “It’s good.”

“Agreed. I’m good with casual. I’m a little too busy for anything more.”

It’s not a lie. You are too busy to really commit to someone. Again, a warning goes off in your mind like that first night you met him, screaming danger. You ignore it, not ready to give up Seungcheol just yet.

He grins, pulling his short back over his head. “Cool. If you ever don’t want to or whatever though, let me know, yeah?”

“You too.”

DAY TEN

Seungcheol [2:06 AM]: Come home with me You [2:06 AM]: Everyone would notice Seungcheol [2:07 AM]: Tell them where you’re going who caaaares Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Unless you don’t want to tell them then that’s ok Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: I personally don’t care if they know I’m rearranging your guts most nights :) You [2:10 AM]: CHEOL You [2:10 AM]: Fine pls hold my hand while I do this. They’re going to roast me Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Holding your hand sooo tight Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: But from like over here tho You [2:19 AM]: That was so embarrassing. Where did you go Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: She’s so brave, she’s well behaved Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: Standing outside hurry it's cold as dick out here

Seungcheol [4:38 AM]: Don’t forget to text me when you make it home You [4:52 AM]: Home safe!

DAY TWENTY THREE

You [11:10 PM]: Wyd Seungcheol [11:34 PM]: Need it that bad? You [11:39 PM]: Wow goodnight!!!!! Seungcheol [11:39 PM]: Nah come back Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: COME BACK Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: Omw. Unlock the door You [11:45 PM]: Need it that bad? Seungcheol [11:45 PM]: Yes actually :)

DAY THIRTY

You slide your finger across the phone, curious as you pick up Seungcheol’s phone call. “Hello?”

“Are you hungry?”

You look at your watch. It’s almost one in the afternoon, your stomach growling as it realizes that yeah you are kind of hungry. “Actually yeah. Why?”

“I had to run errands and I’m by your place and starving. Wanna get lunch?”

Your lips twitch in a smile. Leaning against the counter, you press the phone against you a little closer. “Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“Do you like Greek?” You hum in assent, chewing on your fingernail nervously. You can hear him get into his car, pausing momentarily as he starts it and curses at how hot it is. You can’t help but laugh. “Alright, pick you up in ten?”

“Alright.”

DAY FORTY THREE

He’s not yours. You tell yourself that over and over again as you try not to look across the bar where Seungcheol is sitting for the nth time. You’d noticed him immediately when you and Vin walked in, clocking his wide frame and familiar laugh with a precision that makes you curse yourself.

Now, Seungcheol is leaning against a high top, talking to a pretty girl sitting on a stool next to him. He’d waved at you earlier and shot you a smile and a wink, but he’s with friends you’re unfamiliar with tonight, and hasn’t come over.

Not that you expect him to. He isn’t yours and the casual thing you’ve got going means he can do whatever he wants, no strings attached.

So why is your heart in your throat as you glance over to see the girl laughing at something he’s said? They’re not alone but somehow that isn’t comforting at all. You pick at the varnish on the table to distract yourself, suddenly interested in the splinters and not the man across the bar from you.

Finishing the rest of your beer, you pull out another, hoping that the hoppy taste erases the icky feeling that settles on your skin. You’re not participating in conversation much, but if your friends notice, they have the decency not to call you out.

At least Vin knows what’s up, checking on you every once in a while. Thankfully she doesn’t say anything, occasionally giving you a squeeze instead. She knows the deal, understanding the irrationality between wanting to control something that isn’t yours to control.

Halfway through your beer, your phone vibrates. You flip it over and your heart starts pounding when you see Seungcheol’s name come across the screen, a message waiting to be read. With a shaky hand, you slide your thumb across the screen to unlock it, the message popping up.

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: Wanna come back to mine?

Surprised, you look up from your phone to where he’s still at the high top. His phone is in his hands and he’s looking right at you, flashing a grin when you meet his eyes. The girl is still sitting next to him, but his attention is entirely on you now, pinning you to the spot.

Your phone vibrates again and you glance down, your phone’s brightness stark in the gloom of the bar.

Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: You’re cute when you’re surprised You [12:14 AM]: What, the girl you were talking to said no? Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: I didn’t ask her. I asked you Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: Omg wait are you jealous?? You [12:14 AM]: No You [12:14 AM]: Definitely not Seungcheol [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me is Hades for a liar or whatever You [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another, loser Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Same thing Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: But seriously, I have no interest in her. I’m asking YOU Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Will beg from my knees in this bar Seungcheol [12:19 AM]: Even tho the floor is kind of gross You [12:20 AM]: I mean, if you’re offering to get on your knees…

You’re not sure if you trust his answer about not being interested in the other girl, but it doesn’t matter. You still end up leaning against him in an Uber, his hand squeezing your thigh playfully as he leans his forehead on the window, eyes closed to enjoy the cool glass.

He is so handsome, face glowing red as the car stops at a stoplight. You examine him closely, eyes dragging from the soft curve of his mouth to his impossibly silk lashes. You’d told him once that most girls would kill for those lashes, and now he likes to bat them at you every time he wants something.

The car starts moving and you look away from him, taking in a deep breath. Seungcheol isn’t yours, but you’re starting to think you want him to be.

DAY FIFTY TWO

“Is it weird if I bring a bag of shit to stay?” Seungcheol’s voice is shy over the receiver. You grip your phone tighter, biting your bottom lip to hide your smile as you roll onto your side in bed, snuggling into the pillow more. It smells like him, bergamot and cedarwood. “You can tell me if that’s weird.”

“Not weird at all,” you say carefully, too nervous to scare him off. “You usually end up sleeping here anyway.”

Usually really means always. He’s been doing that more recently, crashing at your apartment after coming over and vice versa. You’ve gone from Uber rides home at dawn to waking up curled into his back. He’s the first person you’ve ever let loiter in your space as much as he has, but you try not to think about it too much, as though just the acknowledgement might spook him.

Whatever thing between you feels fragile, a rare, glass menagerie set that can shatter if handled wrong. Friends with benefits is what you call it, but you’re not quite sure if that’s what it is.

“Okay cool. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go back to my place and shower sucks.”

“I do have a shower.”

“Oh I’m aware. It’s one of my favorite places in your apartment.”

Your stomach flutters and you clench your thighs together. Looking at the clock on your nightstand, you realize it’s getting late. “Better hurry,” you murmur. “I might be too tired for a shower when you get here.”

His chuckle is deep. Throaty. “I’ll speed, then.”

After hanging up, you toss your phone to the end of your bed and stare at the ceiling. Outside, the city hums beyond the window of your apartment. The lights in your home are mostly turned off, a single lamp providing low light in the living room so Seungcheol can see when he comes in, and a flickering candle on your nightstand and in the bathroom.

Your bed is warm and you do feel sleepy, but the excitement of seeing Seungcheol keeps you awake well enough. You try not to think of that too much, either. He was just there a few nights prior, and already he’s on his way back. Like it’s common. Routine.

And it sort of is, you guess. You hangout with Seungcheol almost more than you see Vin and Jeonghan these days, and you’re almost always spending the night together. You know his favorite late night snacks, you know the type of coffee he likes to make in the morning before work, and you know about his family, his stresses at work. What makes him tick.

It’s more than you ever thought you’d know about him when you agreed to keep your sex life with him casual and at a distance. He is anything but at a distance.

Seungcheol must speed, because it feels like hardly any time has passed when you hear your apartment door open and shut, the sound of the deadbolt clicking. You lift yourself up to lean on your elbows, watching from your bed as he enters your line of vision, a backpack over one shoulder.

He’s dressed in a long t-shirt and sweats, cozy and warm and still unbelievably good looking. He grins when he sees you, eyes creasing at the corners as he enters your room and drops his bag by your door.

Without saying anything, Seungcheol crawls onto your bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he inches up over you. Falling backward onto the mattress, you let him loom over you. Heat radiates from his body, warming you up. Your heart thuds as he ducks down, his hands bracketing your head as he cages you in. He brushes his nose against yours and you feel sparks, trying to regulate your breathing.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you whisper back, reaching your hands up to rest on his hips. He reacts, pressing his waist into yours a little, making you bear his weight. “Ugh, heavy.”

“Too bad.”

Seungcheol’s teeth nip your jaw, making your hips twitch upward. You can feel the smirk against your skin as he presses a wet kiss under your ear, moving his way to your neck.

“I was promised a shower.”

“Maybe I’m too tired,” You murmur.

He hums, leaning more of his weight into you. It’s comforting, not crushing, and you can feel the way his heart is beating wildly in his chest, in tune with yours. You smell bergamot and cedarwood, making your thoughts dizzy and scattered while he whispers, “I’ll wash your hair.”

“Hmmm. I’m listening.”

He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point, tongue laving against your skin. Your fingers twist in his shirt, your muscles tensing as you fight off a shiver. You can hear his soft breath, the way the sheets shift under the two of you, the way your heart hammers.

“I’ll massage your shoulders…”

“Hmm.”

His teeth scrape against your throat and you sigh, arching up into him, eyes closed. “I’ll eat you out.”

Fuck. You’re putty in his hands. Seungcheol could get you to do anything he asked. You don’t know if he knows - you’re too afraid to show him, to let him in on the secret out of fear of what it would mean to him. If it was too much, too deep.

But like this, it’s hard not to hide it. Especially when his filthy mouth hits a weak point in you, turning you thoughtless as you nod your head in response, nails digging into his hip bones through the fabric of his shirt. He makes a noise in response, leaning up off of you reluctantly but pulling you with him.

Dropping his hands, you head to the bathroom, feeling uneven. Seungcheol whines and grabs you to pull you back toward him. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“You haven’t even given me a kiss,” he pouts, looking down at you through long, dark lashes. “I want a kiss.”

This is the problem with Seungcheol. He says things like this when you’re supposed to be casual, something easy and without feelings and without strings. But this feels like something, it feels like there's a thread connecting you, tugging your mouth to his because of course you indulge him.

You always do.

Seungcheol’s lips are soft and taste faintly of his cherry chapstick. You smile into the kiss, standing on your tiptoes to press closer to him. He kisses you back eagerly, slotting his lips against yours and humming with delight. When you pull away, he’s smug, grinning happily.

“Come on,” he urges, now leading the charge as he pulls you by the hand toward your bathroom.

Instead of turning on the light, Seungcheol uses the glow of the burning candle on the counter to navigate. He drops your hand to open up the cabinets and pulls out two towels as you trail to the shower, opening the glass door to lean in and turn it on.

Steam starts to fill the room as you close the shower door and turn to him. He sets the towels on the counter, not bothering to shut the door to the bedroom. Instead, he grips the bottom of his shirt and peels it upward and over his head, revealing all toned muscle and tan skin.

He momentarily distracts you. Seungcheol is a work of art, equal parts rippling muscle and soft skin. You slide your shorts down, distracted by the way he looks in the golden shroud of the candle light, sliding his sweatpants down his legs.

Sensing your eyes, he lifts his head as he kicks off his sweats, briefs slung low on his hips. “Admiring me?”

“Shut up.”

Looking away, you take off your shirt, feeling the heat flush from your cheeks down to your neck. He chuckles, peeling off his briefs before kicking them toward the sink and striding toward the shower. He stops to kiss you on the cheek as he pulls open the door.

“I don’t mind,” he teases. “I like it.”

It’s true. Seungcheol has always had the easy confidence of someone who is comfortable in their skin. You admire that about him - and envy him a little. Seungcheol never seems to worry what others think of him, nor does he seem embarrassed or concerned about making the wrong move. Saying the wrong thing.

Steam hits you full on as you step into the shower. Seungcheol is already standing under the spray of water, his back turned toward you. For a moment you admire him again, watching the way the water sluices down his broad back and narrow waist.

Your eyes drift to the tattoo at his neck, the branches of the tree stretching toward his shoulders. You’ve traced that tree with the tips of your fingers and tongue over and over again, fascinated about the way the ink flexes when he moves.

A chill catches you, making you shiver and step toward the heat of the water. He senses your approach, turning his head to the side to look at you over his shoulder. He grins, reaching a hand back toward you to pull you close. You lace your fingers, letting him pull you into him as he turns.

Hot water hits your skin, immediately soothing. You sigh, leaning into the firmness of him, Seungcheol’s arms wrapping around you. He catches your mouth again, your eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you slowly, tongue lazy as he licks into your mouth.

Seungcheol’s hands spread across your back, fingers digging in a little as he starts to explore, one hand surging up and the other down. You moan into his mouth as the hand that drifts down grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing a little. His mouth curves into the kiss and you feel his teeth pull at your bottom lip, something he knows you love.

As always, you’re a goner. You don’t stand a chance with him. Not that first night and not now when he kisses you like something more. Not when he slides his hand around to your front, pressed between your bodies to run his fingers up the wet folds of your pussy.

He groans into the kiss that has turned sloppy, hungry. “Fucking wet.”

“We’re in the shower.”

He growls and pulls his mouth from you to attach to your neck, biting and sucking harshly. You let out a breathy sound, head tilting back heavily as you feel his tongue lick the water from your skin. “Don’t take away my credit.”

“The only crime is pride.”

The pads of his fingers press into your clit, making your knees knock together and the breath leave your lungs. He smiles against your neck, humming. “Which classic are you quoting at me today?”

“Antigone by Sophocles.”

“What’s that one about?”

Finding words is nearly impossible. The heat of the shower has you flushed and distracted, the steam making it harder to breathe, thoughts sticky as Seungcheol continues to tease you, fingers dragging down to your clenching entrance to press his fingers in slightly before dragging them back up.

Your nails bite into the back of his neck, clinging to him for life as he holds you up, one arm looped around your back to press you to him while the other makes all your thoughts scattered.

“Come on,” he urges gently, bringing his face to yours. He brushes his nose against yours, nudging. “Tell me.”

“She was a tragic character in a play written by Sophocles,” you sigh. “She was the daughter of Oedipus.”

“The guy who fucked his mom?”

Your laughter bubbles out of you. He laughs too, his hold tightening. “Yeah, Cheol. The guy who fucked his mom.”

“Craaazy family.”

“Do you really want to talk about Greek tragedy incest right now?”

“Nope,” he says happily. “I do want to eat this pussy though.”

Seungcheol flips gears so quickly that it’s hard to keep up. He swings you toward the glass wall of the shower, pressing your chest against it. You moan loudly, startled by the cool glass against your hard nipples. The contrast of hot water and the cool glass feels good, your eyes fluttering shut as Seungcheol drops to his knees behind you. He gently presses the inside of your knees, urging you to spread your legs.

“Just like that,” he encourages, hands ghosting upward to squeeze your ass. He pulls your hips away from the glass and toward him, groaning as he comes face level to your cunt. “Fuck.”

Your breath fogs the glass. It’s cold when you press your palms against it, holding yourself up as Seungcheol dips forward, running the flat of his tongue down your slit. You let out a pathetic sound and he laughs, fingers squeezing your flesh.

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. You melt, knees shaking and unsteady as Seungcheols tongue leisurely explores your folds, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to circle your clit.

One of your hands leaves the glass to reach back, sinking into the wet strands of his hair and holding him to you. He grunts in pleasure, the buzz of his mouth adding to the simulation as he fastens his lips to you, sucking gently.

Seungcheol’s mouth is a weapon. You fall apart under the warmth of his lips, the softness of his tongue. He sucks at your core, greedy and pleased, fingers digging into you as he presses in further. He can never get enough, the wet sounds of his hunger making your toes curl.

“Feels so good,” you pant against the glass. Your nails scrape against his scalp and he moans loudly, muffled by your cunt. “Your fucking mouth.”

“Mmm. Love you like this.” His tongue flicks expertly across your clit and you feel your thighs clench, legs shaking as your orgasm spools inside of you. “God this shower hurts my fucking knees though.”

“You wanted to eat me out in the shower.”

A hand cracks across your ass cheek, making you arch against the glass. He chuckles, tongue diving back, words slurred as he mutters, “And I’d do it again.”

Seungcheol’s mouth feels divine. You go quiet as he sucks at you, focused on the warmth spreading through you and the way your breath starts to stutter, limbs locking up.

When you come, you go boneless. Seungcheol holds you up, pressing you against the glass as he licks you through your orgasm. You twitch against him, nails dragging in his hair, your other hand sliding against the glass as you fight to grip anything to ground you.

Breathing raggedly, you sag when he pulls his face from you and stands. He groans and you grin, knowing his knees hurt from the tile of the shower. He doesn’t care, though. He crowds you in, cock pressed against your backside as his arms loop around you.

“Kiss me.” His voice is soft, needy.

Turning your face over your shoulder, you let him catch his mouth with yours, all tongue and cum and spit. You don’t care, pushing into him. One of his hands slides down between your legs, making you whimper into his mouth as he slides his fingers through your sticky folds to press two of them into your entrance.

Seungcheol is a giver. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve slept together or had brief, fast encounters, he always makes it a point to please you. To go out of his way to make you shake against him, like he needs it.

He keeps your mouth melded to his as his fingers fuck you slowly. You clench around his fingers, moaning his name as he presses them against the soft spot inside of you. You see stars, panting into his mouth as he strings you along, dragging you toward another orgasm.

It’s slow. Intimate. His mouth is hot and wet, sucking at biting at your bottom lip. His other hand snakes up to your throat, not applying pressure but gripping you, holding you to him. If he didn’t have you so tightly pressed to the glass, you think you’d collapse.

“You won’t fall,” he breathes into your mouth, reading your mind. “I’ve got you.”

“My knees are fucking useless right now.”

“You’re tough. Come on, I know you can give me more.”

You’ll give him anything he asks. You feel your heart slamming in your chest as he works you up again, feel the ragged breathing until you momentarily stop, everything tense and suspended as you clench around his fingers, shuddering violently as you come.

“Knew it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

A whine leaves you at the praise, head shaking back and forth a little as the oversensitivity makes you squirm. He works you through it, mouth pressed to your ear, whispering to breathe, baby as he strokes you gently until you’re leaning against him heavily.

Seungcheol removes his hand but keeps holding you up, letting you catch your breath. He peppers innocent kisses along your shoulder, lips brushing your skin tenderly. When you stand up with more strength, he pats you on the hip, gentle.

“Good?”

“Mhmm.” Craning over your shoulder, you catch his chin with your mouth, kissing softly. You press your ass into him, feeling his straining cock. “Come on.”

“Yeah?”

“All good.”

“Thank fuck. Thought I lost you.”

“I’ve had worse,” you grin, a little tired.

He kisses you, patting you approvingly before he grinds the tip of his cock between your legs. He groans deep in his chest, grip on you tightening for a moment. You reach behind you, gripping the base of his cock firmly, stroking gently before lining him up with your entrance.

Seungcheol pushes in, both of you whining in harmony at the feeling. It feels good, your pussy throbbing around him as he presses in slowly, letting you feel the stretch. He clings to you, trying to keep it together as you flutter around him.

“Yeah,” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Shit.”

Gently, Seungcheol starts to fuck you against the glass, strokes deep and slow. It’s mind-numbingly good, your cheek cool and pressed against the shower wall, Seungcheol’s face buried in your neck, breath puffing against your skin.

He holds you reverently, both hands on your hips to keep you where he wants you. You reach one hand behind your head, holding the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin. He hums happily, always pleased when you bite and scratch him.

That had been a surprise. You always thought he wouldn’t want you to mark him, that he wouldn’t want evidence of your time spent together. Seungcheol is the opposite though, urging you to rake your nails across soft skin, to bite at him and bruise him.

Your feet slide apart a little as he strengthens his thrusts. You squeal, hand smacking the glass to hold yourself up. He lets out a loud laugh, pausing to let you fix your stance. He taps your thigh in question and you nod, lifting your leg a little to let him slide a hand under your thigh to press it against the shower wall for better grip.

When he rolls his hips into you this time, it’s deeper, making you tremble against the glass. A groan drips from Seungcheol’s mouth as he sets his pace, pinning you between him and the glass with nothing to do but to take what he gives you.

“Can you do another?” he asks, breath shaky. His fingers squeeze your thigh for emphasis, the snap of his hips getting stronger. You nod, unable to answer verbally. He huffs, half laughter, half something else. “Yeah you can.”

And you can. Seungcheol can pull pleasure out of you like thread from a loom, his skilled hands guiding you where he wants you to go. It’s easy for him, the way he knows your body so acute and familiar that the thought alone makes you unravel a little, your whines muted by the glass.

He makes you come like that, stuck between his warmth and the cold, the two contrasts keeping you suspended as you seize up around him. He grunts at the feeling, hips sloppy, losing their rhythm until he clenches up, growling your name into your neck as he tips over the edge after you.

For a few moments, you remain melded together, panting in time. Seungcheol makes no rush of peeling himself away from you. Instead, he’s content to mouth at your shoulder and neck, running his nose along your throat. You squirm and laugh, ticklish.

Grinning, he does it again, nuzzling into you and making you laugh, sound echoing in the shower. “Seungcheol!”

“It’s cute.”

“Come on,” you urge. “You said you’d wash my hair.”

He steals a kiss. “Alright, alright. Pass me the shampoo.”

DAY FIFTY SEVEN

“Who is that?” Seungcheol asks, jerking his head toward the bar. You turn and follow his gaze to see Seokmin standing at the bar, ordering drinks. “Never seen him before.”

“Jealous?” You tease, leaning forward and batting your eyelashes at him. Seokmin is just a coworker, but it doesn’t mean you can’t poke Seungcheol a little. Except Seungcheol doesn’t laugh, leveling you with a stare, lips turning downward. “Wait, you actually are.”

“Don’t push it. It was just a question.”

“We work together,” you clarify, immediately turning off the charm when you recognize he’s not amused. “Actually I think he sort of has a thing for Vin, which is why he’s here.”

Seungcheol hums, sipping his beer and looking away from you. Licking your lips, you reach out a hand and touch his gently, bringing his dark eyes back to you. He looks serious - more serious than you’ve ever seen him, face blank, eyes unreadable.

“I mean it.” You squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. “We’re just friends.”

“Alright.”

“I feel like you’re mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

You shrug, struggling to articulate. He still has that expression you can’t read, something stark and closed off. “Just seems like it.”

He shakes his head again, but you don’t think he’s telling the truth, watching the way his eyes shift to watch Seokmin approach. “Just tired, I think I might head out.”

Panic grips you and you say the first thing you can think of, throwing caution to the wind. “Want to come over?”

That gives him pause. He studies you. You feel a tightness in your throat under his scrutiny. His mouth twitches and he nods. “Alright,” he says softly. “If you want me to.”

“I do.” You squeeze his hand again. “Really.”

DAY SEVENTY EIGHT

“Want to do me a huge favor?”

You look up from your spot on your couch. Seungcheol is in your kitchen, using his hip to close the door to the fridge. He lifts the lid on the package of grapes, plastic cracking loudly as he does. Leaning against the counter, he pops one into his mouth, crunching happily.

“Besides giving you my grapes?” you ask, deadpan. He grins around them shrugging happily as he eats another. You roll your eyes, turning back to the laptop carefully balanced on your knee. “What’s the favor?”

“We have this giant New Years Eve party at work in two weeks and I need a date.”

That gives you pause. You stare at the computer screen but you can’t make out anything on the screen. You don’t dare to turn and look at Seungcheol, fearful that the feelings his question brings out will be right on the surface of your expression.

Date. It’s a scary word. You and Seungcheol sort of go on dates all the time, but they’re not really dates. At least, not from your perspective. If you were to ask Jeonghan, he would launch into another lecture that you should just put a goddamn title on this thing. Vin happily agrees, both of them hammering you on calling the thing between you and Seuncheol what it is.

But it’s friends with benefits. Friends go out to eat meals together and go shopping together - they hangout. The benefits are the sex. It’s the pressing you against your mattress as he maps your body with his mouth, it’s the way you sink to your knees for him after he’s had a bad day at work, taking him into the heat of your mouth to make him forget.

So yes, you’ve gone places together alone and as a friend date. But somehow this feels different, and you don’t think it’s supposed to.

Carefully, you ask, “Your date, huh?”

“Mhmm. Free drinks and apps, and it’s at the top of that fancy new hotel. We can stay the night so we don’t have to pay for an expensive as fuck Uber”

Not for the first time, you find yourself unsure where the line is with Seungcheol. You’ve agreed multiple times that this is just casual, a shared benefit between friends. And yet every time you feel confident in what you are, the line blurs.

You’re as guilty as he is, you know. On more than one occasion you’re the one who has crossed the line, messing up the clear boundary the two of you have had in place for weeks. Somehow, you both manage to be utterly terrible at casual, but you’re too afraid to say something about it. Too afraid to ruin it.

“I suppose I can be convinced.”

“Oh? What can I do to convince you?”

You look up as his tone turns to velvet, that voice he uses when he’s coaxing you into his lap, or when he’s-

“It’s really hard to be sexy when there’s grape juice running down your chin, Cheol.”

He pouts, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the lower half of his face as you laugh. He’s cute, pink lips downturned and eyes round as he sulks. “Don’t make fun of me. Just say yes to being my date.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go.”

His grin is burnished gold, the sun breaking for first light over the horizon. “Thank you.”

“Mhmm.” He crunches into another grape and you scowl. “Stop eating all my fucking grapes!”

DAY NINETY TWO

“Holy shit,” Seungcheol mutters when you step out of the hotel bedroom. He feels his heart start to pound in his chest from where he stands in the kitchenette, fingers squeezing the glass of whiskey he poured himself earlier. “You look unreal.”

And you do. You always do. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when Jeonghan and Joshua introduced the two of you that first night at that shitty bar you like to go to on Fridays. The real kicker had been your personality, though. Warm, kind, quick wit. A bit of a history nerd, which is his favorite thing.

Honestly, he loves a lot of things about you. He knows that he has to do something about that. Knows that this stopped being casual a long time ago. Seungcheol has no problem with casual hookups and keeping people in a rotation, but when it comes to you… he just wants you.

It’s like he has no idea how to keep his distance, how to keep his feelings out of it. He doesn’t mind, but he needs to figure out how to tell you. How to take that next step and move you from friends to more - if that’s what you want, anyway.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you say back neutrally. He can see the way your eyes linger on him though, your gaze betraying the calmness of your voice, as always.

You don’t get it, though. Seungcheol cannot keep his eyes off you, dragging them from top to bottom. The black dress is snug on your frame, his eyes tracing the swells of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the curve of your ass and thighs.

Dragging his eyes back up, he meets your gaze. That is one of his favorite things. Your eyes, full of light and depth and thoughts that he always wants to fall into. There is so much simmering under the surface that you don’t say and he’s never asked.

He wants to.

Knocking back the rest of his drink, Seungcheol leaves the glass on the counter and walks over to you. You shift from foot to foot, eyes darting up to examine the ceiling. He smirks, feeling the nerves radiating from you as he approaches.

When he reaches out, you don’t step away from him. You let him skim his hands up your sides, going until he’s running them over your shoulders and on either side of your neck so he can cradle your face. He turns your gaze back to him and you stare up at him through your lashes.

He was a goner on day one. How ridiculous to think he’s not just made this real, told you how he doesn’t want a single thing to be casual and superficial between you.

Instead of stealing a searing kiss and pushing you back into the bedroom like he wants to, Seungcheol presses a short kiss to the corner of your mouth. He’s too afraid that if he starts something that you won’t make it downstairs.

Now isn’t the time for that, though. There’s a party upstairs and free drinks and he wants to spend time with his friends. Spend time with you.

The Seungcheol that existed before you is a stranger to him. He barely remembers what it was like to have people he wasn’t genuinely interested in, what it was like to show up alone at parties and take someone home. Hardly recalls pushing people away when they wanted too much.

All it took was meeting you.

“Come on,” he urges gently, leading you from the room and to the elevator.

Seungcheol slides his phone from his pocket in the elevator. You press close against him, your arm brushing against his as it fills up with people. He notes where Wonwoo tells him to meet and puts his phone back in his pocket, leaning into you a little.

You let him, making his mouth twitch upward. You always let him do what he wants, and when you don’t, an easy pout gets his way. He’s wrapped around your finger, too. He doesn’t know if you realize it, but he would give you anything you wanted without a moment's hesitation.

When the elevator doors open, Seungcheol takes your hand. You let him pull you into the party teeming with people, the sound of music swelling over the dull roar of the crowd. You stick closer to him, fingers squeezing him tightly as the pair of you walk toward the check-in table.

“This is beautiful,” you murmur to him.

His first instinct is to look at you because you are beautiful. You’re not looking at him, your neck craned to sweep over the party. He smiles at you, watching the glow of your side profile, eyes wide with wonder.

Dragging his eyes from your face, he glances around the party. It is gorgeous, with views of the entire city glittering beneath the building like a bed of stars, shimmering decorations reflecting the golden lights, a giant clock to show the time, and massive flower arrangements.

“It’s nice,” he agrees, shuffling to the table where he gives his name. “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Perfect, thanks.” The person working the table peels two wristbands and gestures for you both to hold out your wrists. You let go of his hand to do so, letting the attendant wrap your arm in a blue band. “Have a great night, Mr. and Mrs. Choi.”

Both of you blink in surprise. You open and close your mouth as if you’re unsure how to correct them and Seungcheol laughs, shrugging as he takes your hand and leads you out of the line and into the party proper this time.

“This way, wifey.”

You roll your eyes but grin anyway, looping your arm through his offered one and tugging him close. He’s satisfied, leading you through the tight crowd of people toward the south bar that Wonwoo had said their friends were waiting at.

Joshua spots you and waves you both over, making room at the bar for you to join. Jeonghan’s eyes flick to where your arm is looped through Seungcheol to Seungcheol himself, raising a brow. Seungcheol glares at him, urging him to shut up and Jeonghan grins, turning to order drinks at the bar.

Wonwoo claps Seungcheol on the back in greeting before kissing you on both cheeks and letting you sit on the only barstool available. Seungcheol moves with you pressed to your back as he leans an elbow on the bar, keeping you close. You lean into him, earning a shy smile that he tries to hide behind the rim of the champagne glass that Jeonghan hands him.

He likes this. He likes being with his friends. He likes the way you laugh and lean back further into him when you do. He likes that his friends don’t bother the two of you about being attached at the hip. And he likes the way your face lights up every time he jokingly calls you wifey.

Seungcheol wants this.

He doesn’t recall the last time he wanted a relationship the way he wants with you. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everything before you is gone and forgotten, and what matters now are the things that are post-meeting-you.

Plied with lots of champagne and your laughter, Seungcheol lets you drag him onto the dance floor, wrapping your arms around him as he spins you. He doesn’t know what has him more drunk, the alcohol or you. He thinks it might be you.

The DJ announces that it’s one minute until midnight, making Seungcheol spin and look up at the clock. The partygoers cheer, clustering together to press toward the clock to count down. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close in the tight crowd.

His heart flutters as he watches the numbers countdown, realizing he gets to kiss you at midnight. He’s kissed you over a hundred times by now, but the prospect makes him giddy. His heart races as the numbers drop and he looks at you from the corner of your eye.

You’re watching the clock, uncontrolled happiness on your face as you yell with the rest of the crowd, counting each number as it passes by.

When the clock strikes midnight, you peer up at him, suddenly unsure. He can’t believe you don’t see it, that you’d doubt for one second that he wants you to be his first kiss of the year. His heart seizes, dipping down with a smile to press his lips to yours.

Your mouth is warm and champagne-sweet, making him groan in the back of his throat. Your fingers cling to his hip, holding him by the waist as he slips a hand up to the back of your neck to hold you in place, deepening the kiss.

When you pull your mouth away, he makes up his mind. Fuck everything he said about keeping it casual - he doesn’t want to go another minute without you knowing what he wants.

DAY NINETY THREE

“Be my girlfriend.”

The words that come from Seungcheol’s lips catch you off guard. A giggle bursts to your lips and you lean back, trying to examine him from a little farther away. You feel the glitter of champagne in your veins and the same buzz that comes with being near Seungcheol, wondering if maybe he’s had too much to drink.

“What?” you ask, examining his face. He’s flushed, lips pink and smiling, but his eyes are dark and serious.

“Be my girlfriend,” he says again, this time quieter. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath fans your face, warm and sweetened by champagne. “I know we agreed to be casual so if you don’t want more, that’s fine. But there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you.”

Heart thundering, you laugh and cling to him a little tighter. He nudges you with his head, as though asking what’s so funny. You don’t know how to put into words that you’ve wanted to be not casual for a long time, that you are dizzy with the prospect of being something more, that he’s just made the first minute of your year perfect.

Instead of trying to string together the words to tell him, you kiss him. His mouth turns upward, letting you press your palms to the sides of his face, holding him to your lips. There’s no one else but just the two of you, entirely in your own bubble on the rooftop.

Relief mixed with euphoria floods your system. It’s a weight lifted off your shoulders, realizing that you’re not crazy, that nothing you feel about Seungcheol is casual and that’s okay. That he feels it too.

Your fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling slightly. He groans, separating your mouths to peer down at you, his lashes fanning when he blinks, dazed.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “This is a work party. I’ll fold right here.”

“So take me somewhere that isn’t here and fold.”

His gummy smile is blinding, your heart soaring. “Alright, wifey.”

“Gonna need a ring pop at a minimum if you’re gonna keep saying that shit.”

He links your fingers together, stepping away from you. He tugs you after him and you follow. “Deal. What flavor?”

“Strawberry. I kind of want to suck something else right now, though.”

Seungcheol groans and you laugh, loving the way he visibly struggles as your words land. He walks faster, a new pep in his step as you make your way toward the elevator. He shouts Wonwoo’s name as he goes, waving his hand to tell him that you’re leaving.

Wonwoo’s grin is all-knowing as he throws two thumbs up, cheering happily. You tingle with a little bit of embarrassment, scurrying toward the closing elevator door to catch it. It opens again and you both slip inside, alone and buzzing from the party and your newfound status.

The door closes and Seungcheol pushes in close. You press against the wall, looking up at his sharp grin, his nose nudging yours. His lips are almost on yours, the heat of them against your mouth making you dizzy and the heavy weight of his body against yours making your thoughts sticky.

“Gonna suck something else, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wanna do it right here in the elevator?”

“Huh?”

He bursts into laughter at your wide gaze, tapping the underside of your chin with his knuckle in jest. “I’m kidding. Unless…”

You shove him away and he starts laughing again, bending over with the force of it. You can’t be annoyed by his teasing, loving the way his eyes crease at the corner and how he laughs with the full force of his body.

“You’re so annoying.”

“You should have seen your face, though.”

“I mean I’ll do it right now, if you want.”

His smile drops and he opens his mouth a little, shocked. “Wait, really?”

“No, but you should have seen your face.”

The elevator arriving at the appropriate floor saves him from answering. He scowls at you and you giggle, grabbing him and pushing him into the hall and toward your room. He turns on his heel, falling into step with you and fishing the room key out of his pocket.

It’s cold in the room when you enter. Seungcheol had booked a one bedroom suite with a small living room and kitchenette. It was more than what you needed for the night, but it feels nice, like your own private getaway.

Taking you by the hand, he walks backward toward the bedroom, pulling you along. His smile is beautiful and you wear a matching one. A thrill shoots through you when you realize that Seungcheol is yours. Really yours.

Sitting on the bed, he pulls you into his lap. Your knees sink in the mattress on either side of his hips, ass resting on his thighs. Leaning over him, you link your hands behind the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the silky hair there.

Seungcheol tilts his face up toward you, eyes fluttering as you play with his hair. His arms loop around your waist, squeezing you.

“Hi,” he breathes.

“Hi.”

Leaning down, you slot your mouth against his. He tastes like champagne, mouth warm. Kissing him takes your breath away, thoughts guttering out as he licks into your mouth hungrily. You lose yourself in the feeling of him, feeling like you’re on fire.

Seungcheol falls backward on the bed. His lips are swollen and pink, eyes heavy-lidded as he stares up at you. He reaches for you but you give him a coy smile and slip from his lap, crouching to the floor and running your hands along his thighs, feeling them flex beneath your touch.

You love Seungcheol’s thighs. Your nails drag across the fabric and he lets out a breathy sound. His muscles twitch as you reach to brush your fingers over his zipper, making sure to press into his cock. His hips jerk upward at the barest hint of stimulation and you grin.

“It’s no elevator,” you tease. “But will this do?”

“Fucking anywhere will do.”

Seungcheol has always been sensitive. He’s easy to rile, cock already firm by the time you’re undoing his belt and he’s helping you pull his dress pants down his thighs. You eye the dark patch in his briefs, proud that with just a little bit of kissing and some light touching he’s already leaking at the tip.

Sitting high on your knees, you lean forward, tongue pressing wetly to the tip of his cock through the fabric. A hand shoots to the back of your head, his fingers gripping you firmly as you laugh, tongue still pressed to him and soaking through his briefs.

“Don’t you dare tease me tonight,” he warns, voice shaky. “That is not wifey behavior.”

You remove your tongue, pouting and moving to press a kiss to his thigh. “You never let me tease you.”

“I’m not patient.” Your teeth scrape the softness of his flesh and his legs twitch, knees knocking your shoulder. “Baby, I am so serious.”

Biting your bottom lip to hide a smile, you give in. You know with certainty he’d let you drag this out if you really wanted to. Seungcheol is impatient and greedy and demanding, but he also lets you do what you want when it comes down to it.

Instead of testing his grace, you peel his briefs down, freeing his cock. Your mouth waters at his thick length, your hand automatically reaching up to grab him. You swipe your thumb through the precum gathered, using it to slide down the full length of his shaft.

Seungcheol’s hips buck. You grip him properly, working him slowly as you shuffle closer on your knees. They already hurt, hotel carpet digging into them but you ignore it in favor of watching the way his fingers slowly undo the button of his shirt, needing to shuck the fabric off.

“You’re pretty,” you note absently. His stomach flexes when he sits up to slide his shirt off of his shoulders. He looks down at you, pupils dilated. “Very, very pretty.”

“You’re a work of art yourself.”

Instead of laying back down flat, he leans back on his palms, letting his head fall back. Seungcheol shuts his eyes, face tilted up at the ceiling as though in prayer. “Feels good.”

Humming happily, you lean forward and slowly run the flat of your tongue up the base of his shaft. That draws a low moan out of him, his chest rising and falling as he pants. You’re fascinated by his reactions, watching his face and body language carefully as you swirl your tongue around the crown of his cock.

He’s responsive, fingers digging into the sheets in an effort not to grab your head and take control. He’s testing his patience, letting you bring him into the wet heat of your mouth at your pace, sucking lazily.

“Fuck,” he groans. You hum around him and he shakes his head, shivering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Good you think, setting a proper place as you swallow him down, letting your spit pool to help make the glide easier. It’s messy and wet, just the way Seungcheol likes it, his moans backtracking the slick sounds coming from your mouth.

What you can’t fit in your mouth properly, you cover with your hand, squeezing periodically as you stroke upward, meeting your stretched lips.

“God,” Seungcheol whispers. “You know how to suck cock.”

Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you grin, feeling the sting in your mouth from the stretch. Your lips are cum and spit-slicked, sticky as you continue to stroke him.

“Thanks,” you laugh. “I heard I’m wifey material.”

“Fucking, shit, yeah a little bit. Fuckkkk, mouth please.”

You comply, sucking him back into your mouth. He’s putty underneath you, hips twitching off the bed a little as soft sounds drip from his mouth. You watch, totally hypnotized by the way he moved, the way his hairline gets a little sweaty as he nods, encouraging you.

Biting his lip, he lifts a hand from the bed to grab at you, pulling you off of him. “Come here,” he growls, opening his.

Seungcheol pulls you to him, not caring that your mouth is a mess. His tongue delves in, exploring the mixed taste of champagne and precum, hands pulling at your dress to peel it off of you.

“Let me sit against the headboard,” he pants, breaking the kiss to scoot backward. You peel your underwear off and toss them, following him across the mattress as he settles. He pats his lap and reaches for you. “Come here, baby.”

You settle into his lap again, mouth melding to his. His hands explore you, gripping your ass, squeezing your waist, running up your front to pinch at your nipples. You moan into his mouth, carding your fingers in his hair and pulling at the stimulation, your head tilting back a little.

He takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your throat, biting sharply and soothing the sting with his tongue. Sinking a little lower, you feel your pussy brush against his cock and you sigh, gently rolling your hips to slide your sticky folds up his shaft.

Seungcheol groans against you, mouth feverish against your skin. He maps your throat, kissing and biting his way to your chest, where he steals a pert nipple into his mouth to give a harsh suck. You squeal and he grins, plucking at your sensitive bud with his teeth.

Holding onto him, you let him lavish attention to your tits the way he wants, hands squeezing, tongue flicking. It feels good. Aflame, you continue to roll your hips shallowly in his waist, just giving the barest of stimulation to you both.

A hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding your swelling clit, pressing against it. You whine loudly, fighting off a violent shiver. He grins where he has your breast in his mouth, sucking generously as he lazily circles your clit with his fingers.

“Cheol,” you whisper-whine. “You said no teasing.”

“I said no teasing me.” His fingers slide backward and dip into your entrance teasingly. You clench around nothing, aching for him to do something. “Flustered, huh?”

“Please give me something.”

He presses his lips against the side of your jaw, grinning. “Fine.” He sinks a single finger into you and you sigh in immediate relief. It isn’t enough but it’s something, your hips rocking to take him in deeper. “Better?”

“I can take more.”

“Of course you can.” He pushes in another finger, the stretch so good. “You’re my girl. You can take what I give you.”

Dropping your head to his shoulder, you nod. You hide your face in his flushed skin, riding his fingers as he slowly slides them home, working you gently. They press against your sensitive spot and you curse, gripping him a little tighter.

Impatient and needing more, you grind yourself forward, fucking his hand properly. He laughs, letting you take what you need, cupping you fully so the heel of his palm grinds into your clit. Your movements are frenzied, driven by the desire for him, the feeling curling inside you.

“Just like that,” he encourages. “Fuck yourself on my fingers just like that.”

You do, thighs aching and body shaking. The sheets stick to your legs as you work yourself up, sweaty palms sliding against Seungcheol’s shoulders. He whispers in your ear, voice low and scratchy, adding to the building mania inside of you.

“Shit,” you hiss, feeling the tightness in your stomach start to boil over.

“Come on, come around my fingers. You got it.”

His gentle voice pushes you over all the way and you clench around his fingers, coming undone. Your hips stop moving and your legs squeeze around his as you seize up. Seungcheol is having none of it, taking the lead to drive his fingers up into you as you flutter around him.

“Oh,” you gasp as he finer fucks you through the rest of your orgasm, sucking at a tender spot on your neck until you’re trembling and a mess. “Okay, okay, okay.”

Seungcheol takes it easy on you, pulling his fingers from between your legs with a slick noise. You heave against him, catching your breath while he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks obnoxiously.

“Mmm.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He smacks your ass and you squeak. “Ride my cock like that?”

Huffing, you extend to your full height on your knees. He grabs the base of his shaft, eyes fixed on the mess between your legs as you sink down slowly. His tip breaches you, both of you letting out a sound as you keep going, holding your breath as he stretches you open.

Seungcheol taps your waist. “Breathe.”

You do, inhaling a breath as you nestle in his lap, seated fully, clenching around him. “Thanks.”

“Mhmm.”

Seungcheol’s hands move up your sides, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. This time, you know the look in his eye is real. His gaze is covetous, looking at you like you’re his because you are.

You catch his hands with yours, linking your finger and squeezing. He smiles, looking up at you with dark locks of hair in his face. You smile back, starting to roll your hips, using his hands to steady yourself.

Everything feels like an exposed nerve. The cool air of the hotel room brushes across your back, making you shiver. The mattress dips under your movement, your thighs flexing to keep your balance steady, Seungcheol’s grip on you helping.

“You’re so perfect,” Seungcheol mutters, using your linked hands to pull you toward him. Your hands slip from him, going to the headboard to help lift you instead. His grip finds your waist, aiding in your movement while his mouth finds your breasts. “God these tits.”

An ache settles in your thighs but you ignore it, chasing an orgasm. You tremble in his hold, breath punching out of you as he mumbles your name, watching you with fucked out eyes and lips parted, like you’re giving him everything he ever wanted.

You kind of feel that way. The way he looks at you isn’t that different from before, but now you’re confident in it, realizing that everything with Seungcheol felt too intimate because it was. Casual was never the right name for it, neither of you having any idea how to really be no strings attached.

“My fucking legs hurt,” you admit, panting. “Can you take over?”

“Mhmm.” Seungcheol surges forward, knocking you backward onto the bed. You laugh, bouncing a little as he pulls out and helps maneuver you. “Turn around for me.”

With shaking arms, you follow his instruction. The sheets cling to you as you roll, making you huff and swat at them. He chuckles, peeling them away from your sweaty skin while you settle on your stomach, arching your ass a little.

He palms your left cheek, groaning and dragging his blunt nails down the curve to your hip where he grabs you. “Unreal,” he whispers, to either you or himself.

You gasp when he thrusts pack in, punching the air from your lungs as he sets a sharp pace. You jostle on the bed, grabbing the sheets and knotting your hands in them to keep you in place, a stream of whimpers leaving you.

A hand slips up your spine, pressing flat between your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the bed. You gasp and nod, Seungcheol taking it as a sign to put more weight into it, angling his hips so he’s fucking down into you.

It’s hard to breathe, the dizziness taking over as your skin starts to turn to static, orgasm so close that you can feel the buzz between your legs. He keeps going like that, pinning you hard to the bed as his hips crash into yours.

His name leaves your mouth in a cry as you squeeze around him, letting loose. He curses, picking up his pace, ignoring the wet squelch as he does, palm pressing you harder into the bed as you come.

You think you might disintegrate, unable to do anything but make broken sounds as he chases his orgasm. Just when you think you might not get another breath, he comes, the pressure on your back lifting a little. You gasp for air, feeling the room tilt as his thrusts slow, becoming gentle.

Seungcheol’s hands are soothing on your back, fingers dancing up and down your spine, delicate. He’s muttering something to you but you can’t hear him, the pounding of your heart far too loud, pulse rattling in your ears.

When his hips are still, his hands keep moving. He leans over you, careful not to put his weight on you, mouth kissing across your shoulders. Your cheek is pressed flat against the sheet as you pant, coming down from a fever pitch.

“You okay if I get up and get you water?” the question is whispered across your cheek, where Seungcheol presses a tender kiss. You nod and he kisses you again before peeling away from you.

Laying in the bed, you drift, listening to him shuffle around to the kitchen. You’re sleepy but more aware now. When the bed dips again, you crack your eye open, watching as he navigates carefully on his knees, two glasses of water in hand.

“Can you sit up or do you need help?” You shake your head and muster the strength you have left to sit up. Your muscles spasm as you do, a groan leaving your mouth as the room spins from the change in perspective. “You okay?”

“Thirsty,” you rasp, reaching for the glass he offers. Gulping down the cool water, you’re aware of his eyes on you, watching you drain the glass as he sips his. “Thank you.”

He takes the empty glass and kisses your lips. “Mhmm. Need more?”

“No, I’m good. I just need to sleep for five hundred years, no big deal.”

“Damn, five hundred goes crazy. Do you think we’ll have flying cars by then?”

Seungcheol puts both glasses on the nightstand and peels back the covers of the bed. He slips under them, patting the spot next to him. You crawl over, limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He laughs at you and you scowl, but manage to clamber in next to him, warm beneath the blankets and tucked into his chest.

“Yes, definitely. And like giant sexy holograms advertising porn, probably.”

“That’s the first thing you think of in the future? Porn?”

“Listen,” you huff, laying your head against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m still a little champagne buzzed and you just fucked me until I couldn’t breathe for a while. Cut me slack.”

“Sure thing, wifey.”

“Ugh. Is that our thing now?”

“Mhmm. Everything pre-relationship has henceforth been replaced with the relationship-only era. Pretend you have amnesia.”

A huff of laughter leaves you. “Sure thing.”

“I mean I feel like I have amnesia.” You give him a questioning look. He’s contemplative, staring with unseeing eyes as he plays with your fingers. “I had an entire life and habits before you, and I swear it’s like sometimes my memory actually starts with that first night at the bar.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re just around a lot and I like to think it’s always been that way. And I’m kind of sorry for taking so long to admit nothing about this was casual for me.”

You smile. “Wasn’t for me either.”

“Good.” He snuggles into you, settling in silence for a few moments. “Thanks for letting me win pool that first night.”

“I did not let you win that game, oh my god.”

“Just admit it! You wanted to taste my goodies and you let me win.”

“I’m gonna give you some damn amnesia,” you mutter, but grin as he hugs you tight.

“Sure thing, wifey. Sure thing.”

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#seungcheol smut #scoups smut #scoups fanfic #svt smut #choi seungcheol smut #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fic #seungcheol x you #svt fanfic #svt fic #seungcheol fluff #scoups fluff #scoups x reader #seungcheol imagines #sailorrhansol

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yandere-daydreams · 1 month ago

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tw - kidnapping, stalking, symptoms of depression, and obsessive behavior. reader's not doing great in this one and dick's doing worse.

Dick Grayson gets around.

Whatever you're thinking, it's not like that - except when it is. He's just the people person, the golden child, the performer. He's everything that Bruce pretends to be whenever he takes off the cowl and plays socialite. He remembers names, calls on birthdays, sends out Christmas cards the second snow hits the ground. He knows everyone, and he gets what he wants.

You get around... less.

Not that you don't show you face. No, someone committed to staying totally anonymous would never make it to one of a hundred annual galas held by Wayne Enterprises, stocked to bursting with reporters and celebrities and wealthy Gotham transplants, eager to make a good impression with local royalty. He spots you sticking close to the wall, moving between polite conversations, careful never to stay long enough to make a lasting impression. When you're not busy, your eyes dart from wall to wall, tracking waiters and taking stock of the exits. Every now and then, the light catches on a diamond ring you hadn't been wearing a second ago, a sapphire necklace too expensive to hang so sloppily from your neck.

You're transparent, if a bit out of place. Even pickpockets usually had the decency to skip charity events.

His course of action is swift, surgical. He corners you next to the bar, offers to buy you a drink. You counter, explain with a smile that you couldn't take a stranger's money. He adopts a new tactic - asks you to dance with one, instead. Another parry, now you're looking for your date. After fishing for a description, he mentions he might've seen them on the balcony. His scalpel run through your throat, you take his arm and let him lead you outside.

The routine is standard, practiced to the point of perfection. Find a corner away from the other guests, apologize for ending your night so early, then produce enough cash to pay half a year's worth of rent for Gotham's most expensive high-rise - just like he has a million times before with a thousand other petty thieves. Dead-eyed, you card through the bills slowly. Finally, you look to him.

"This isn't really my line of work."

Dick grins. "I can tell."

"Is there a closet we can use, or...?"

He blinks once, then twice. You stare at the money in your hands, eyes glassy and expression hollow. It doesn't take long to clear up the miscommunication. You leave with your stolen treasures and a well-earned tip, and Dick neglects to mention the incident in his status report later that night.

The next day, he seeks you out on instinct, tells himself it's no different than a follow-up for any other case. You are not a people person. You don't smile at strangers, or greet your neighbors by name, or let your eyes leave the sidewalk as you make your way through the rush-hour crowd, your pockets a little heavier with every step. Your apartment is a testament to your separation - no pictures, no creature comforts, no spare tooth brush left by the sink in case of overnight guests. There's only one cup in the entirety of your kitchen, a little black mug with white paw prints painted around the center. He leaves a second on your doorstep - this one decorated rim to base with blue jays.

You aren't from Gotham. That's clear enough, but it's cemented by the phone calls he overhears from your windowsill every Sunday morning, all reassurances to a faceless recipient that you're doing fine, that you have plenty of friends, that your stressful-but-rewarding corporate job is keeping you busy enough. You have younger siblings - a lot of younger siblings. He got to know them as he went through your phone, perched on the edge of your twin-sized mattress, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest in stolen glances. The most recent picture was taken more than two years ago, but he can't judge. He knows what it's like to be the trial run, the practice round, the disappointment. At least you have the self-awareness to keep your distance from the people you love, to make sure the only thing you can hurt is yourself. He's never been so strong.

And you do hurt yourself, don't you? He's seen the drawer of treasures you can't bring yourself to sell, the collection of unopened bills on your dining room table, the strung-together days you go without letting yourself so much as see another person. He knows why you want to be left alone, but even you can't go on like that, not forever. Everyone needs someone. No one can completely resist the urge to leave their mark on something else - anything else, even if they really ought to know better.

And you know that, too. You don't even scream when you wake up in Dick's bed, hands bound and body curled up against his chest. It could just be the lingering sedatives in your system, sure, but he'd like to think that you remember him, that you know you and him are two of a kind, birds of a feather. You ruin everything you touch, but maybe, you won't ruin him.

Maybe, just maybe, you won't ruin each other.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere dc #dc x reader #dc #dc imagines #yandere dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #yandere nightwing #nightwing x reader

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dreamsteddie · 6 months ago

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Steve and Eddie who kind of flop in life and end up poor, living in a trailer in a different small town living quiet lives of no import.

The kids, Robin, Nancy, and Johnathan all seem to take the small handful of opportunities offered to them by the government in the aftermath of the Upsidedown to take off and make something of their lives. They're off writing headlines, making news, and living their lives to the best of their abilities, but Steve and Eddie find themselves stuck.

Steve stayed in Hawkins until the kids graduated and left for college. By then Nancy, Johnathan, and Robin are all in their second or third years of college. John and Nancy have their own apartment in New York together and don't reach out all that often, only seeing the rest of the Hawkins crew on Holidays and some vacations. Robin is flourishing at an all-women's college in Maine and has a partner and a cat and plans for graduate school brewing. She's always saying Steve can come out and join her whenever he's ready, but when the time comes it feels like he would just be trying to insert himself in the middle of a life he doesn't know how to fit into, so he turns to Eddie instead.

Eddie is permanently disabled in a number of ways following the events of season four. He struggles with chronic pain, has breathing issues due to the loss of part of his right lung, and lost enough muscle mass in his left leg that walking will never be easy or done without the use of a walker or arm bar crutches. The doctors said he recovered as well as he could have. The kids said he would get better with time. Wayne said it didn't matter if he never got better, he could do anything he set his mind to.

Steve is the only person who tells him the truth.

Steve tells him that it sucks. Tells him that it will probably always hurt. Doesn't give him false hope when he's trying to grieve the loss of the life he wanted to live. The goals he wanted to reach. When he falls deeper and deeper into himself, stuck in the muck of depression, Steve is the only person he lets in. The kids try their best but their lives are moving fast, and taking care of someone like Eddie is exhausting, no matter what they try to say. Eventually, everyone but Dustin gives up on reaching out, the younger boy showing up every Sunday to try and get Eddie out of the house. He always leaves disappointed.

When Steve asks him if he wants to use what's left of their partly government payouts and Steve's equally meager Family Video savings to buy a truly shitty trailer in a town an hour and a half south of Hawkins in the fall of 1990, it feels like the first boon he's been given in almost five years. He'll never be who he could have been if he had ignored Chrissy that day in 86', but he's always thought maybe he could be more than a ghost between Wayne's walls if he could just get out of this god-forsaken town full of people who know too much and too little of what's happened to him.

They get the trailer, pack what little they have, let Wayne hug them close, and leave.

Steve has already transferred to their new town's Family Video, moving up to claim the dubious honor of being the opening manager. Mostly he just unlocks the door, signs into the computer, and makes sure nothing catches fire. Eddie hoped that moving would miraculously make him fit to enter back into the world, but he spends most of his days with a blanket on the front porch, watching people pass by. He does, though, finally accept that he needs to apply for disability to help Steve keep the lights on and the water hot. That last little bit of hope that he could be what he used to be dies, but he's learning to be content with what he does have. He starts taking a walk, just ten minutes around the loop of the trailer park saying hi and trading polite nods with his fellow residents. He's not ok, but he's starting to build a new community of people not too different from himself.

The new trailer only has one bedroom. Eddie sleeps on a fold-out mattress in the living room. It had been a major argument when they first moved in with Steve insisting that Eddie needed the bed. Eddie argued that it wasn't fair for him to take the room when Steve was the one working 40 hours a week to keep them afloat. In the end, Eddie was the more stubborn of the two. It helps that Eddie has absolutely no qualms about crawling into bed with Steve on the nights when the couch bed really won't cut it for his aching body. Steve never questions it, just shuffles over a little and lets the other man in.

Steve doesn't question a lot of stuff.

He doesn't question when all their effects are shared between them with no effort to distinguish between yours and mine, Eddie's and Steve's. He doesn't question it four months in when Eddie starts to get his feet under him and decides to take up cooking, always trying his best to have everything done just as Steve walks through the door. He doesn't question when a good chunk of Eddie's first disability check goes to buying Steve a sturdy, if not very fashionable, new watch for his birthday since his old one went bust almost a year ago.

He doesn't question it when Eddie holds his hand for the first time under the stars hanging above their front porch.

He doesn't question it when Eddie introduces him to one of his new neighbor friends with a hand resting comfortably on his lower back

He doesn't question it when Eddie starts sleeping in the bedroom every night.

Or makes him box mix cupcakes for Valentine's Day.

Or kisses him for the first time on the couch that's never a bed unless they want to spend the day binge-watching bargain bin films.

Because really, isn't this how it was always going to go? Wasn't this exactly what Steve was asking for when he asked Eddie to skip town with him?

Isn't this what Eddie was hoping for when he said yes?

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millermouth · 5 months ago

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Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

babes idk this has been plaguing me all damn day okay? angsty, grumpy, eventually fluffy Joel Miller. im all about the drama today I've been getting a lot of requests about Joel tending to reader on a patrol gone wrong / Jackson!Joel so here is a whole one shot dedicated to all of you ♥︎

When Joel Miller came back to Jackson after taking Ellie from that hospital, he was on edge. Always on edge. The bags under his eyes darkened by the day, deep-set proof of sleepless nights spent tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, jolting awake from nightmares that left him breathless and clawing at the past. So he worked. Took on more patrols, fixed fences, chopped wood—kept his hands busy, his mind busier. If he let up, even for a second, the memories crept in like rot in the walls. That way when his head hit the pillow at night, he was too exhausted for dreams.

Then spring came, and with it, something new. Something warm. Something bright.

You.

He didn’t know where the hell you came from at first. Just that Tommy had dragged you in, half-dead and shaking, after your group got torn apart by Infected out near the old hunting cabins. He heard about it once Tommy could stomach telling the story—another tragedy, more unknown lives lost—but you? You survived.

And now he hardly recognized you as that scared, bloody thing they found in the snow. You were—Jesus—you were everywhere. Helping in the garden, stacking supplies, chattering with the old folks who baked you fresh bread or cookies because they liked how sweet you were. It was annoying. Distracting. You were too...bright. Too alive. Too much of a reminder of something he shouldn’t want. He didn’t even want to know your name, but it found him anyway.

“She wants to start helping on patrols,” Tommy said casually, slicing into his steak one Sunday night over dinner. Maria nodded, considering.

“We could always put her with—”

No. It was all Joel could think. Not you, not out there in the wilderness again. There was so much shit out there, you’d faced enough. Couldn't you just stay here, safe?

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “No?” he echoed, a little amused, a little suspicious.

Joel clenched his jaw, shoving another bite of food in his mouth, chewing slow to buy himself time as he realized he must’ve said it out loud. His throat went dry as he forced himself to swallow.

Joel forced a grunt, waved a hand vaguely. “Just think she’s too young to be goin’ out there. Didn’t she just get here?”

“She’s older than Ellie,” Tommy pointed out, spearing a potato on his fork. “And Ellie’s out there right now, you know that.”

Joel’s fingers curled tight around his knife. Yeah, he knew. Ellie was out on her first real two-day patrol, and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours half-sick over it. His eyes flickered to her empty seat, and he sent up a silent prayer that she was still safe.

“Well,” Tommy continued, oblivious, “I’m plannin’ on buddyin’ her up with one of my best guys. Jesse can take her. Shouldn’t be an issue. He’s quick on his feet, got a good eye.”

Jesse. Joel barely held back a sneer. The kid was fine, sure. But Jesse wasn’t the issue.

You were.

Joel sipped his shitty, lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug, scowling at how diluted it was as it settled on his tongue. He missed real coffee. Hated that he had to drink this watered-down bullshit. The only thing worse was the sharp knock at his door.

His jaw clenched.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the mug, already annoyed, and stomped over. If this was Tommy with more goddamn chores or Maria with another lecture about community responsibility, he was gonna—

Joel yanked the door open, glare already in place. But then he saw you, and his stomach dropped.

You stood there, a little breathless, strands of hair falling loose around your face despite how you’d tied it back. Morning sun caught on your skin, the warm glow of sweat making you look… Fuck. His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"Oh–Hi," you said, a little uncertain, shifting on your feet.

Joel just stared.

He hadn’t spoken to you. Not once. Hadn’t let himself. You were too damn…well, whatever you were, whatever part of him that couldn’t quite place what you did to him…he wanted no part of it. But now you were standing at his door, looking at him with those bright, wide eyes, and he felt like a teenage boy again.

His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He had no clue what the hell to even say.

Your blush deepened under his stare. "Um," you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Ellie told me to come grab her before I left for patrol. First time and all." A nervous laugh puffed out of you, light and breathy. "She said she keeps a map of the area—marked with all the bad spots. Ya know."

Joel blinked. His brain finally caught up.

Patrol.

Your patrol.

His jaw ticked. So Tommy still had you paired with Jessie then?

"Ellie," Joel called behind him, finally tearing his gaze from you.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs before Ellie appeared, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eye with the heel of her hand.

"Hey!" she called when she met your gaze, brightening.

Joel grumbled something low and incoherent, something that excused him as he turned on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen. He didn’t dare look at you again. But he felt your eyes on him. Questioning. Curious.

He hated it.

You were in his house.

Moving around upstairs. Talking to Ellie. When the hell had you two become friends? Your voice filtered down, mixing with the soft creak of the floorboards, and Joel stood in the kitchen, fuming.

He shouldn’t care.

Shouldn’t give a shit about where Tommy had you stationed, who you were paired with, how ready you were or weren’t for the outside. It wasn’t his goddamn business. But the thought of you out there—stumbling into an ambush, stepping too loud in a place you shouldn’t, a clicker lurking just out of sight, waiting for one wrong move—made his chest tighten in a way he really didn’t like.

He braced a hand on the counter, fingers drumming against the wood.

A few minutes later, your footsteps padded back down as Joel was heading out the door for his own chores. He didn’t turn, didn’t move as you crossed through the house. Just as you made your way past him, your flowery scent, so feminine and light and soft—

"Bye, Joel."

Your voice was light. Casual. Like it was nothing. Like saying his name didn’t do anything.

But it did.

His body went rigid, like something had yanked him back into himself, back into that dark and tangled place in his head where things got real complicated real quick. His name in your mouth, soft and easy, made his skin prickle, made something heavy settle deep in his chest. It stuck to him like a damn burr, taking place and nestling tight in his mind. His name on your lips was like a song, something like a siren’s call made specifically for him. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

He was so fucked.

Joel spent the day trying not to think about you.

And managed to do a shit job of it.

His hands worked—fixing a busted stable door, making sure the latch held, leading the horses out into the pasture on the warmest day so far—but his mind stayed locked on one thing. Had you made it to the outpost? Was the trip quiet? Had Jesse kept you close? Had he been watching your back?

It was pissing him off, all this worrying about someone he barely even knew.

Joel huffed, trying to shake the gnawing in his chest. He just needed to get through the work. Keep his head down, get home, and sleep it off.

Then he saw Jesse.

The kid was near the stables, talking to Dina, grinning like he didn’t have a single worry in the goddamn world. Joel’s brow furrowed. His steps slowed as he stared, confusion creeping in. Jesse was back? Already? That didn’t make sense. It had only been half a day. Patrols didn’t wrap this early, not unless something had happened.

For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was grateful that the hours had passed without sight of you. Maybe that meant his mind was finally loosening the barb you’d stuck in him. Maybe, after today, he wouldn’t waste any more time thinking about you.

But that was a damn lie.

Because hadn’t he thought of you every single hour since you left his house this morning? Hadn’t his eyes kept tracking the road, half-expecting you to appear? Hadn’t he been waiting—hoping—for some confirmation that you were fine, that patrol had been canceled, that you had never even needed to go in the first place?

Something was wrong. He felt it.

His jaw clenched. “Jesse.”

The kid turned, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey, Mr. Miller. What’s up?”

Joel frowned, eyes narrowing. “You’re already back?”

Jesse tilted his head, looking confused. “Uh… yeah?”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, patience wearing thin. His fingers twitched at his side, a slow, creeping sense of unease taking root in his chest. “Patrols don’t usually wrap this early.”

Jesse blinked, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, right—yeah, I didn’t go. Switched last minute, said it was some schedule mix-up.”

Joel barely heard the rest of the explanation.

I didn’t go.

The words hammered around his skull, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t been with Jesse.

You’d been out there—out in those woods—this whole time without one of the few people in this place who could actually handle themselves.

His fingers twitched at his side, curling and uncurling. His breathing stayed slow, even, controlled—but that was only because every part of him was focusing on not snapping. “Who’d you switch with?” His voice came out too sharp, too flat, but he didn’t care.

Jesse shrugged, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Joel’s eyes. “Uh… can’t remember his name. New guy. Kinda scrawny, blond—”

Joel didn’t need to hear any more.

He knew exactly who Jesse was talking about.

Fucking Caleb.

Barely twenty. Couldn’t shoot for shit. Slow on his feet. Jumpy. The kind of kid who hesitated. And Joel had seen firsthand what hesitation got people. It got them killed.

His vision went red. You. Out there. With some stupid kid.

His pulse was a dull, thudding roar in his ears. He should’ve put his foot down with Tommy. Should’ve stopped you from leaving his house this morning. You might've thought he was insane, maybe even hated him for it. But he had known it was a bad idea. He felt it in his gut. And now you were out in the goddamn wilderness with someone who barely knew his left from his right, and there wasn’t a damn thing Joel could do about it.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. His hands curled into fists.

Dina and Jesse went back to talking, still existing like everything was fine, like nothing had shifted, like nothing had gone wrong.

But Joel was already moving.

He needed his gun, he needed a horse.

And he needed to get to you—now.

Joel stormed toward the gates, his blood hot in his veins, fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached. The second he spotted Tommy, standing near the watch post, chatting with one of the patrol leads, he nearly exploded.

"What the hell were you thinkin’?" Joel’s voice came sharp, cutting through the quiet.

Tommy turned, brow furrowing. "What?"

"You sent that girl out with Caleb for her first patrol?" Joel seethed, stepping closer, his frame tense, his breath coming out hard and fast. "Are you kidding me? You said she was goin’ with Jesse, and I just saw him at the barn."

Tommy’s face darkened. "I didn’t do that."

Joel let out a harsh, humorless laugh, his hands going to his hips like he was physically holding himself back from breaking something, “That so? So why is Jesse tellin’ me you did?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "No, Joel, I wouldn’t send two damn novices out together. They must’ve switched last minute and didn’t tell anybody."

Joel’s jaw locked. That answer didn’t make him feel any better.

"Christ," Tommy muttered, shaking his head. "Look, we’ll deal with it when they get back—"

"Deal with it?" Joel barked. "If they get back, Tommy. That dumbass kid don’t know his left from his right. He hesitates, he panics—she’s out there alone."

Tommy held up a hand, voice leveling. "Joel. Just wait. We don’t even—"

"RIDERLESS HORSE COMING IN!"

The shout came from above.

Both brothers whipped their heads toward the gate as someone from the watchtower pointed out toward the open plains.

Joel’s stomach plummeted. Every muscle in his body went tight as the gallop of hooves thundered against the dirt, stirrups flapping madly at its sides, the dark blur of a horse sprinting toward the gates.

"Shit," Tommy muttered, already waving for them to get it open. "Whose is it?"

The guard peered over the ledge, adjusting his scope. "Looks like… it’s Eclipse. Who took him out today?"

The world dropped out from under Joel’s feet. The barn door he was working on, it was that horse. He saw your name on the check out clipboard by his stall. No, no no. This was all some sick nightmare he was in.

Tommy’s eyes went wide as he looked at Joel, all the color draining from his face.

The sound of his own breath—too loud, too ragged—roared in his ears. That was your horse. Your only goddamn way back. And now it was here. Without you.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. His feet were already moving, shoving past Tommy, heading straight for the stables.

"Joel—"

He ignored Tommy, grabbing his saddle, moving with a purpose that wouldn’t be stopped. Strapped on his rifle as he checked it out at the booth, barely sparing a glance at the patrol guard logging the weapons. His hands worked fast, quicker than they had in a long time, muscle memory kicking in as he moved on autopilot.

He made his way straight to his usual horse, Diablo, getting him tacked up in record speed. The gelding shifted under his hands, picking up on the tight, coiled tension radiating off of him. Joel didn’t ease him. Didn’t whisper the usual steadying words, consumed only with thoughts of where you could be.

"Joel, dammit—think about this," Tommy’s voice rang out behind him, stepping up into the stall, frustration biting at the edges of his words. "You can’t just go out there alone. We’ll send a group—"

"Don’t have time," Joel muttered, cinching the saddle tight.

"You don’t even know what happened—"

"Exactly."

Joel’s voice came sharp, bitter, final. He turned, finally looking at Tommy, and his brother must’ve seen something in his face—something dark, something unmoving—because whatever argument he was about to make died on his tongue.

Joel led the horse out of the stables quickly, boots heavy against the dirt. Diablo tossed his head, nostrils flaring, sensing the shift in him. Once they were outside, Joel hoisted himself into the saddle in one swift motion, gathering the reins, already angling the horse toward the gates.

"Joel, for fuck’s sake—"

"Open the gate."

His voice was low, commanding.

The men guarding the post hesitated, glancing at each other, then at Tommy.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Joel’s jaw ticked, grip tightening. "Open the damn gate!" he snapped, his voice a sharp crack of thunder, booming across the yard. Diablo snorted beneath him, ears pinning back as his hooves shifted nervously in the dirt.

Still, no one made a move. Joel’s patience snapped.

He swung his glare back to Tommy, voice low, dangerous. "You can stay here and play it safe, but I’m going."

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath. But he gave a quick nod to the men at the gate.

The locks disengaged. The doors groaned.

Joel didn’t wait.

The second the opening was wide enough, he kicked his heels in, sending Diablo into a hard gallop, tearing out into the open.

He didn’t care what Tommy had to say.

Didn’t care that he was riding into the unknown, alone.

Didn’t care that this wasn’t his fight.

He didn’t care that he hardly knew you.

Because he did know you, after all.

You were light and soft and gentle in a world that hardened even the best of souls. You smiled at people when they spoke to you, laughed easily, touched others when you talked—little brushes of your fingers over an arm, a squeeze to a shoulder, things Joel wasn’t used to seeing anymore. You had no reason to be kind, no reason to be so goddamn good, and yet, you were.

And now the world had you.

It didn’t matter that he’d never spoken to you, that he had tried so damn hard to keep his distance. He had stayed away, convinced himself it was better that way, easier. But that hadn’t stopped you from getting into his head, hadn’t stopped you from settling into the places he didn’t have room for you, hadn’t stopped his chest from tightening all goddamn day wondering if you were still breathing.

Because he knew what was out there.

He knew what waited in the trees, in the shadows, in the abandoned places people never came back from. He knew how quickly a routine patrol could turn into a massacre, how easy it was to be there one second and gone the next. He knew how fast infected could pop up from the dark, how quickly a gun barrel could press against a skull, how little it took for someone like you to disappear forever.

And if that happened—if he found you out there, lifeless and cold—Joel didn’t know what the hell he’d do.

Joel spotted the outpost cabin up ahead, barely visible through the dense green of the trees, its frame old and weather-worn. A lone horse stood tied outside, shifting restlessly. As he rode closer, his eyes flicked to the J brand on its croup. Caleb’s.

His stomach twisted.

He swung off Diablo without thinking, barely registering his own movements as he tied the reins to the nearest branch. His heart was hammering, his breath coming hard and fast, sweat slicking the back of his neck as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His heart launched into his throat when he first saw you. You were slightly slumped against the wall, your fingers curled tenderly around your leg, face pale.

Joel could barely breathe. His body moved quickly, crossing the space in seconds. You were alive, you were alive. Everything was fine.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but then something in your face softened—relief, gratitude. "Joel?"

His throat was dry. "What happened?" His voice came rough, low, sharp with something too close to panic.

Your lips parted like you weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. This was the first time he had ever spoken to you—really spoken to you—but right now, none of that mattered.

You exhaled shakily. "Eclipse spooked at something. Threw me off. I-I landed wrong." You grimaced, shifting slightly as you gripped your leg. "I think it’s broken.”

Joel’s chest went tight. Broke your leg. Out here. With no way back.

The scenario was too damn close to something worse, and he hated how easily his brain filled in the gaps. If you hadn’t made it to the outpost…if you’d landed just a little worse. Where the hell was your supposed patrol partner and why wasn’t he taking you back to Jackson?

"How long you been here?" His voice was clipped, his hands already moving, pushing back the fabric of your pants to see the damage.

"Couple hours," you murmured, watching him. "We managed to get here, checked the logbook like we were told to. I didn’t know what else to do."

Joel’s jaw flexed. You were trying to be strong. He could see it in the way you held yourself, in the way you downplayed the situation, like you weren’t sitting here with a broken goddamn leg and no real protection.

Before he could say anything else, footsteps sounded at the doorway.

Caleb.

Joel looked up, and something in him snapped.

The kid had the nerve to look relieved. "Oh—Joel, you found us."

Joel was already on his feet, moving. He shoved the kid—hard.

Caleb stumbled back, barely catching himself against the doorframe. "H-hey—!"

"The hell were you doin' leaving her here?," Joel seethed, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous. "You left her here hurt and alone while you what? Sat on your ass?"

Caleb swallowed hard, eyes flickering between him and you. "I didn’t—I didn’t leave, I was out checking the perimeter—"

"Checking the perimeter?" Joel’s breath came sharp, bitter. "She’s got a broken goddamn leg. What the hell were you gonna do if something came through that door? If infected caught her like this? Why didn’t you turn back and take her home?!”

Caleb’s face flushed, his mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but Joel was already done listening.

"Get back to Jackson." He shoved the kid toward the door again, barely resisting the urge to do worse. "Tell ‘em she’s alive. Tell ‘em we’ll be back once I've patched her up.” Joel leaned in, voice dropping into something dangerous. "I’ll deal with you later."

Caleb hesitated, like he wanted to say something, but one more look at Joel’s face must’ve changed his mind.

He left, the door shutting behind him, and only silence followed.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, still standing there, still furious, still running too hot, his hands clenched into fists.

“You didn’t need to be so hard on him,” you said softly from where you sat.

Joel’s scowl was back in full force as he turned toward you. "And you—" His voice came sharp, and that was when it hit him.

He was here. With you. Alone. And he was speaking to you for the first time. He had been so panicked when he walked in he barely noticed. The words he was ready to lash at you to you weren’t kind, weren’t measured. They were biting. They came with anger and frustration and fear and all the shit he hadn’t let himself process on the ride over.

He scrubbed a rough hand down his face, trying to reel himself in. "What the hell were you thinkin’? Switching out Jesse from your crew? Ain’t this your first patrol?"

Your mouth parted slightly, caught off guard. "I didn’t—" you hesitated. "I didn’t think it was a big deal. Jesse misses Dina, they wanted to spend more time—"

"Jesus, girl," Joel muttered, shaking his head. "That shit don’t matter! He was supposed to watch you because this is your first time out here. You needed someone in charge. Someone who knows the way."

You scrunched your nose, a flicker of irritation sparking across your face. "We were doin’ just fine."

Joel let out a dry, humorless scoff. "Yeah, looks fine to me."

And then—he stopped himself.

The words sat between you both, heavy, cutting.

This wasn’t how this should go.

He didn’t want this to go like this. Didn’t want the first real conversation between you to be this snappy, this barbed. You’d just made him so goddamn angry with your irresponsibility, had scared him too damn bad, and now he was running his mouth like some short-tempered asshole.

He needed to breathe. He needed to calm down.

Joel took a slow breath, scratching his beard before crouching back down in front of you. His fingers were still twitching, his body still wired too tight, but he forced himself to focus.

"Let me see again," he muttered, voice still gruff, but quieter now.

Your eyes flickered over his face, searching, but you didn’t argue. You shifted slightly, biting down a wince as you let him push the fabric of your pants up further to assess the break.

Joel’s jaw ticked. It was swelling badly already, bruising and tender to the touch, but at least it was something that could be fixed. That he could fix.

"Don’t look too bad," he murmured, rolling his shoulders to shake off some of the tension.

"Really?" you huffed, shaking your head. "Cause it sure hurts."

Joel reached for his pack, pulling out what little medical supplies he had before scanning the cabin. "Just need to make a splint," he muttered.

His hands moved carefully, barely grazing you, barely touching you any more than he needed to. He worked in silence at first, securing the wood, wrapping the bandage around your leg in tight, practiced motions. You kept still, your breath catching here and there when he adjusted the angle, but otherwise, you didn’t complain.

And maybe that should have been his first sign.

Joel wasn’t sure when he noticed it—the way you were watching him, the way your fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of your pants, like you were bracing yourself for something more than just the pain in your leg.

He should have ignored it. Should have finished his work and moved on.

But something about the way you stayed quiet, your lips pressed together like you were holding something back, made him pause.

"You’re quiet," he murmured, tying the last knot in place.

You blinked. "What?"

Joel smirked, just slightly. "Was expectin’ more complainin’. But you’re sittin’ awful still."

You swallowed, your eyes flicking away for just a second before you forced a small, breathless laugh. "Just tryin’ to be a good patient, I guess."

He could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. And for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing.

"That so?" His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, grazing against the bandage before he pulled back. "You ain’t the nervous type, are ya?"

You let out a soft scoff, but your voice was quieter now. "No."

But you hesitated, and Joel noticed. He wasn’t supposed to like that. Wasn’t supposed to let it sit in his chest the way it did. But you did things to him, even from the very moment you’d arrived. You’d gotten under his skin in ways he hadn’t been prepared for, and even now, as he knelt beside you, his fingers still lingering over the bandage, he wondered—

He thought he’d been the one avoiding you at all costs. He thought he’d been keeping clear of the girl who was too bright and bushy-tailed, someone who was so different from him, so good. He thought he’d done a damn good job of steering clear, of making sure he was just another face in Jackson to you.

But now, looking at you—your cheeks tinged pink, your breath just a little uneven, your hands clenching and unclenching like you didn’t know what to do with them—his mind pulled back to the little things. The way you would duck out of his way every time too. The way, if he ever caught your eye across a room, your cheeks would flush, your fingers would twitch, and you’d excuse yourself just as quickly as he had.

And when you had come to his house to find Ellie… You had been flustered then, just as uncertain as him, though he had been too wrapped up in his own damn head to see it. He’d been too focused on why the hell you were standing there in his doorway, too busy trying to tamp down the immediate, sharp pull in his chest that had threatened to unravel him the second he saw you in the morning light. He had been so sure he was the only one feeling it, so convinced he was the only one being rattled by your presence.

But he remembered the way you had blushed under his stare, shifting on your feet, your voice softer than usual, your breath catching just slightly when he didn’t say anything right away.

Jesus. Had you felt it too?

Had you been trying to stay away from him just as much as he had been trying to stay away from you?

Had it been there this whole time?

And if it had…

Then Joel didn’t stand a goddamn chance.

Something slow and warm uncurled in his chest, something dangerous that he swore he’d lost for forever. His fingers brushed against your knee as he adjusted the wrap, just the lightest graze, but it was enough to make you shift, to make you pull in a breath.

His throat very dry suddenly as he spoke, "Somethin’ wrong?" His voice was low, quiet.

You blinked, shaking your head too quickly. "No."

But you hesitated. Joel smirked. "No?"

You exhaled sharply, dropping your gaze. "Joel—"

His name in your mouth did something to him. Something deep and warm and dangerous.

"Hm?" he hummed in question, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges.

You hesitated, shifting slightly under his touch again, your fingers tightening against the fabric of your pants before you finally looked up at him again. There was something in your eyes—uncertainty, hesitation, something else—and for a second, he almost thought you wouldn’t say it.

Then, softly, you whispered, "Why’d you come all the way out here?"

His chest went tight, his breath uneven. There were a hundred ways he could answer, a hundred ways he could try to explain what had driven him out here, why he had stormed out of Jackson without a second thought, why he had spent every damn second of the day thinking about whether you were still alive.

His fingers found yours, brushing over your knuckles before he took them, his touch hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he had any business holding you like this. His grip was steady, warm, his thumb grazing over your skin in slow, careful circles—maybe to soothe you, maybe to soothe himself.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to just say it.

"I had to," he murmured.

And then, before he could stop himself, before he could think about how much of a fool he was making of himself if you pulled away, how out of his depth he was, he kissed your hand.

Your fingers were so soft, so small in his wide grip, his calloused palm swallowing yours as his lips pressed into your knuckles. His eyes stayed on you all the while, drinking in every shift, every reaction—how your pupils blew wide, how the flush crept hot across your cheeks, how your tongue darted out to wet your lips like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t let go, didn’t do a damn thing but hold you there, feel you there, his lips pressed against you like he had any right to be touching you like this.

Slowly and carefully, as if you didn’t want to startle him, you lifted your free hand. Your fingers brushed tentatively along his jaw, skimming through the rough patch of stubble on his cheek, tracing over the lines life had carved into him. You were watching him now, your eyes flickering down, settling on his lips.

Joel only released your knuckles from his lips when he felt your hand pulling him closer to you, and he let you.

For once, after so many years of feeling like he needed to always be thinking of the next move, to be in control at every turn, his mind went quiet.

It was never quiet.

Not since the world had ended. Not since he’d lost everything. His thoughts had become a constant, grinding machine—always assessing, always calculating, always searching for the next threat, the next weak spot, the next thing that could go wrong. He had learned, too many times over, that the second you let your guard down, you paid for it in blood.

So he never let himself stop.

But now, you were touching him. So soft, so gentle, so careful. Your fingers running over his jaw like he was something worth handling carefully. Like you weren’t afraid of him.

And for the first time in years, that instinct—the one that told him to always be ready, to be hard, detached, sharp—just… stopped.

His mind went quiet.

And then your mouth found his.

The kiss was tentative at first, cautious, like neither of you wanted to be the one to break it, to admit this was happening. But then your fingers curled into the nape of his neck, your breath warm against his, and Joel—god help him—tipped his head and deepened it.

His hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, holding you there, steadying you like he needed to, like he had to.

And for the first time in a long, long time,

Joel let himself have something good.

#im really in my feels about this one guys #Joel miller #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller fanfic #Joel miller fluff #Joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #joel tlou #tlou #Jackson!joel

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cherrybr4t · 10 months ago

Text

DILF!SEUNGCHEOL (+18, mdni)

A/N: to the anon that requested for some dilf cheol, i love u i am u. i think about dilf cheol probably 20 times a day. wanted to write a hc but got carried away…as u can see… 2k words 💨💨💋

WARNINGS: smut, DILF CHEOLL, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), dom!cheol, sub!reader, f reader, it’s pretty mild…i think…

dilf!cheol whom you met while bringing your niece to her weekly soccer practice. you often helped to babysit her, and you loved seeing her in action — playing passionately every sundays, calling out to her aunt on the field with her adorable pigtails

dilf!cheol first noticed you on one fateful saturday practice at the stands, shades at the top of your head, pretty face with your ponytail dangling behind you

dilf!cheol comes up to you; telling you that you look younger than all the other parents here. you explain that you’re here for your niece, while he mentions his own daughter on the soccer field

dilf!cheol wastes no time, and asks you out on a date the second time yall meet during practice, as if you could say no to the most handsome man you’ve ever met in your 22 years of living…

dilf!cheol decided that a gem like you deserved the finest things in life — bringing you to his favourite restaurant, a private room he booked out specially for you, the best wine on the menu, with the most spectacular view (especially the man in front of you clad in a sleek button up, hair flawless as he combs it back every few minutes)

dilf!cheol who has his own successful company running, always mentions how his daughter is the light of his life, the one thing that kept him going after his ex-girlfriend up-ed and left after leaving pretty little sua on his doorstep. all he wants is to provide the best for his lil munchkin

dilf!cheol being a gentleman, drives you home and you invite him up for some tea, not wanting to end the night there. he agrees, though it probably wasn’t the best decision; considering how he told himself not to fuck you yet — not after a few more dates (he strongly believes he does not have the sex drive of a 20 year old) aaand he really did not trust himself to be in a room alone with you

dilf!cheol was right — feeling all his self-restraining effort go down the drain as he looks at you, sitting so damn near him on the couch, you might as well be on his lap.

you weren’t playing though. you wanted him, and you needed him immediately. your hands dancing dangerously on his thighs, leaning in closer to him whenever he made a witty comment.

fuck the water that was done boiling. you weren’t going to leave this couch to go make some tea, all you could think about was how cheol looked like he was about to lose it too.

he leans in. you lean in. “cheol…” the way you uttered his name in such a soft and slightly raspy manner made his breath hitch. he definitely caught on to the slight cry and need for him to make the move

that was all he needed, before he crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you so fucking deep, you could feel every crevice of his pretty cherry lips, drenched with the need to meet yours. his tongue — oh god his tongue, dancing with yours half way through the kiss, as if teasing you, showing you what that pink muscle of his was capable of.

dilf!cheol loved making demands. first, you were to strip out of your red dress slowly, standing in front of the couch where he sat, manspreading with his elbows propped up on the sofa. he stares, hungrily, eyes watching every movement you made to remove that article of clothing that was driving him crazy all night.

after which he demanded you to sit on his lap like a good girl — making sure you knew that he loves rewarding good girls. the dark spot on your lace panties made him chuckle. “you wanted this that bad princess? had to ask me if i wanted a cup of tea, when this was your true intention all along…” he traces his finger along your thigh as you settle down on his lap.

you let out a whine — embarrassed, but it was true. “why princess? admit it, you wanted me so bad you were willing to do anything to get us in this situation,” his fingers continued tracing to the back of your bra, unhooking it with one hand, letting the lace material fall to the ground.

“yes cheol, i wanted you so fucking bad i- , you looked so good, during dinner a-all i could think about was you fucking me right,” you moaned out, gripping on his hard shoulders, nails clutching on the fabric of his button up.

he let out a groan, “you thought about that during dinner? my dirty girl, so filthy — all for me, i made you like this didn’t I,” his hands travel to your tits, thumbs brushing on your hard nipples, before pinching both buds and pulling on them, eliciting a load shriek and moan from you.

“yes cheol, you did.. n-need you..” he latched his hot lips on your nipple, showing you once again the power of his pink muscle, licking and sucking like it was his favourite candy. it felt so fucking good you couldn’t help but cry out, grinding down on his crotch. feeling like any more attention towards your sensitive tits could make you cum sooner than expected.

“fuck princess you’re fucking soaking, i can already imagine how good that warm cunt will feel around my fingers, around my tongue..”

“and your cock cheol, need you to be inside me,”

“patience, i told you good girls get rewarded,” as if he himself could wait any longer.

he carries you to your room, laying you on your soft sheets. with no buffer time, you feel a pair of lips at your center, licking through the soaked material.

“o-oh my god, cheol,” he rips the material off you, leaving you exposed right in front of him, and he swears he’s never felt this hungry for pussy before. he licks, he inserts that tongue of his down your warm cunt, pushing the walls open, slurping every single drop of you he can. wrapping his thick lips around that sensitive nub of yours, sucking it hard enough that you cry out, arching your back as you laced your fingers through those locks of his, pushing him closer.

“so good.. so good cheol…more more..,” you were a broken record, all you could think about was chasing your high, and the man in front of you was more than happy to make that happen.

“yeah, princess? so good for me, so fucking delicious you deserve to be eaten out every day every fucking hour, goddd,” wanting to look at your pretty face as he makes you come, he rubs your sensitive engorged clit roughly in tight fast circles, while inserting two fingers without warning.

you screamed out, unable to control the unhinged moans slipping out of your lips. you felt otherwordly, as if you were ascending into a new realm with immense pleasure. “fuck, cheol oh my god oh my god,” your moans going higher in pitch when he curled his fingers, touching that textured gummy pad deep inside you, hitting it non stop.

“wanna cum princess? i know you want to, feels so fucking good doesn’t it? i know princess i know,” he spoke in an overly sweet tone, and it just made you clench around him even more. your knuckles turning white at how hard you were gripping those poor sheets.

“i wanna cum cheol, can i cum now? please please please,” your sweat blends with a drop of tear sliding down the side of your face, feeling your high literal seconds away.

cheol’s cock hurts, straining so bad against those dress pants of his. he needs to be inside you now, but he wants you to — no, needs you to come before that. “fuck, you can cum princess, let go for me,”

and you let go, spasming around his fingers, with the loudest cry of the night yet, body jerking up from the immense sensation of flood gates opening.

“yeah that’s right, princess, so good for me, so pretty when you cum, feels so good doesn’t it,” cheol swears he could cum in his pants at the sight of you coming undone, wrecked on his fingers. and he thinks to himself — it’s a sight he wants the privilege to have, every night, for the rest of his life possibly.

you came down from your high panting, looking up to see cheol in his boxers already, pulling them down, only to reveal the prettiest, girthiest cock you’ve ever seen, and all you want is for him to be in you, for him to make you his.

“i-i’m on the pill, you can go for it cheol,” you muttered out with whatever strength you had left in that moment, all you can think about was being pumped full of cheol’s cum. his heart thumps at your words. he lets out a groan, stroking his member as he gets back on top of you, and you admire how his muscle — his biceps and shoulders goes taut, god, he looked so fucking strong, you were about to cum the second time looking at him.

“ready princess? swear m’gonna fuck you til you’re full of my cum,” and he slowly inserts his full length inside of you, and you moan at the stretch his thick cock gives you.

“hnnng, so thick cheol, so big,” you moaned, nails gripping on his shoulders and he grabs both of your wrists, slamming it right above you on the pillow, holding you right there. you whined, while he spotted a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“look at you princess, so fucked out when i’ve just barely started, is my cock that good baby? hmm? you like it that much?” one hand pinning your wrists down, the other adjusting your leg above his shoulder. the angle making you feel him in places you didn’t know you could.

“this is what you wanted, right princess? fuuuck look at you, so fucking pretty all under me,” he falters; wanting to degrade and embarrass you to utter filth, but looking at you being so good under him, he can’t help but praise you, telling you how good you’re being for him.

your heart swells, pussy gripping onto him even tighter if that was even possible, “cheol…i wanna cum again, wanna cum around you,” you whine out, eliciting a deep growl from the man above you.

“i swear princess, you drive me fucking crazy,” he snaps his hips into you in an insane pace, feeling so lost in the feeling of you and your warm slippery cunt hugging his cock so good he thinks he went to heaven and back for a moment.

as he feels his release approaching, he’s in disbelief at how fast it comes, but he can’t hold it in any longer. “cum with me princess, fuck, can’t take it anymore, need to fill you up nice and full with my cum.” his moans get louder and you love how needy he sounds; not holding back, moaning your name with a crack in his voice.

with no warning, your orgasm crashes over you, arching your back, crying out cheol’s name as you spasm around him. “fuuuck baby i’m coming,” with slower thrusts, cheol leans down to give you a passionate kiss as he releases his hot load into you, it spills and shoots, so much fucking cum that it leaks out immediately and you moan at the feeling, at complete bliss being so full of his cum.

dilf!cheol giving you the best aftercare ever, you’re his and only his now, his princess and now he self declares that he’s going to take care of you like no other man could, or will!

dilf!cheol has a stamina of a teenager, going for multiple rounds throughout the night, leaving marks all over you, needing so bad to claim you as his.

yup…trust that i’m not done w dilf cheol and i’ll be back with MOREEE ✍️💋 anws i hope yall like it <33 if you did, like/comment/rb to lmk what u think abt it 😍 thanks for reading lovelies,, xoxo 😘💨💋

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ari-ana-bel-la · 12 days ago

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Hi, I love your writing, anyway I have a request: could you maybe write something like reader (teen daughter) is the passenger princess and like even though she has a drivers license and want to practise, maybe she drove once carefully but the turns at the max. speed of the speed limit were like race worthy (or not) he won’t let her drive or give up her seat as passenger princess, or just being overly overprotective, of course only if your comfortable and want to write this. I would like Max Verstappen/Charles Leclere/Oscar Piastri (but it’s your choice Ofc, write with whom your comfortable or want). No pressure to write it it’s just a thought.

Thanks xoxo

-🦋

Passenger Princess

It started with one drive. Just one.

The moment Yn got her driver's license, she thought it was her ticket to a new kind of freedom. She’d imagined herself behind the wheel, windows down, hair whipping in the wind like she was in a movie, her dad in the passenger seat for once. She hadn’t counted on the fact that her dad, Max, wasn’t just any dad. He was a Formula 1 driver. And that came with... complications.

"Dad, I'm sixteen. I have my license. Let me drive. Please?" Yn pouted from the doorway as Max jingled his car keys.

He didn’t even look up. "You also once took a roundabout at full throttle and made that poor French bulldog on the sidewalk almost faint."

Yn gasped, half offended, half laughing. "That was one time! And the dog was dramatic. He was wearing a sweater."

Max finally looked up, smile tugging at his lips. He walked over and gently took her backpack off her shoulder, swinging it over his own.

"You’ve driven once. Once. And you went full Monza into a residential left turn."

"It was slightly over the speed limit. I slowed down after."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Slightly? You took it like it was a qualifying lap."

She crossed her arms, defiant. "I was being careful. You didn’t even say anything during the drive."

"Because I was trying not to traumatize you with my fear," he said simply. "Now come on, princess. I have the blanket waiting for you."

And just like that, her resolve began to crack.

Max always had a blanket waiting in the passenger seat. A soft, ridiculously fluffy one she’d once jokingly said made her feel like royalty. Ever since, Max never let it leave the car. Passenger Princess treatment was serious business.

“I also got your Starbucks order,” he added, shaking the iced drink gently in front of her like a shiny toy. “With extra caramel. The way you like it. And a cheese danish.”

Yn blinked. “You’re bribing me.”

“I’m protecting you,” he replied smoothly. “Big difference.”

She gave him a look.

“Okay, and I’m bribing you. But lovingly.”

With a grumble, she let herself be ushered toward the car.

---

Once they were on the road, Max glanced over at her. She was curled into the seat, wrapped in the blanket, sipping her Starbucks, tapping away at her phone as she DJ’d the ride.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“About how you gaslighted me out of driving with a danish?”

“I prefer to call it strategic redirection,” he replied innocently.

She snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

---

A week later, she tried again.

“Dad, please. It’s a Sunday. No one’s on the road. I need practice or I’ll forget how to parallel park."

He looked at her, then at the keys in his hand.

“Did you even parallel park during the test?”

She hesitated. “Well… no. The instructor didn’t make me. But I YouTubed it after!”

Max chuckled. “That’s not reassuring.”

“Come on,” she pleaded. “Just from here to the café.”

He walked toward the car slowly, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. You know what?”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

He swung open the passenger side door, pulled out the blanket and fluffed it dramatically.

“Not a chance.”

Yn groaned loudly, stomping toward the car. “You can’t do this forever!”

“I can try,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat and passing her the aux cable. “Wanna play the playlist you made yesterday? The sad girl autumn one?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re manipulating me again.”

“I call it… excellent parenting.”

---

The more she protested, the more elaborate Max became. The blanket evolved. One day it was heated. Another time, she got in and found a whole mini pillow setup, her favorite candy in the cupholder, and a note that said "Passenger Princess Boarding Pass: One-way trip to VVIP Comfort."

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” she said, holding up the card.

Max winked. “Only the best for my favorite girl.”

“I should be driving. You know that.”

He nodded. “I do. And when you stop taking corners like you're chasing pole, we’ll revisit it.”

“But—”

“Danish?” he offered.

She grabbed it, muttering. “This is emotional sabotage.”

“Yep.”

---

Eventually, she stopped arguing every time. Not because she gave up, but because she started to love it too.

Late-night drives when she was tired and didn’t want to think. Music blasting. Her feet on the dash (only when they weren’t near cops). Max telling stories from old race weekends, things he’d never told the media. Stories about how scared he’d been when she was born. How nothing—not even a starting grid at Spa—ever made his heart race like seeing her fall off her bike for the first time.

“I get nervous because I love you too much,” he’d said quietly once, after she’d fallen asleep mid-drive. She’d pretended to stay asleep, but her heart had never forgotten those words.

---

Then came the day she really did need to drive.

They were at a beach house in Spain, rented for a few days of privacy and family time. Max had pulled a muscle being dramatic on a jet ski (he swore it was the waves), and couldn’t sit up properly.

“Okay,” she said, standing over him with her arms crossed. “This is my chance.”

“You’re enjoying this,” he mumbled, wincing as he adjusted the ice pack on his side.

“Immensely.”

He sighed. “Fine. But slow. Safe. Cautious. I want you to brake like there’s a baby deer at every stop sign.”

Yn nodded seriously. “Deer braking. Got it.”

She drove slowly, carefully, every move cautious. Max still white-knuckled the door, but he didn’t say a word.

When they got home, she parked perfectly, turned off the car, and turned to him with a proud smile.

“Well?”

He smiled back, full of pride and relief.

“You’re getting there.”

---

But the next day, when he could sit up again, she found the blanket laid out in the passenger seat. A fresh Starbucks waiting.

“Really?” she asked, amused.

He shrugged. “Princess treatment. It’s forever. Driving was a fun little experiment. Let’s go back to our roots.”

She laughed and climbed in. “You’re impossible.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “You’re my whole heart. Of course I’m impossible.”

And with that, they drove off—music up, windows down, father and daughter in perfect sync.

Passenger Princess: forever status confirmed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-♡○♡

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zomb-core · 2 months ago

Text

picture you | oneshot 1.3k

pairing: jinx x fem!reader

synopsis: a few silly high confessions between friends leads to more.

notes: getting high, confessions, making out

“wait, so, you exploded the kitchen?”

being high on a sunday afternoon with jinx wasn’t exactly how you planned to spend your weekend. however, you definitely weren’t complaining. if you found jinx eccentric normally, wait until you saw her high.

“yeah!” she sat crisscrossed on the floor in front of what you considered a couch but was really a bunch of cushions pilled on top of each other. one of her monkey bombs was held in her palm, she claimed to be working on the paint job but in reality she’d only picked up the paint brush a total of one time. “I wasn’t always this good at making bombs.”

currently, she was telling you a story detailing a bomb-gone-wrong in her words. “I don’t understand, why were you even making bombs at that age?” you laughed, finding her childhood activities a bit unhinged.

“oh, you know, hobbies — artistic expression.” she smiled, throwing her head to the side allowing her bangs to move away from her face.

maybe it was your dazed state, but you didn’t remember her being quite this pretty. eh, probably the lighting. “mmm, you sure do like expressing yourself in funny ways.”

“I like keeping things interesting,” that she did, in fact, you were pretty sure she was the most interesting person you knew.

“oh, trust me, you do.”

you stared at each other for a moment, a sudden silence coming over the both of you. it wasn’t awkward, though you wouldn’t consider it comfortable either. it was just silence.

and then, laughter erupted from the two of you. jinx’s laughter was crazed — the way it usually was with you. your laughter shared a similar quality, but it was softer, less like you were suffering from an undiagnosed disorder. you weren’t even sure why you were laughing, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

until, “wanna know somethin’?”

“yeah..?” you drew out suspiciously, jinx wasn’t one for announcing her ‘fun facts of that day’ so it was a bit odd to say the least.

“don’t sound so skeptical,” she whined, throwing herself back onto the floor. her arms sprawled out above her head while she propped her feet up against the ‘couch’. you admired her ability for theatrics.

“my names not actually jinx.” a pause, “well, it is, but for sometime it wasn’t.”

you couldn’t prevent the audible ‘huh’ that left your mouth at the confession. you and jinx had only been friends for a few months, an unconventional meeting during one of her many missions, but in that short time you had learned a lot about her — her favorite food, the fact that she wasn’t allowed to drink despite being of age, how she built her bombs, when she got tattooed, she even told you more about her past then you expected to know so soon.

in short, jinx wasn’t a private person, so how she managed to not mention her birth name, even if just briefly as a punchline for a joke, stunned you.

you guessed that meant it was something really important to her, or rather something really bad that she preferred to avoid talking about.

and she was telling you, “what was it?”

another pause. “powder. wacky, huh?”

you couldn’t help but giggle, powder wasn’t exactly the top baby name of the year, but it weirdly suited her. “a little”

“your turn.”

you froze. your turn? “what?”

she groaned, removing herself from her spot on the ground. within seconds she was seated next to you, her leg pressed against yours. you turned to face her and instinctively flinched — her face was nose length apart, so close her breath caressed your cheek with every exhale.

“tell me somethin’.” she demanded, a gleam in her eyes.

“uh, okay,” you ran your fingers through your hair, struggling to come up with a fact half as interesting as hers, “when I was a kid I stole money from my parents wallet..?”

“lame!” she exclaimed, leaning her shoulder into yours unintentionally. you laughed awkwardly, nodding along, “yeah, yeah — sorry I don’t blow things up and change my identity at the ripe age of fourteen.”

you knew your life was nearly as eventful as hers, you doubted anyone’s was. jinx was chaotic, and that’s what you liked about her, she brought some havoc to your day to day. despite your half-assed confession, she smiled, clearly entertained by your attempt.

now, she leaned over to rest her head on your shoulder, this time you couldn’t deny it was intentional. you felt embarrassed by how quickly you tensed up, it wasn’t like this was new — jinx was touchy, not for any specific reason, she lacked boundaries it was as simple as that. so, when your heart rate picked up and your face got hot, you blamed it on the weed.

“your turn.” you mumbled, shakier than intended.

her hand slid on top of yours, her nails tracing circles on the back of your hand. you shallowed to soothe your sudden case of cottonmouth. “I think.. I want to kiss you right now.”

every letter in the word was elongated, making sure you didn’t mistake what she said.

“wh.. what?” even though you had heard her clearly, it was as if your ears were covered.

without saying anything, she adjusted to face you. her other hand wrapped around your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

jinx didn’t ask for permission, and you didn’t expect her to. so, when she leaned forward to kiss you, you were less shocked then you expected to be.

she definitely didn’t take things slow either, within seconds her tongue was in your mouth. despite this, it wasn’t lustful. it was gentle in a way you didn’t expect. her movements were pensive, her tongue exploring your mouth as if she was mapping it out to remember it for later. her lips were chapped, but soft, and she smiled into the kiss.

she was still smiling when she pulled away.

you couldn’t help but giggle, “woah.”

she rolled her eyes, which you couldn’t blame her for — ‘woah’ was a pretty dorky thing to say. and before you knew it, she was straddling you, her hands placed on both sides of your face.

and when she kissed you again, you thought you were dreaming.

this time, it was more aggressive. she was messy, yet meticulously, making sure she got the most out of every moment. every time you broke for breath, you were lucky to get an inhale before she was pressed against you again, with more force each time.

it became primal, like she was trying to eat you alive. god knew you weren’t complaining.

her lips moved from yours, yet they didn’t lose contact — she trailed a series of kisses starting from your lips to your jaw and they continued to your collarbone.

you weren’t typically vocal, but you wouldn’t deny a few whines escaped you when she began nibbling at the skin. it was definitely easier to deny your blooming feelings for her when she wasn’t marking your neck and pressing against you like her life depended on it.

that’s when it hit you, “when did you notice?”

“what? that you got the hots for me?” she chuckled against you, her breath hot against your skin, “not long ago — started pickin’ up on it when you freaked every time I touched you.”

“that obvious?”

she leaned back, shrugging. “eh.”

you tucked a lose piece of her hair that fell from her braids behind her ear “when did you… y’know?”

“when I met you, blew up a building to get away from enforcers and all you could say was that I needed to watch out for bystanders next time.”

you both laughed about that for a moment, you remembered when it happened — you were coughing from smoke and had said it, she had brushed you off until you were safe from the enforcers. once they had saw you with her, you were both in trouble so you ran.

it was a chaotic meeting, but what wasn’t with jinx?

“got any more questions or can I keep kissing ya’?”

you supposed any more questions you had could be asked later, plus, you enjoyed kissing her more than you enjoyed asking questions. “no, I think I’m good for now.”

a/n: not my best writing, but I wanted to get something out. requests are greatly appreciated!!

not proofread

images by @diana-foggy-master

dividers by @cafekitsune

#jinx arcane #jinx x reader #arcane fanfiction #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane smut #jinx #jinx league of legends #jinx fanart #jinx x you #jinx x y/n #arcane x you #jinx x fem!reader #x reader #vi x reader #sevika x reader

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luffington · 10 months ago

Note

hihi, how are u⁉️ may i request jealous crocodile and/or doflamingo smut? i am OBSESSED w ur fur & feathers story, you’re an amazing writer!! thank you sm 🙏🫶💓‼️

➤ pairing: sir crocodile x afab!reader

➤ word count: 2.6k

➤ warnings: dom!crocodile, possessive behavior, spanking, degradation, praise, belly bulge, overstimulation, mentioned breeding kink, established relationship, fem reader

aww i'm glad you like it! i decided to give crocodile some love since i already have a few fics about doffy :3 i had really bad horny brainrot writing this he drives me insane

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Deciding not to join Baroque Works was your own choice, but you shouldn’t be suffering for it.

The crime syndicate’s leader and you had been in a relationship for quite a while. You’d long since accepted his dedication to his job and his workaholic tendencies – a serious job required someone just as serious. But recently, it had gotten to be too much.

He spent sixteen hours a day holed up in his office, pouring over documents and answering calls and meeting with Miss All Sunday. Grunted quiet greetings when he came home at night, climbing into bed beside you then falling asleep immediately. He’d barely said three words to you all week.

You were jealous of the fucking Transponder Snail for how much attention it got. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

So you put on your sluttiest dress, a nice pair of heels, and flashy diamond earrings, then wandered around the massive Rain Dinners casino looking for easy prey. You settled on a drunk average-looking man with a winning streak at roulette. He openly ogled your body as you approached, and smirked lecherously when you asked if the empty seat on his left was taken.

The man clearly wasn’t a local. He didn’t recognize you, even though you weren’t shy about hanging onto Crocodile’s arm in public. And he was much too stupid to notice the casino staff’s constant nervous glances. While laughing and holding your drink, you brushed a flirty hand over his shoulder and pressed your body against him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Crocodile emerge from the staff-only hallway to survey the room. Everything about him commanded attention – his abnormal height, his expensive clothes, his intimidating presence. In a flash, he materialized behind you. Half of his body was still reforming from a whirling sandstorm. Menacing golden eyes shone down at you, but his expression was eerily blank.

The entire casino fell silent. Everyone’s focus was on you.

Crocodile exhaled a pungent cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Bullshit. He’d hardly looked at you at all for nearly two weeks. Ignoring the shivers running down your spine, you decided to continue taunting him.

“I’m watching my good friend here play roulette! He’s very lucky, he might take all your money home with him.” You didn’t even remember the man’s name, but you lied with a cheeky grin and firmly patted his thigh twice.

Much too friendly for Crocodile’s liking.

Your lover’s eyes narrowed in on the empty martini glass in front of you. “How many of those have you had?”

“I dunno, three? Four?” You turned to the stranger with a saccharine smile. “Were you keeping count?”

The man was frozen in place, terrified into silence at the sight of the eight foot tall Warlord towering above him. His all-consuming fear made him seem like a small animal staring into a Bananawani’s open jaws.

“You’re drunk. You should sit down.” Crocodile’s tone was steady but dangerous. Always aware of his public image, his carefully chosen words made him seem like the perfect gentleman.

“But I am sit–“

A murderous glare cut you off mid-sentence. You realized you’d taken your bratty act as far as it could go – any more might be threatening to your well-being. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rose from your seat and automatically moved to his side. Tucked yourself into the folds of his coat, choosing to look down at your heels rather than his face.

“Make yourself comfortable in my office, darling.” The Warlord patted your shoulder, causing you to flinch. His voice dropped an octave as he growled, “I’d like to speak to this lucky gentleman in private.”

Crocodile’s pristine office was unnervingly quiet. You took a seat on the plush couch facing his desk, nervously bouncing your legs and trying to calm your racing heartbeat. With the lights off, the room was only illuminated by the water surrounding it. Dark shadows of swimming Bananawani regularly moved across the walls. Silly little prey, willingly walking into their nest.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind you. Heavy footsteps slowly approached but you didn’t dare turn around. Rich cologne flooded your nostrils and his golden hook flashed in your peripheral vision.

Your lover stayed quiet, patiently biding his time until the silence finally got to you. Timidly, you asked, “What happened to that man?”

“What man?” Your lover cocked his head to the side, feigning ignorance. After a moment, a sadistic chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you mean the mummy in the back room. Let’s say he mysteriously disappeared.”

You whipped your head around with wide eyes. “You killed him for me?”

Oddly, you didn’t feel bad about it – that man was a creep. Getting rid of him was probably a blessing for the women of Alabasta.

“Of course. I’d do anything for you, dear.” He sounded sincere, but then leaned down and fiercely whispered, “Except play this stupid game of yours. I like showing you off, not sharing you.”

Soft breath tickled your cheek and the fur lining of his coat brushed against your skin. You felt a fire ignite in your core – he was irresistibly sexy when he became possessive (well, more possessive than usual).

“Have I done something to upset you?” Crocodile kissed and licked down the column of your neck. “Or were you taunting me for fun?”

“Y-You’ve been so busy lately, I was–” The word ‘lonely’ died on your lips when he sunk his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Oh, my poor dear. Are you feeling neglected?” He cooed when you shyly nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite mark. “I’m very sorry. Work’s been out of control recently, but everything will settle down soon. You have my attention now.”

The tip of his hook slid under your dress’s thin shoulder strap, then cleanly tore through it. He repeated the action on the other side until the torn fabric slipped down to reveal your bare breasts.

“Not even wearing a bra?” Your lover clicked his tongue, roughly cupping and caressing your right boob then smacking the soft flesh. “If that man looked down your dress, then his death sentence was too lenient. I should’ve tortured him.”

“You’re so scary,” you giggled, letting your head fall back against his sturdy chest with a content sigh. Grainy fingers traced your areola then rubbed over your hardened nipples. Thankfully, you knew you’d never experience the true extent of his wrath – he adored you.

Without warning, he wrapped his cold hook around your throat. The proximity of its sharp edge to such a dangerous area made your hair stand on end.

“Bend over my desk,” he commanded, gently nipping your ear. “Darling.”

You stumbled over to the enormous desk, legs shaking from anticipation and arousal. Bracing your arms on the polished wood, you arched your back and presented your ass to him. The Warlord took a moment to admire the view, amused by your visible impatience.

“I bought you these,” Crocodile drawled, tracing the waistband of your silky panties with the curved back of his hook. You never saw their price tag, but they felt expensive. He poked your earlobe. “I bought you those earrings, too. They cost more berry than that pathetic man could ever make. Everything about you belongs to me – seems like I have to remind you.”

A large hand came down on your ass hard, jiggling the soft flesh and making you cry out in delight. The collection of rings on his fingers added a delicious extra sting. Three more spanks followed rapidly in the same spot, then four on the other cheek until every part of your ass ached.

Crocodile snickered when you rubbed your thighs together like an animal in heat. A wet spot had already dampened your panties. “Silly little slut. If you wanted to be spanked, you should’ve just asked. No need for all the theatrics.”

“Didn’t have a chance to since you were talking to that Snail all fucking day.” Your petulant mumble quickly turned into a yelp when his hand brutally struck the crease of your thighs. Making sure you’d feel the sting every time you sat down. He grabbed the roots of your hair and yanked your head back.

“Watch your tone,” Crocodile growled. The Warlord released you, catching you before your limp body hit the desk and easily flipped you onto your back. A wicked smirk almost as wide as his scar spread across his face. He hungrily observed your body like a predator about to pounce.

He pulled down your panties with an unnerving carefulness – he didn’t want to damage his property, after all. Then he roughly spanked your bare pussy. Your surprised cry of pain echoed throughout the empty room. Satisfied with your reaction, he did it again and again until your folds turned puffy.

Crocodile spread your cunt using the back of his hook so he could land a direct hit on your sensitive clit. The impact on your bundle of nerves sent electric shocks throughout your body, your back arching painfully off the table. Your lover chuckled and swiped two fingers through your drenched folds.

“Who else can make you this wet?” Crocodile webbed your juices between his fingers before bringing them to your lips. Obediently opening your mouth, you suckled and swirled your tongue around them. Paying extra attention to his rings, making sure the precious jewels shined with your spit. Though it was a rhetorical question, he pulled his fingers out to hear your response.

“No one.” You answered honestly, your eyes dilated with lust and chest heaving. “Just you.”

“You’re damn right.” Crocodile unlatched his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor with a metallic clang. His enormous dick smacked against his pelvis, rock hard and leaking pearly precum. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight. “Can’t let another cock can satisfy you, either. I need to ruin you for anyone else.”

Demanding you to look directly at him, he lined up his tip with your hole and thrust his hips forward. Slowly at first – his massive cock often met resistance in your tiny cunt – but after the first few inches, he slammed the entire length inside. Knocking all the air out of your lungs, your head lolling back on the desk. Crocodile stayed like that, appreciating the pretty bulge in your belly.

“Crocodile, please…”

“My name sounds perfect on your lips.” That predatory gaze was back, the need to possess you overwhelming his thoughts. Your lover pulled back until only the tip remained in your dripping pussy, then harshly rammed his dick in all the way.

Quickly setting a rough pace, Crocodile palmed at your tits with rough hands then leaned into the crook of your neck, whispering a dizzying mix of praise and degrading phrases. All of your coherent thoughts vanished from your brain.

You clutched onto his coat to ground yourself, to not get lost in the sea of pleasure washing over you. His cock was too fucking big. Too fucking good. It bullied its way inside your wet walls, permanently reshaping them to the perfect fit as he called you his pretty little cocksleeve.

Over a week’s worth of pent-up sexual urges were quickly coming to a head. Crocodile knew your body so well that he immediately recognized the signs of your impending orgasm. He reached his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit, pinching and pulling the sensitive nub for good measure.

“H-Holy fuck, ahhh, shit, I’m gonna…”

The Warlord smirked cruelly and paused his movements with his cock halfway inside you. “Apologize for being a brat. For even looking at that worthless man.”

If you had a stronger resolve, you could’ve kept this game going even longer. Asked him to apologize for ignoring you. Maybe even gotten a few more spanks out of it. But you needed to cum, and you desperately needed his giant cock to move.

“I’m sorry,” you panted desperately. “I won’t be bratty anymore, I promise. You’re the only man I’ll ever want. I’ll do anything, just – please, please, let me cum.”

“Very good girl.” Crocodile rewarded you by sensually rolling his hips to stir your insides around. Snickering, he admitted, “Although, I do enjoy when you act up every once in a while. You’re especially sexy when you submit to me.”

Your lover resumed fucking you hard enough to make the desk creak. Legs shaking with every thrust, your eyes were unfocused and the only thought in your head was how full you felt. Looking down, you dreamily watched the bump in your stomach move up and down as his dick rearranged your guts.

“Scream my name loud enough for the entire casino to hear when you cum. Let them know who owns you.”

Just one scream wasn’t enough for you – you chanted his name like a prayer as your orgasm hit you in full force. Juices gushed around Crocodile’s cock and dripped down his balls. He lazily fondled your clit to help you through it, only pulling away once the aftershocks had subsided. You lay limply on the desk, face flushed and chest heaving.

Belatedly, you realized that Crocodile hadn’t budged. A concerning sign.

“You… you didn’t cum?”

“This soon? Of course not. I didn’t commit murder for one measly orgasm,” he chuckled. “Evidently, I have a lot of lost time to make up for. Your cunt better be prepared.”

“W-wait, give me a minute –”

“No, dear, you were right. I spent too much time ignoring you. You deserve all my love.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that knocked his mushroom tip against your cervix. “And affection.” Another thrust. “And every inch of my cock.”

Filthy squelching sounds and your lover’s balls slapping against your ass accompanied your overwhelmed scream. Tears pricked at your eyes as he increased his pace, your brain becoming as mushy as your cunt.

“Such a perfect pussy. Only a real man like me can treat it properly.” Crocodile murmured smugly. Leaning down to press his body flush against yours, his muscular pecs squished against your tits. His normally slicked-back hair was coming undone, strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. Dizzying pleasure washed over you when his fingers found your clit again.

Crocodile felt his balls tighten, but held himself back from the edge by slowing down to a relaxed grind, focusing all of his attention on you. You fucking lost your mind when he spelled each letter of his name on your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second orgasm washed over you in a bright light, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you murmured absolute nonsense mixed with cries of his name.

Your cunt clamping down on his cock like a vice sent him over the edge. At the very last second, Crocodile pulled out to spurt thick stripes of cum across your stomach. With a deep, satisfied groan, he jerked himself to completion until your skin was painted white. Fully marking you as his own.

Satisfaction and exhaustion made your eyes flutter shut, but Crocodile ensured you stayed awake by giving you a surprisingly tender forehead kiss. Cradling your cheek, he asked, “Feel better?”

“My ass hurts, but yes. I feel great.” You nodded with a fucked-out grin, chasing his lips for a real kiss which he eagerly granted.

“Good. As pretty as you look covered in my cum, the next load is going inside you. I need to fuck a baby into my beautiful girl.”

His next load? Your eyes widened when he began stroking his cock again, still soft but beginning to twitch with interest. Turning your head, you met the downward-turned eyestalks of his shut-off Transponder Snail.

#bananawani comparison bc it's what he would've wanted #sir crocodile smut #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile imagine #crocodile smut #dom!crocodile #crocodile x reader #crocodile imagine #one piece smut #one piece x reader #sir crocodile #crocodile #request #anon #mine #my fics #croc

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tthoroughfare · 3 months ago

Text

some random modern!abby headcanons as i Cannot think about anything else. NSFW in the latter half spit kink asf i’m not sorry

she’s chronically offline. has social media but does not use it — her IG has one photo from 3 years ago and the only other social media she has is a facebook account she made when she was 14. her entire page is just shit her dad tags her in; photos of her he’s taken while they’re on vacation, cringey middle aged humor, the Facebook Parent works

90% of the time only uses her phone for what a phone is actually for. probably has a super old one because she doesn’t see the point in replacing it; it’s somehow in like perfect condition though

texts in perfect grammar. before you got used to it you literally thought she was mad at you all the time. hasn’t got it figured out what emojis make sense contextually because she doesn’t really use them and occasionally sends you baffling messages like:

“Got off early. Can’t wait to see you. 😬” (was rushing and thought it was a smile)

but sometimes it’s also very cute, like a grandma who just figured out how to text:

“Do you want to tag along with Manny and Nora to a concert on Saturday? The people they were supposed to go with can’t anymore. 🎶🕺🎸”

the type of gf who will get you doing the most random activities. she’s constantly trying new hobbies and always wants you to be a part of it. she’ll decide on a sunday night she wants to pick up rock climbing, have you both signed up and in the climbing gym monday

or she’ll decide on a whim she wants to take you to a restaurant someone recommended even though it’s an hour and a half drive away

med student abby is canon abby…

she really didn’t want to be a cliche and go into it just because it’s what her dad does, but she was always encouraged to excel academically and found herself naturally drifting in that direction

she makes it look easy, but it’s really not. she gets stressed about everything a lot (particularly wrestling with worries about letting her dad down, which you reiterate she couldn’t do if she tried), but doesn’t really show anyone apart from you. you always make her feel better, though, just as she does for you with your problems

grew up well-off, but isn’t a dick about it. very generous with her money, always buying you little treats and picking up the bill despite your protests. takes you on weekends away wherever possible, or a bigger vacation somewhere tropical during the summer

honestly not the best cook… she’s just used to making food for herself, which tends to be pretty plain. gym bro meals ugh. however, has one or two incredible recipes she can pull out the BAG. makes them for you when she knows you’ve had a long day

would 100% be that post of the guy who set his alarm purposefully earlier so that he could wake up and cuddle his partner before he had to actually get up. she’s normally up before you, regardless of the day or time. abby’s an early riser; she loves the morning. you always stir with a warm drink on the bedside table, and either the sound of her pottering around the apartment or a text saying something along the lines of:

“Heading to the gym. Gave you a kiss before I left but you were still clean out, LOL.”

has extremely random and rogue music taste. same with movies. you figure this out not long into knowing her, when you’re talking about favorite films and she deliberates before carefully stating that her all-time top three are flushed away, interstellar and an old foreign movie you couldn’t pronounce if you tried

speaking of — loves movies! you guys frequent the cinema, but also like to stay in and have movie nights at home. you’ll watch just about anything together, taking it in turns to choose. when you stay in, you make it a Whole Thing. all the bedding gets moved to the living room, you buy snacks, she sits and lets you meticulously paint a face mask on her

sometimes, you’ll attentively watch the whole thing. sometimes, if you get halfway through and it’s not the best, she’ll allow her fingers to trail down from their position atop your upper arm in a manner she knows you’ll pick up on. dipping under your shirt and rubbing loose, gentle circles at your hip for what feels like forever, before nudging at your jaw with her nose and planting a light kiss. you turn to meet her, eyes flitting between hers and her lips; closing the gap and smirking against her mouth, “you’re not subtle.”

blowing air out of her nose and shrugging, she brings her free hand up to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. it’s slow and deliberate, everything from the way she moves her lips against yours, to how she steadily shifts you on top of her. she likes to take her time with you, gets off when you have to say please

segueing into nsfw… praise kink spit kink gentle domination vers dynamic hey now

loves it when you show her how desperate you are for her, through words or otherwise. while i can’t see her being much of a talker herself (not to say that’s at all), she encourages your blathering about how good she feels, how much you need her. bonus points if you throw her name in there somewhere

should the occasion arise will absolutely put you through the mattress with the strap, but much more so an acoustic girl. two finger tongue combo diva. for her, it’s all about feeling you. how you contract around her, the little signals your body gives her she’s learned so well

to her, that’s the main point of sex. feeling as much of you as she can, feeling close to you, showing you how much she worships you. it’s filthy, yet reverent and devoted. gets a little possessive sometimes, because you’re hers and only she can have you how she does

whether it be arched up, her fingers plowing into you as she kisses her way over your upper back, hand threaded through your hair. stopping to suck a mark where your neck meets your shoulder, murmuring to ask if you can take three (she knows you can, just wants to hear you say it)

or on top of her, legs slotted together and your hand firmly bracing yourself on her knee whilst you rut against her. hearing her get slightly louder and higher pitched, revelling in the way she looks up at you, brows drawn and eyes full. shared wetness pooling and mingling, her hands all over you like she can’t decide which inch of sweat-sheened skin she wants to touch more

or after you’ve eaten her out and she’s still coming down, you running a hand over the outside of her thigh then kissing over her stomach — making your way back up to her lips, allowing her to taste herself through the sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. licking into her dirtily, running a thumb over her lower lip and softly telling her to open. abby doing as you say; always does as you say. a glob of spit falling from your mouth to hers which she accepts gladly, breathing jagged as she swallows. spurred on, dragging you back in with fervor, moving a hand to circle over your sopping clit

she’s never been like this with anyone, never wanted everything of a person so badly. she’d do anything for you, to you, let you do anything to her

while she does like it to be languid, to last, sometimes she can’t help herself. it’ll be the morning and she’ll rouse, tired eyes dragging over your form. abby shifting closer and wrapping an arm around your waist, you’ll stir a little and groan softly, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek and pivoting your head to give her a kiss. both brains still foggy, operating on basic wants, it doesn’t take long for it to turn from an innocent good morning peck to a desperate mess of tongues. then, to her mouthing at your neck, sliding her fingertips over your bare torso to knead at your breast. you’ll tilt your head back, let out a mewl of her name, before remembering it’s a weekday.

“what time is it?” you’ll ask, freezing and subconsciously trying to look at the clock.

“don’t worry, we’ve got time,” she’ll respond against your skin without missing a beat, hand making its way between your legs and coaxing a sharp exhale from you, “i’ll be quick, i promise.”

she knows you well — she certainly can be quick. still has time to make you that coffee she always does, too.

735 notes · View notes

cressidagrey · 4 months ago

Text

The McLaren Matchmaking Disaster

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Sabrina Clarke (Original Character)

Summary:

Sabrina Clarke is sure Oscar Piastri hates her—he either ignores her, runs away, or responds like a malfunctioning robot.. In reality, Oscar has a massive crush… and is the most socially inept man on the planet. Enter Lando Norris, self-proclaimed matchmaking genius, and suddenly, all of McLaren is watching their disaster of a love story unfold.

Warnings and Notes:

Happy Race Weekend! To celebrate, here are 10k of socially awkward Oscar 😂 Warnings: Other than Oscar being an idiot and not being very nice...not really? Unless you count Lando being a menace.

(Also it's Lando (Car) because Ken's job is Beach. Get it? 😂)

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Running Tally of Oscar’s Most Awkward Moments Around Sabrina

(Maintained by McLaren Staff, because they are way too invested)

Sabrina: “Morning, Oscar!”Oscar: blinks three times, nods, walks into a doorframe.

Sabrina sneezed. Oscar panicked and said “Congratulations.”

Sabrina asked if he wanted a snack from the media lounge. Oscar responded with “Thank you, you too.”

Sabrina tripped on a cable. Oscar, trying to help, tripped over the SAME CABLE. They both ended up on the floor.

Sabrina was filming content and asked, “Oscar, do you have a fun fact for the fans?” Oscar: “No.” (And then just walked away.)

Sabrina put a hand on his arm while laughing. Oscar’s brain fully rebooted. Lando had to snap in front of his face to get him to respond.

She handed him a water bottle during a shoot. Instead of taking it, he just… held out his hand next to it like a Sims character waiting for an animation to load.

Sabrina: “Hey, Oscar, can I ask you something?” Oscar: “No.” (Then realized what he said and immediately walked away.)

He got caught staring at her during lunch. When she asked what was up, he picked up a random spoon and said “This is nice.”

Sabrina: “How are you feeling today?” Oscar: “Yes.”

Sabrina: “Do you need anything before the press conference?” Oscar: “Uh… oxygen?”

Lando asked Sabrina to pass Oscar a clipboard. Oscar fumbled it so badly it ricocheted off the table and hit him in the stomach.

Sabrina: “Hey, Oscar, do you have a charger?” Oscar: “I have… no.” (He had one in his hand.)

She asked what he was listening to in his headphones. Oscar blurted out “the national anthem” for no reason.

Sabrina: “Oh, Oscar, you have something on your face.” Oscar, instead of asking where, just froze and stared at her like a deer in headlights until Lando wiped it off for him.

She walked into the room while he was drinking a smoothie. He immediately forgot how to use the straw and inhaled half of it into his lungs.

Oscar was tying his shoes when Sabrina walked by and said, “Hey, Piastri!” Oscar just… stayed crouched on the ground like a gargoyle until she left.

Sabrina: “You look tired, did you sleep well?” Oscar: “No thanks.”

Sabrina: “Oh, I love that hat on you!” Oscar: “You too.” (She wasn’t wearing a hat.)

She waved at him during the drivers’ parade. Oscar waved back but was so distracted he almost fell off the float.

During a McLaren team lunch, she asked, “Oscar, do you want ketchup?” Oscar: “I don’t know.” (?????)

He saw her struggling to carry some equipment and instead of offering to help, he just stood there stress-blinking until Lando stepped in.

Sabrina asked, “How’s your day going?” Oscar: “It’s Tuesday.” (It was Sunday.)

He walked into a doorframe because Sabrina smiled at him.

Sabrina: “Good luck out there!” Oscar, despite knowing how to form sentences, somehow responded with, “Yeah, you too!” (She was not driving.)

During a chaotic debrief, she passed him a pen. He took it, then immediately handed it back to her without using it.

Sabrina complimented his driving. Oscar panicked and said, “Thanks, I try to be fast.” (Oscar. You drive F1. That is the point.)

They accidentally reached for the same energy drink. Oscar let go immediately, then left to get a different one from the other side of the garage, as if the fridge had personally betrayed him.

He tried to be polite and open a door for her. Somehow ended up standing directly in the doorway instead, effectively blocking her path.

Sabrina: “Are you busy later?” Oscar: “Yes.” Sabrina: “Oh, with what?” Oscar: “I don’t know.” (SIR.)

Oscar tried to make a joke during a group conversation with Sabrina. He messed up the punchline, got flustered, and then said, “Never mind,” and fully walked away.

Sabrina: “That was a great race!” Oscar: “Thank you, you too.” (AGAIN, SHE WAS NOT RACING.)

He was standing near the coffee machine when Sabrina approached. Oscar: “Oh, do you want coffee?” Sabrina: “Yeah!” Oscar, despite standing closest to the machine: “Okay, cool,” and then just walked away without making her one.

***

Oh.

Oh no.

Oscar would rather face a wet track on slicks than a conversation with Sabrina Clarke. Unfortunately, she was walking straight toward him, all sunshine and good intentions, and he was fresh out of exit strategies.

Oscar should have seen it coming.

He should have known the exact moment he stepped out of the McLaren motorhome that fate would betray him.

Because there, standing directly in his path, was her.

Sabrina, the McLaren Social Media Admin with the sunshine personality and way too much energy at ungodly hours of the morning. Sabrina, who always had a camera in his face and a teasing smile. Sabrina, who made his brain short-circuit every time she so much as said his name.

Sabrina, with sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair and a smile that made him forget everything.

Sabrina, who Oscar was utterly, hopelessly, embarrassingly into.

Which was a problem, because every time she tried to talk to him, he went completely blank. Like an idiot.

He could already feel his brain preparing to betray him. Sabrina Clarke was too nice, too bright, too pretty, too much—and he was about to be too awkward, again.

Sabrina Clarke had the kind of energy that made people gravitate toward her. Oscar, meanwhile, was actively considering throwing himself into a bush, so he didn’t need to talk to her.

He didn’t even have time to process it before—

"Oh! Hey, Oscar!"

—brain malfunction.

His heart did something weird. His palms went sweaty. His ability to form words? Gone. Completely erased.

Sabrina was smiling at him, completely oblivious to the fact that he was internally combusting.

Say something, say something, SAY SOMETHING—

"Move."

Sabrina blinked. "What?"

Oscar wanted to die.

"Uh—" he cleared his throat, staring anywhere but at her. "You’re. In the way."

(She wasn’t. Not even a little bit.)

Sabrina’s face immediately dropped. "Oh—sorry?" she said, stepping aside quickly.

Oscar didn’t even acknowledge it. He just walked past her. Like a complete asshole.

It took every ounce of self-control not to physically sprint away.

Behind him, he could hear her mutter, "Okay, what did I even do?" under her breath.

He hated himself.

And then—

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"

Lando’s voice boomed from behind him, but Oscar refused to stop walking.

Lando, however, had zero intention of letting him get away.

"OI, PIASTRI, GET BACK HERE!"

Oscar sped up.

Lando broke into a jog.

"Why are you like this?!" Lando shouted as he fully started chasing him.

Oscar turned a corner—bad idea. It was a dead end.

Lando caught up in seconds, skidding to a stop, hands on his hips, staring at him like he was some kind of scientific anomaly.

"Dude. WHAT. WAS. THAT."

Oscar, still pretending he had any dignity left, shrugged. "Nothing."

Lando threw his hands in the air. "NOTHING?! You literally just behaved like the biggest arsehole this side of the Atlantic!"

"Lando, leave it."

Lando did not leave it.

Instead, he physically grabbed Oscar by the shoulders. "Okay, I let the last seven incidents slide, but THIS? Mate, you just bulldozed past her like she wasn’t a human being."

"I panicked."

Lando threw his hands up. "Oscar. Mate. Why are you like this?"

Oscar checked his imaginary watch. "Oh wow, look at the time. Gotta go."

Lando stepped in front of him. "Oh no, you don’t. You’re going to explain why every time Sabrina so much as looks at you, you lose all brain function."

Oscar pressed his lips into a thin line.

Lando’s eyes widened. "Wait—OH MY GOD."

Oscar knew exactly when realization hit.

Lando’s face lit up with the force of a thousand light bulbs.

"You LIKE her."

Oscar immediately attempted to escape.

Lando tackled him.

Well—not tackled, but he grabbed Oscar’s arm in a death grip.

"You actually like her. This is golden," Lando cackled, shaking him slightly. "You absolute idiot. Oh, I have to fix this."

"No."

"Yes."

"Lando, I swear—"

"Don’t care, already decided. Operation Get Sabrina and Oscar Together is a go."

Oscar groaned, tilting his head back against the wall. "I hate everything."

Lando clapped a hand on his shoulder. "No, you love Sabrina. And I’m making sure she knows it."

He closed his eyes. Oscar knew—deep in his soul—this was only the beginning of his suffering.

***

Sabrina stormed into the media office, tossing her iPad onto the desk with a dramatic sigh. She spun around in her chair, hands flung into the air.

"He hates me. He HATES me."

Her colleague and friend, Gabby, barely looked up from her laptop. "Who hates you?"

Sabrina let out an exasperated laugh. "Oscar! Piastri! Did you not just see what happened out there?"

Gabby frowned, finally paying attention. "Uh, no? What did he do?"

Sabrina turned in her chair so fast it nearly tipped over. "I was literally just walking to the garage—MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS—and he comes out of nowhere, and tells me to move. Because I am in his way. He makes direct eye contact, glares at me like I personally offended his ancestors, and then just—walks away. No words. Just pure, unfiltered hostility in his eyes."

Gabby blinked. "That’s… weird."

"RIGHT?" Sabrina threw up her hands again. "At this point, I feel like I must've wronged him in some past life. Like, maybe I cut him off in traffic when we were both pigeons or something, because there is no other explanation!"

Gabby let out a short laugh. "I don’t think that’s how reincarnation works."

"Well, something happened, because I have never seen someone so fundamentally allergic to my existence!" Sabrina groaned, dropping her head onto the desk.

"Maybe he’s just awkward?" Gabby suggested.

Sabrina lifted her head, narrowing her eyes. "No. No, he is actively avoiding me. Like I carry some kind of Oscar-specific plague. And today? Today was a new level! He looked pissed off! What did I do?!"

Gabby considered it for a moment before shrugging. "I mean, if he really hated you, he’d probably just be indifferent. Maybe he’s just bad at talking to people he doesn’t know well?"

Sabrina gave him a flat look. "We have worked in the same paddock for over a year. If he wanted to know me, he could just, oh, I don’t know—say words instead of burning a hole through my soul with his death glare!"

Gabby held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, you have a point."

Sabrina groaned again, leaning back in her chair and covering her face with her hands. "God, I swear if I find out I somehow insulted his entire bloodline without realizing it, I’m quitting."

Gabby smirked. "No, you’re not."

"Okay, but I’ll think about it dramatically," Sabrina muttered.

Gabby patted her shoulder. "I believe in you."

Sabrina sighed. "Well, someone has to."

***

Lucy (Engineer): Okay, someone PLEASE explain what just happened with Oscar and Sabrina in the paddock??

Jordan (Marketing): Oh my god, yes. I saw that. What was that???

Matt (Mechanic): He just… bulldozed past her like she was invisible.

Adam (Hospitality): No no, he looked directly at her, said ‘Move’ and WALKED AWAY.

Lucy (Engineer): ???????????????

Adam (Hospitality): I was standing right there. Sabrina just went “What did I even do?” and looked genuinely hurt.

Gabby (Social Media): She thinks he hates her.

Jordan (Marketing): I mean… fair assumption.

Gabby (Social Media): Is Oscar beefing with our own social media team? Did we post something offensive about him?

Emily (PR): I NEED TO KNOW BECAUSE IF HE IS, THAT IS A NIGHTMARE WAITING TO HAPPEN.

Lando (Car): GUYS

Lando (Car): YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT I JUST DISCOVERED

Jordan (Marketing): Lando, if you’re about to say Oscar hates Sabrina, we already know.

Lando (Car): NO. THAT’S NOT IT. HE LIKES HER.

Matt (Mechanic): Sorry.

Matt (Mechanic): HE WHAT?

Emily (PR): Be so serious right now.

Lando (Car): DEAD SERIOUS. He has a stupid crush on her, and every time she talks to him, he just completely SHORT CIRCUITS.

Emily (PR): So what you’re saying is—he wasn’t just being an asshole for no reason today.

Lando (Car): CORRECT. HE WAS AN ASSHOLE BECAUSE HE IS A SOCIAL DISASTER WITH A CRUSH.

Matt (Mechanic): Wow. That is somehow worse.

Jordan (Marketing): So all those weird, awkward interactions we’ve been tallying up for the last month…

Matt (Mechanic): WERE BECAUSE HE LIKES HER???

Lando (Car): YES. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO FIGURE IT OUT.

Gabby (Social Media): Okay but. Someone has to tell Sabrina this because I think she genuinely believes she has committed a crime against him in a past life.

Jordan (Marketing): Lando. Do something.

Lando (Car): Oh don’t worry. I’m already matchmaking.

***

Oscar Piastri had a massive crush on Sabrina.

Unfortunately, Oscar also had the social skills of a malfunctioning toaster when it came to talking to her. The guy could navigate an F1 car at 200 mph with the precision of a machine, but the second Sabrina so much as looked at him? Catastrophe.

Which was exactly why Lando—being the helpful, selfless friend that he was—decided it was time to intervene.

Sabrina was standing by the McLaren garage, chatting with one of the engineers, her laugh carrying over the hum of activity. Oscar was approaching from the other side, completely oblivious to her presence.

Lando saw an opportunity.

"Oscar, mate," he said, slapping a hand on his shoulder. "Come with me real quick."

Oscar barely had time to react before Lando was steering him directly toward Sabrina.

Oscar immediately stiffened. "Why are we going this way?"

"Because," Lando grinned, "you need to learn how to talk to her like a normal human being."

Oscar immediately started looking for an escape route. "Nope. No. Absolutely not."

But it was too late. They were already there.

"Sabrina!" Lando greeted cheerfully. "Oscar has something to say to you."

Sabrina turned, surprised. "Oh? What’s up, Oscar?"

Oscar’s brain blue-screened.

He stared at her.

Sabrina, smiling, waited for him to speak.

Oscar did not speak.

Lando nudged him, eyebrows raised. Dude, say something.

Oscar’s brain panicked. "I—uh—" He swallowed. "—nothing. It's fine."

Sabrina’s smile faltered. "Oh… okay?"

Lando blinked. "That’s not what you were gonna say, mate."

Oscar refused to make eye contact. "Nope, I’m good. I should—uh—go."

Sabrina’s confusion deepened. "Did I do something?"

Oscar whipped around, eyes wide. "What? No! No, you’re fine. It’s just—uh—" He struggled. "It’s me."

Sabrina hesitated, her expression unreadable. "Right."

Lando watched in horrified fascination as Oscar, now fully committed to fleeing, muttered a quick, "Okay, bye," and walked away.

Just like that.

Sabrina blinked after him. "Did… did he just leave?"

Lando dragged a hand down his face. "Oh my God."

Sabrina turned to him, exhaling sharply. "Lando. Be honest."

"Mm-hmm?"

"Does Oscar hate me?"

Lando choked. "What? No! No, he—" He stopped himself, then groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "Oh, this is so much worse than I thought."

Sabrina frowned. "I don’t understand. Every time I talk to him, he either ignores me, barely acknowledges me, or runs away."

Lando shook his head. "He doesn’t hate you."

Sabrina crossed her arms. "Then what’s his problem?"

Lando hesitated. Then, exasperated, he muttered, "He has a massive crush on you."

Sabrina laughed out loud. "No, he doesn’t."

Lando threw his hands up. "Sabrina, think about it. He’s fine with literally everyone else, but the second you show up? He turns into an awkward disaster and flees."

Sabrina gave him a deeply skeptical look. "That means he likes me?"

Lando nodded. "He is so down bad, it's pathetic."

Sabrina shook her head. "Or, he just hates me and doesn’t know how to tell me."

Lando groaned. "This is a nightmare."

Sabrina sighed. "Look, Lando, I appreciate the optimism, but from where I’m standing? Oscar Piastri despises me."

Lando desperately needed to fix this.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and opened the McLaren group chat.

***

Lando (Car): I have failed. Sabrina 100% thinks Oscar hates her. This is worse than I imagined.

Gabby (Social Media): How did you fail?

Lando (Car): I TRIED TO HELP. I walked Oscar right up to her. I gave him the perfect opportunity.

Jordan (Marketing): And??

Lando (Car): And he stared at her like a deer in headlights, muttered some nonsense, then WALKED AWAY.

Emily (PR): …Like just walked away?

Lando (Car): Just turned and LEFT. Like a weirdo.

Gabby (Social Media): Oh my god.

Emily (PR): Does he think she’s Medusa or something? Why does he keep acting like she’s about to strike him down?

Matt (Mechanic): At this point, I’d believe it.

Lando (Car): AND THEN Sabrina ASKED ME IF OSCAR HATES HER.

Lucy (Engineer): Oh no.

Jordan (Marketing): HE WHAT???

Lando (Car): I TRIED to explain but SHE DOESN’T BELIEVE ME.

Jordan (Marketing): I mean… can we blame her??

Lando (Car): GUYS. HE DOESN’T HATE HER. HE LIKES HER. HE LIKES HER SO MUCH IT HURTS TO WATCH.

Matt (Mechanic): I need receipts. How do you know?

Lando (Car): HAVE YOU SEEN HIM AROUND HER? HE CAN’T FUNCTION.

Jordan (Marketing): I thought maybe he was just awkward in general, but no. He is specifically incapable of speaking to Sabrina.

Emily (PR): This is so embarrassing for him.

Lando (Car): RIGHT?

Gabby (Social Media): So what do we do?

Lando (Car): FIX IT. We need to get them in a situation where Oscar CAN’T ESCAPE.

Lucy (Engineer): Like what? Lock them in a room?

Lando (Car): …Not a bad idea.

Lucy (Engineer): HR would not approve.

Lando (Car): Ugh, fine. But we need a Plan B. I REFUSE to let Oscar fumble this forever.

Emily (PR): I’m just fascinated by the fact that Oscar Piastri—who is literally one of the most composed drivers on the grid—completely crumbles in front of Sabrina.

Jordan (Marketing): I KNOW RIGHT.

Matt (Mechanic): Someone needs to record this for science.

Lando (Car): You guys don’t understand. He’s DOOMED. And she genuinely thinks he LOATHES her.

Lucy (Engineer): This is actually tragic.

Lando (Car): I AM TAKING MATTERS INTO MY OWN HANDS.

Lucy (Engineer): Oh no.

Gabby (Social Media): This will end in flames.

Jordan (Marketing): Can’t wait.

Lando (Car): Watch and learn, people. 🚨

***

Sabrina slumped into her chair, rubbing her temples like she was nursing the world's worst headache. Across from her, Gabby leaned against the desk, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation.

“So, let me get this straight,” Gabby said slowly. “Lando Norris—who is the human embodiment of chaos—just waltzed up to you and said Oscar Piastri has a crush on you?”

Sabrina groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Yes.”

Gabby blinked. “Oscar Piastri.”

“Yes.”

“The same Oscar Piastri who, just today, physically recoiled when you asked if he needed anything?”

Sabrina let out a hysterical laugh. “YES.”

Gabby whistled. “Wow. You’re right. He definitely has a crush on you.”

Sabrina shot her a glare. “Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

Sabrina threw her hands in the air. “How does that make any sense?! He doesn’t even look at me for more than two seconds. Every time I speak to him, he either ignores me, stares like I’ve just grown a second head, or runs away like I’m carrying the plague.”

Gabby hummed. “Yeah, that does sound like a man with a debilitating crush.”

Sabrina let out another groan and dropped her head onto her desk. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I believed Lando for even a second.”

“Did he at least have evidence?”

“His exact words were: ‘He doesn’t hate you, Sabrina. He likes you. He likes you so much he’s malfunctioning.’”

Gabby snorted. “That sounds like Lando.”

“Right?” Sabrina threw up her hands. “And when I told him Oscar’s actively avoiding me, he just went, ‘No, no, that’s just because he’s awkward and nervous.’ As if that’s supposed to be reassuring!”

Gabby tapped a finger against her chin. “I mean. That does check out.”

Sabrina gaped at her. “You’re insane.”

Gabby just shrugged. “I’m just saying—if I were you, I’d consider the possibility.”

Sabrina groaned dramatically. “Or, hear me out—he just hates me.”

Gabby gave her an exasperated look. “Sabrina, no one has ever hated anyone the way Oscar Piastri allegedly hates you.”

“Exactly!”

“No, I mean, if he did actually hate you, he’d be way more normal about it.”

Sabrina blinked. “What?”

Gabby smirked. “If he truly disliked you, he’d be able to talk to you just fine. People don’t act weird around people they don’t like. They act weird around people who make them nervous.”

Sabrina opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “...No.”

Gabby just grinned. “Yes.”

Sabrina scowled. “You and Lando are both delusional.”

Gabby shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe you should test it.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “How?”

Gabby’s grin widened. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe just… talk to him again. See if he spontaneously combusts.”

Sabrina huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. But when I prove you wrong, you’re buying me coffee.”

Gabby chuckled. “Deal. But when I’m right—I get to say ‘I told you so’ forever.”

***

Sabrina took a deep breath. Okay. This time, it’s going to be fine. It was just a normal conversation. Nothing weird. No running away. No painful silence. Just… normal.

Just Attempt #376 of Sabrina Laurel Clarke trying to have a normal Conversation with Oscar Jack Piastri.

She spotted Oscar standing by the coffee machine, looking at it like it had personally betrayed him. This was her chance. No escape routes. No distractions.

“Hey, Oscar,” she said, keeping her voice light and casual.

Oscar visibly flinched.

Sabrina hesitated, then pushed forward. “You okay?”

Oscar’s mouth opened, then closed. He blinked at her. Then, with the most robotic movement imaginable, he slowly turned back to the coffee machine. “Fine.”

Sabrina frowned. “Are you sure? You look—”

“I am fine,” he cut in, voice slightly too loud. “Totally. Completely fine. Nothing is wrong. Everything is great.”

Sabrina stared at him. “...Okay?”

Oscar jabbed a button on the coffee machine with unnecessary force. Nothing happened. His jaw tightened. He jabbed it again. Still nothing. Sabrina watched, mildly concerned, as he pressed the button three more times, increasingly frantic.

“Do you want me to—”

“No.”

“Oscar, I think it’s out of—”

“I said no.”

A beat of silence.

Then, because fate clearly had a sense of humor, the coffee machine sputtered violently—and exploded espresso directly onto Oscar’s shirt.

Sabrina gasped. “Oh my god.”

Oscar stared at himself, completely blank-faced, coffee dripping down his front.

Sabrina moved without thinking, grabbing a napkin from the counter. “Here, let me—”

But as soon as she stepped forward, Oscar jerked back like she was about to attack him. “I’M GOOD.”

Sabrina froze mid-motion, napkin in hand.

Oscar stood there, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, coffee-soaked, absolutely radiating panic.

Then, before she could say anything else, he spun on his heel and speed-walked out of the room.

Sabrina stood there, napkin still raised, mouth open in disbelief.

And that was when she heard laughter.

She turned to see Lando, cackling into his hand, watching the whole disaster unfold like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“He hates me,” Sabrina muttered, dropping the napkin.

Lando wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Nah, mate. He’s just in love with you.”

Sabrina gaped at him. “Are you—did you see that?! He ran away from me like I was a literal threat to his safety.”

“Exactly,” Lando said smugly. “That’s not hate. That’s terror.”

Sabrina threw up her hands. “SAME THING.”

Lando just grinned. “Trust me. It’s really not.”

****

Lando: Oi.

Lando: Mate.

Lando: OSCAR.

Lando: ANSWER ME.

Lando: YOU RAN AWAY FROM HER LIKE SHE WAS THE GRIM REAPER.

Lando: BECAUSE OF A COFFEE MACHINE.

Lando: DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW INSANE THAT LOOKED.

Oscar: Leave me alone.

Lando: I will absolutely not.

Lando: You physically recoiled when she tried to hand you a napkin. A napkin, Oscar.

Oscar: I panicked.

Lando: NO SHIT.

Lando: She thinks you hate her.

Oscar: …

Oscar: That’s unfortunate.

Lando: UNFORTUNATE???

Lando: YOU ARE A DISASTER.

Oscar: I KNOW. STOP REMINDING ME.

Lando: Fix it.

Oscar: How?

Lando: Oh, I don’t know, maybe stop acting like she’s an apex predator every time she looks at you?

Oscar: That’s not helpful.

Lando: Neither are you, mate.

Oscar: I’ll figure something out.

Lando: You’d better. Because I swear, if you make her think you hate her one more time, I am personally locking the two of you in a room until you admit you like her.

Oscar: …

Oscar: You wouldn’t.

Lando: Try me.

***

Oscar knew—knew—that Lando was up to something the second he walked into the McLaren motorhome. The smug grin. The too-casual lean against the counter. The glint of mischief in his eyes that could only mean bad things.

Oscar didn’t have the patience for it today.

“What,” he said flatly.

Lando beamed. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking how tragic it is that you and Sabrina never seem to get much time together. What a shame.”

Oscar’s stomach dropped. “Lando—”

“So I thought,” Lando barreled on, ignoring him entirely, “why not fix that? Quality bonding time! No better way to build team spirit.”

Oscar took a slow, steadying breath. “Lando.”

“Which is why,” Lando continued, still smiling like a menace, “you and Sabrina are filming a ‘Try the Aussie Snack’ video together in five minutes.”

Oscar’s soul left his body.

“No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“You are doing it.”

Oscar’s eye twitched. “I refuse.”

Lando clapped him on the shoulder. “Too late! Already confirmed. Sabrina’s setting up the camera.”

Oscar stared at him, betrayed.

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” Lando corrected. “Now go. And for once, try acting like a normal person around her.”

Oscar considered running. But before he could even attempt an escape, Lando grabbed him by the shoulders and physically steered him toward the media room.

This was going to be a disaster.

Oscar could already feel the impending catastrophe brewing as Lando shoved him into the media room.

Sabrina was there, sitting cross-legged on the couch, setting up the camera with an easy smile. That was already a problem.

Because Oscar, despite all his best efforts, forgot how to be a functional human being the second she smiled at him.

“Hey, Oscar,” she said, looking up. “Ready to try some weird snacks?”

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Lando, standing behind him, groaned. “Oh my god. Speak.”

Oscar managed a nod. A stiff, awkward nod that made Sabrina blink in confusion.

Lando sighed, already regretting everything. “Okay, I’m leaving before I get second-hand embarrassment.” He gave Oscar a pointed look. “Don’t screw this up.”

And then, just like that, he was gone.

Leaving Oscar alone. With Sabrina. On camera.

This was a nightmare.

Sabrina tilted her head, studying him. “You okay?”

“Yes,” he said too quickly. “Fine.”

She gave him a look, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press. Instead, she lifted the first snack—some kind of mystery Tim Tam flavor—and held it up. “Alright, first one up. Want to do the honors?”

Oscar nodded again, grabbed the package, and—

Immediately fumbled it.

The Tim Tams slipped right out of his hands, hit the table, and tumbled onto the floor.

Silence.

Oscar stared at them, horrified. Sabrina stared at him, confused.

Then, to make it worse, instead of just picking them up like a normal person, Oscar blurted out:

“I meant to do that.”

Sabrina laughed.

Like, full-on laughed.

And Oscar? He wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

Instead, he bent down, grabbed the fallen package, and shoved it back onto the table with unnecessary force. “Let’s just—let’s just get on with it.”

Sabrina was still grinning as she unwrapped the pack, clearly amused. “Sure, whatever you say.”

The rest of the filming went about as well as expected.

Which was to say: terribly.

Oscar stammered through half his sentences, nearly choked on a Wagon Wheel, and at one point, when Sabrina playfully nudged his arm, he nearly knocked over the entire table.

By the end of it, Sabrina must be fully convinced he was the strangest person alive.

And Oscar?

Oscar was fully convinced Lando Norris was going to die for putting him through this.

****

Lando (Car):

Lando (Car): I just did my best matchmaking work to date.

Emily (PR): Oh no.

Matt (Mechanic): Oh no.

Gabby (Social Media): Oh no.

Lucy (Engineer): Oh no.

Lando (Car): Why do you all react like that??

Emily (PR): Because your matchmaking has the success rate of a crashed simulator.

Matt (Mechanic): What did you do?

Lando (Car): I set up Oscar and Sabrina to film the snack taste test together.

Adam (Hospitality): Oh no.

Lando (Car): STOP SAYING THAT.

Adam (Hospitality): And how did it go?

Lando (Car): Not well.

Emily (PR): Define not well.

Gabby (Social Media): Wait. I just watched the footage.

Gabby (Social Media): The footage is completely unusable unless we want people to think Oscar is actively having a stroke.

Matt (Mechanic): What did he do??

Gabby (Social Media): He dropped the snacks, stumbled over every sentence, stuttered like 15 times, choked on a Wagon Wheel, and almost knocked over the table because Sabrina barely nudged him.

Matt (Mechanic): For fuck’s sake.

Gabby (Social Media): Sabrina literally came up to me after filming and once again was like, “I think Oscar genuinely hates me.”

Lando (Car): HE LIKES HER. HE JUST DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO FUNCTION.

Adam (Hospitality): This is the worst case of “boy failure” I have ever seen in my life.

Emily (PR): Can we salvage anything from the footage?

Gabby (Social Media): I mean. It is funny.

Lando (Car): Post the choking clip.

Emily (PR): We are NOT posting footage of one of our drivers choking on a Wagon Wheel.

Lando (Car): Cowards.

***

Sabrina wasn’t sure why Lando had insisted she sit next to Oscar at the team dinner, but she should have known it was a terrible idea.

The moment she slid into the seat beside him, he tensed like someone had just threatened to light him on fire.

“Hey,” she tried, keeping her voice light.

Oscar didn’t even look at her. “Hi.”

It was clipped. Sharp. Barely there.

Sabrina blinked. Okay, then.

She tried to brush it off. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he was stressed. Maybe—

“Oh, Sabrina, you’ve gotta try this,” Lando announced, loudly enough for half the table to hear. He speared something off his plate and dropped it onto hers like he was a benevolent king bestowing a gift. “Oscar loves it. Right, Oscar?”

Sabrina glanced at Oscar just in time to see him staring at the food like it had personally offended him.

“…Sure,” he muttered, then grabbed his glass and took a sip of water like it physically pained him to be part of this conversation.

She hesitated. “I mean, if you like it, I’m sure it’s good—”

Oscar made a noise that was something between a cough and a laugh. “Yeah. Right.”

Sabrina froze.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Lando kicked Oscar under the table—Sabrina could hear it—but Oscar just shot him a glare and went back to stabbing at his food with a little too much aggression.

Okay. She’d give him one more chance.

Sabrina turned to him again. “So, uh, do you have any fun off-weekend plans?”

Oscar finally, finally looked at her.

“No.”

Then he immediately turned back to his plate.

Lando groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

Sabrina clenched her jaw.

She was done.

Every time she tried to talk to Oscar, he shut down completely. He either ignored her, barely acknowledged her, or treated her like she was a personal inconvenience.

And yet, for some insane reason, Lando kept pushing them together.

She shoved a forkful of food into her mouth, silently seething.

Lando was wrong.

Oscar didn’t like her.

Oscar Piastri hated her.

***

Lando (Car): I GIVE UP.

Lando (Car): I TRIED. I REALLY TRIED.

Lando (Car): AND HE JUST SAT THERE LIKE A F***ING STATUE AND MADE IT WORSE.

Matt (Mechanic): What happened??

Lando (Car): IT’S A DISASTER.

Lucy (Engineer): Oh no.

Emily (PR): What did he do this time?

Lando (Car): Sabrina tried to make conversation. Asked about his weekend. Lando (Car): And this idiot just said “No.” AND WENT BACK TO EATING.

Jordan (Marketing): 💀💀💀

Emily (PR): You’re joking.

Gabby (Social Media): WHY IS HE LIKE THIS????

Lando (Car): I DON’T KNOW. I WISH I DID.

Matt (Mechanic): What did Sabrina do?

Lando (Car): She looked like she was seriously reconsidering her life choices.

Lando (Car): And I don’t blame her.

Gabby (Social Media): We’re gonna lose her. She’s gonna quit and it’s gonna be Oscar’s fault.

Jordan (Marketing): What if he actually does hate her? Like, genuinely?

Lucy (Engineer): No way. I caught him staring at her like a lovesick puppy two days ago.

Lando (Car): EXCUSE ME??????

Lucy (Engineer): Yeah. He was watching her across the paddock. Full-on, dazed, in a trance, staring.

Jordan (Marketing): So he likes her. But every time she talks to him, he malfunctions.

Matt (Mechanic): That’s what we’re saying, yes.

Lando (Car): I am going to fight him.

Emily (PR): How are you gonna fix this?

Lando (Car): I DON’T KNOW. HE WON’T LET ME HELP.

Gabby (Social Media): Maybe stop helping.

Lando (Car): NEVER.

***

Sabrina flopped down onto her bed with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I’m actually starting to take it personally.”

Her roommate, Gabby, barely looked up from where she was scrolling on her phone. “What, the Oscar thing?”

“Yes, the Oscar thing,” Sabrina said, throwing an arm over her face. “It was funny at first. Like, ‘oh, haha, Oscar Piastri is awkward around me,’ but now—Gabby, I swear to God, I think he actually hates me.”

Gabby finally put her phone down. “He doesn’t hate you.”

Sabrina let out a humorless laugh. “He won’t even speak to me! Do you know what happened today? I asked him how his weekend was, and do you know what he said? No.”

Gabby blinked. “No?”

“Just ‘no’ and then he went back to eating like I didn’t exist.”

Gabby winced. “Ouch.”

Sabrina groaned, rubbing her hands down her face. “And then Lando looks like he’s ready to kill him, and I don’t even know why! Like, am I missing something?”

Gabby bit her lip, hesitating. “…Well.”

Sabrina turned her head to look at her. “What?”

Gabby shifted. “Lando did say Oscar has a crush on you.”

Sabrina just stared at her for a second. Then she scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“That makes zero sense,” Sabrina argued, sitting up. “Who acts like that around someone they like? He actively avoids me! I feel like I’m in high school again and the guy I had a crush on would rather jump into traffic than have a conversation with me.”

Gabby sighed. “I know it’s weird, but maybe he’s just really, really bad at talking to his crush?”

Sabrina let out a small, sad laugh. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m kind of over it. I don’t like feeling like an inconvenience every time I open my mouth.”

Gabby gave her a sympathetic look. “Maybe you should just… stop trying?”

Sabrina flopped back onto the bed. “Yeah. I think I will.”

***

Sabrina had always prided herself on being professional. On handling things with grace. On not letting things get to her.

But tonight, Oscar Piastri had officially broken her.

She didn’t know why she even bothered anymore. She had spent months trying to be friendly, trying to smooth over whatever invisible tension sat between them, trying to convince herself that maybe—maybe—she was just imagining things.

But she wasn’t.

Because when she had reached out—again—to be nothing but nice to him, he had made it crystal clear how he felt about her.

It had been something so small.

She had only been trying to help.

They had all been standing around post-race, the energy in the McLaren garage a buzz of relief and exhaustion. She had noticed his water bottle was empty and, without thinking, had grabbed a fresh one off the table and handed it to him.

A normal, human gesture.

And then, Oscar—fucking Oscar—had recoiled.

Actually recoiled. Like she was something disgusting.

“I don’t need you to do things for me,” he had snapped.

Loud enough for people to hear.

Loud enough that Lando had blinked at him like he had lost his mind.

Loud enough that Sabrina had felt the words like a slap across the face.

It was the way he said it. The disgust. The finality. The absolute contempt in his voice, like she had committed some crime just by offering him a bottle of water.

Her fingers had gone numb around the plastic before she let it drop to the table, her throat so tight she thought she might actually choke on it.

For a second, she swore she saw regret flash in his eyes, but she didn’t care.

Because fuck that.

She had taken a step back, plastered on that bullshit little smile she had gotten too good at faking, and said, “Noted.”

Then she turned on her heel and left.

She didn’t stop until she was out of the garage, away from the noise, away from him, before her hands started to shake. Before the stupid lump in her throat finally won.

She had spent months trying to figure out what she had done to make Oscar Piastri hate her so much.

And now?

Now she was just done.

Sabrina barely made it around the corner before her breath hitched in her throat.

She had tried—God, she had tried—to keep it together, to swallow it down like she always did, to shake it off and pretend like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

Because she was so tired of this. Of trying, of second-guessing, of making excuses for why Oscar Piastri treated her like she was something he couldn’t stand to be around.

And tonight? Tonight, he hadn’t even tried to hide it.

A fresh wave of humiliation crashed over her, and suddenly, she was gripping the side of a metal barricade, blinking rapidly as tears burned in her eyes.

“...Sabrina?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her voice to come out normal before she turned. But one look at Gabby, her closest friend on the media team, and it all crumbled.

Because Gabby took one look at her face and knew.

“Oh, babe.”

That was all it took. The dam broke.

Sabrina let out a harsh, shaky breath, pressing her palms against her face as the tears finally spilled over.

“I don’t—I don’t know what I did,” she choked out, voice wrecked.

Gabby stepped in without hesitation, arms wrapping around her tightly, like she could shield Sabrina from the weight of it all.

“You didn’t do anything,” she murmured. “He’s just—he’s weird—”

“No, he hates me.” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, pulling back just enough to look at her friend. “I don’t—why does he hate me?”

Gabby’s expression twisted, like she was trying to figure out the right thing to say. But there wasn’t a right thing to say, because there wasn’t a reason.

Sabrina wasn’t stupid. She knew not everyone had to like her. But this? This was something else. Something cruel, something that made her feel like she was some idiot constantly trying to reach for a friendship that was never going to exist.

And maybe she could’ve handled that.

But what she couldn’t handle was how much it hurt.

How much it made her feel like she was the only one in the world who didn’t understand why she deserved it.

Gabby exhaled, tightening her grip on Sabrina’s shoulders.

“You need to stop trying,” she said gently. “Because if he’s too much of a coward to explain himself, then he doesn’t deserve to have you wasting another second on him.”

Sabrina let out a wet, broken laugh, swiping furiously at her face.

“I wish I could,” she whispered. “I really do.”

***

Gabby (Social Media): LANDO. I AM GOING TO KILL YOUR TEAMMATE.

Lando (Car): …okay, so context would be great before I start panicking???

Jordan (Marketing): Seconded. What did Oscar do this time?

Gabby (Social Media): Oh, you mean aside from being a complete nightmare of a human being to Sabrina for MONTHS??

Lando (Car): Look, I know he’s socially incompetent, but what happened?

Gabby (Social Media): HE MADE HER CRY.

Lucy (Engineer): OH WHAT THE HELL.

Matt (Mechanic): Wait, actually cry? Not just frustrated huffing and ‘I’m gonna scream’ kind of cry?

Gabby (Social Media): FULL ON. TEARS. Lando, she thinks he hates her. She literally just said, “Why does he hate me?” THROUGH TEARS.

Lando (Car): …I’m going to kill him.

Gabby (Social Media): Not if I get there first.

Emily (PR): Oh my God. Sabrina is one of the nicest people here, what is WRONG with him??

Lando (Car): You guys. He doesn’t hate her. He likes her. He just has the social skills of a damp paper towel.

Gabby (Social Media): OH REALLY? You wanna come tell her that while she’s sobbing into my shirt??

Lando (Car): I—

Lando (Car): Okay yeah that’s really bad.

Adam (Hospitality): What the hell does he do to make her think he hates her???

Gabby (Social Media): Oh, you mean aside from looking like he’d rather walk into oncoming traffic than hold a conversation with her?? Or the fact that whenever she so much as breathes in his direction, he either ignores her or flees the scene like she’s a serial killer???

Matt (Mechanic): Tbf, he also does that when I ask him to sign merch for my niece.

Gabby (Social Media): THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

Lando (Car): I swear he’s just a nervous wreck around her.

Gabby (Social Media): Well, congratulations, your nervous wreck of a teammate has finally broken her.

Lando (Car): Okay, okay, I’m fixing this.

Gabby (Social Media): Fixing it how??

Lando (Car): Step 1: Yell at Oscar.

Lando (Car): Step 2: Figure out Step 2.

Emily (PR): This is going to be a disaster.

Matt (Mechanic): Someone record it.

***

Oscar barely had time to react before Lando stormed into his hotel room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lando demanded, eyes blazing.

Oscar blinked, still in his McLaren hoodie, halfway through removing his shoes. “Uh—”

Lando cut him off. “Sabrina is CRYING, mate. ACTUAL TEARS. Do you understand how hard it is to make someone like Sabrina cry? You have to be horrible. And congratulations! You did it!”

Oscar’s stomach sank. “She’s crying?”

“Yes, you absolute moron!” Lando threw his hands up. “Gabby just texted the group chat saying she’s full-on sobbing because she thinks you hate her.”

Oscar swallowed. “I don’t—”

“I KNOW YOU DON’T,” Lando yelled. “But do you know what she knows? That every time she tries to talk to you, you look like you’re being held at gunpoint and then RUN AWAY.”

Oscar rubbed a hand over his face, guilt pooling in his gut. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Well, guess what? Intentions don’t mean shit if the person on the other end is crying their eyes out in a hotel room thinking you despise their existence.” Lando grabbed Oscar’s arm and yanked him toward the door. “You’re coming with me.”

Oscar dug his heels in. “Lando—”

“No. I don’t care if you combust from secondhand embarrassment. You’re apologizing to her.”

Oscar sighed, defeated, and let himself be dragged down the hallway.

Sabrina looked up when the door swung open. Her eyes are still red-rimmed, and when she sees Oscar standing there, she stiffened immediately. Gabby, beside her on the bed, narrowed her eyes.

“What is he doing here?” Sabrina asked, voice hoarse.

“He has something to say,” Lando announces, shoving Oscar forward before leaning against the door like a prison guard. “And he’s not leaving until he says it.”

Oscar’s mouth went dry. Sabrina crossed her arms, waiting. Gabby glared.

“I—” Oscar started, but the words catch in his throat.

Sabrina exhaled sharply. “Let me guess. You want me to stop bothering you? You think I should take the hint?” She shook her head, voice cracking. “I get it, okay? I got it a long time ago. You don’t have to do this whole awkward pity act.”

Oscar felt like the world had flipped upside down. “Sabrina—”

“No,” she interrupted, standing up. “You’ve spent months making me feel like I’m less than nothing to you. Like I’m some annoyance you can’t wait to get away from. And now, what? You’re forced to be here, and I’m supposed to pretend it’s fine?”

“That’s not—”

“Then WHAT is it?” she snapped, eyes burning. “Because I have tried, Oscar. I’ve tried to be nice. I’ve tried to talk to you. And every single time, you look at me like I’ve killed your dog before you run away like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me.” Her voice wobbled. “Do you have any idea how much that sucks?”

Oscar was frozen, heart pounding. Sabrina’s chest rises and falls unevenly, her fists clenched at her sides.

“I don’t hate you,” he blurted.

Sabrina lets out a bitter laugh. “You have a really funny way of showing it.”

“I don’t—” Oscar ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. “I like you, okay?”

The room went dead silent.

Sabrina blinked. “What?”

Oscar squeezes his eyes shut, then opened them again. “I like you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “That’s why I’ve been so—” He gestures vaguely at himself, expression pained. “Weird. I get nervous, and then I panic, and then I make everything worse.”

Sabrina just stares at him, speechless. Gabby’s jaw has dropped. Lando lets out an I KNEW IT under his breath.

Oscar shifted awkwardly. “I never meant to make you feel like I hated you. I just... didn’t know how to act like a normal person around you.”

Sabrina exhaled slowly, emotions warring on her face. Finally, she rubbed her hands over her eyes. “I cannot believe this.”

Oscar winced. “Yeah.”

Lando clapped his hands together. “Okay, well, I think this is a great development! Now that the truth is out, maybe we can all move past the months of absolute torture you’ve both inflicted on us.”

Sabrina glared at him. “Lando.”

“What?”

She sighed. “Shut up.”

Oscar was standing there like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Gabby, sitting on the bed, was looking between them like she’s watching the most fascinating TV drama of the year.

“You like me,” Sabrina repeated, like she’s trying to process the words in real time. “That’s why you’ve spent months acting like I have the plague?”

Oscar shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking thoroughly miserable. “Yes?”

Sabrina stared at him, then threw her hands up. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Lando makes an exaggerated ding ding ding motion with his hands. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

Oscar shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

Sabrina pressed her fingers to her temples, exhaling sharply. “Do you know how much I’ve stressed about this? How much I’ve analyzed every single interaction we’ve ever had, trying to figure out what I did to make you hate me? And the answer was just this?” She gestured at him, looking completely exasperated. “You like me?”

Oscar winced. “I panicked.”

“Oh my god,” she groaned, dropping onto the edge of the bed.

Lando leaned against the wall, looking far too amused by the situation. “I mean, at least we got to the bottom of it, yeah? No more crying, no more existential crises about why Oscar Piastri has been treating you like an actual curse.”

Sabrina glared at him again. “Lando.”

“What?”

“Go away.”

Lando blinked. “Excuse me?”

“This is your fault,” she said, standing back up and jabbing a finger in his direction.

Lando scoffed, offended. “I tried! Do you know how many times I’ve told Oscar to stop being a complete weirdo about this?” He turned to Oscar. “Tell her! Tell her how many times I’ve told you to stop being an idiot!”

Oscar sighed. “He has told me.”

“See?” Lando gestured dramatically. “I tried to help, but noooo, someone just had to be emotionally repressed and incapable of functioning like a normal human being around their crush.”

Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lando, leave.”

Lando raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. But you both owe me after this.”

He strided to the door, pausing dramatically with his hand on the handle. “Oh, and just so you know? The entire McLaren staff group chat is losing their minds over this. We’ve all been waiting for this moment for months.”

Sabrina groaned. Oscar looks like he might pass out.

Lando grinned. “Okay, now I’m leaving.”

And with that, he walked out, whistling cheerfully.

Gabby gave them one look before following behind him.

Once the door clicked shut, silence settled over the room.

Sabrina exhaled, looking up at Oscar again. “So.”

Oscar shifted uncomfortably. “So.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “What do we do now?”

He hesitated, then said, “I think this is the part where I properly apologise for being a complete asshole.”

Sabrina snorted, some of the tension finally easing from her shoulders. “Yeah. Probably.”

Oscar met her eyes. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like—like any of that. I was just so nervous all the time that I kept making things worse, and then it snowballed, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Sabrina watched him for a long moment, like she was deciding whether or not to accept that. Then she sighed. “Okay.”

Oscar blinked. “Okay?”

“I accept your apology,” she said, crossing her arms again. “But you really need to work on your people skills.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”

She raised an eyebrow. “By Lando?”

“And everyone else.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “God. This is ridiculous.”

Oscar hesitated. “I, um. I get if this whole thing has been too much, and if you don’t want to—”

“Oh my god, just ask me out,” Sabrina interrupts.

Oscar stops. “What?”

Sabrina gestures vaguely. “You. Me. A date. Because if I have to spend one more week waiting for you to act normal, I will actually lose my mind.”

Oscar swallowed. “Would you say yes?”

Sabrina sighed dramatically. “After all of this? If I say no, I’d just be proving Lando right about us being a disaster.”

Oscar let out a short laugh. “So… will you go out with me?”

Sabrina rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Yes, Oscar.”

Oscar exhales, something warm settling in his chest. “Okay. Good.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“OH MY GOD,” Lando yells from outside the door. “I KNEW IT.”

Oscar groans. Sabrina bursts into laughter.

And just like that, everything finally made sense.

***

Lando (Car): EVERYONE SHUT UP AND PAY ATTENTION. I HAVE DONE IT. I HAVE SUCCEEDED. I AM A GENIUS.

Lucy (Engineer): …What did you do.

Lucy (Engineer): Oh god, what did you break.

Adam (Hospitality): If this is about your fantasy football league, I’m muting you.

Lando (Car): NO. IT’S EVEN BETTER. I HAVE MATCHMADE. I HAVE FIXED OSCAR PIASTRI.

Lucy (Engineer): That’s a bold claim.

Matt (Mechanic): That’s an impossible claim.

Adam (Hospitality): Fixed in what way? Like, emotionally? That feels out of your skill set.

Lando (Car): OSCAR AND Sabrina ARE GOING ON A DATE. I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS. I AM CUPID. I AM INEVITABLE.

Lucy (Engineer): …What.

Jordan (Marketing): No.

Matt (Mechanic): This is a prank.

Lando (Car): ASK HIM. ASK HER. I DRAGGED HIM TO APOLOGIZE AND HE CONFESSED HIS CRUSH AND THEN SHE SAID YES AND NOW THEY’RE A THING.

Lucy (Engineer): Oh my god.

Adam (Hospitality): I feel like this should be impossible.

Emily (PR): Are we sure she’s not secretly plotting revenge?

Gabby (Social Media): Yeah, I feel like she deserves at least a week to recover from months of psychological warfare before making this decision.

Lando (Car): NOPE. IT’S HAPPENING. I AM A HERO.

Lucy (Engineer): I don’t think that’s the word I’d use.

Adam (Hospitality): Did Oscar even want you to set them up?

Lando (Car): LOL NO.

Matt (Mechanic): So you bullied him into a relationship.

Lando (Car): MATCHMAKING. NOT BULLYING. DIFFERENT.

Gabby (Social Media): Sabrina better make him suffer first, just on principle.

Lucy (Engineer): Yeah, she deserves to be emotionally compensated.

Emily (PR): Someone make sure Oscar doesn’t panic and ruin it before the first date even happens.

Lando (Car): DON’T WORRY. I AM HIS DATING COACH NOW.

Gabby (Social Media): That is so much worse.

Matt (Mechanic): This is a disaster.

Lucy (Engineer): I’m getting popcorn.

Jordan (Marketing): Oh, absolutely.

Adam (Hospitality): We should start a bet on how long it takes before Sabrina realizes dating Oscar is harder than working here.

Lando (Car): Y’ALL HAVE NO FAITH.

Emily (PR): Absolutely not.

Lucy (Engineer): None.

Adam (Hospitality): Zero.

Matt (Mechanic): We have seen him try to talk to her.

Lando (Car): WELL NOW THEY’RE DATING. SO I WIN.

Gabby (Social Media): Bold of you to assume she won’t dump him out of frustration within a week.

Jordan (Marketing): Honestly, I give it three days.

Lando (Car): Y’ALL ARE HATERS. I AM A LEGEND. OSCAR OWES ME HIS LIFE. Sabrina OWES ME HER HAPPINESS. THIS TEAM OWES ME A STATUE.

Matt (Mechanic): …

Lucy (Engineer): Muting him now.

Jordan (Marketing): Same.

***

Lando (Car): UPDATE. THEY ARE ON THE DATE. I REPEAT. THEY ARE ON THE DATE.

Lucy (Engineer): Are you watching them right now?

Jordan (Marketing): Are we… stalking them.

Matt (Mechanic): I just wanna know how long until Oscar panics and spills his drink.

Lando (Car): I’M NOT STALKING. I’M JUST… MAKING SURE MY HARD WORK PAYS OFF.

Gabby (Social Media): You are literally sitting two tables away from them.

Lando (Car): THAT’S CALLED SUPERVISION.

Emily (PR): This is deeply unethical.

Lucy (Engineer): Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re violating like five HR policies right now.

Gabby (Social Media): If HR asks, I was not here.

Matt (Mechanic): So what’s happening?

Lando (Car): OKAY. So. Sabrina is talking. Oscar is nodding. HE HAS NOT SAID A SINGLE WORD.

Lucy (Engineer): Classic.

Jordan (Marketing): Sounds about right.

Lando (Car): Wait. WAIT. HE JUST TRIED TO TALK. HE OPENED HIS MOUTH.

Lucy (Engineer): And?

Lando (Car): HE KNOCKED OVER HIS WATER GLASS INSTEAD.

Lucy (Engineer): Of course he did.

Gabby (Social Media): That’s our boy.

Emily (PR): Was it a full glass?

Lando (Car): OH IT WAS VERY FULL. IT HAS NOW ENTERED Sabrina’S LAP.

Jordan (Marketing): Jesus Christ.

Lucy (Engineer): It’s over. She’s leaving.

Adam (Hospitality): There is no coming back from this.

Lando (Car): NO WAIT SHE’S LAUGHING.

Matt (Mechanic): What?

Lucy (Engineer): …Why??

Adam (Hospitality): Is she okay??

Lando (Car): I THINK SHE JUST ACCEPTED THAT HE’S A DISASTER AND IS EMBRACING IT.

Gabby (Social Media): Honestly, that’s the only way this relationship survives.

Emily (PR): I have no words.

Matt (Mechanic): Is Oscar okay?

Lando (Car): HE LOOKS LIKE HE WANTS TO CRAWL UNDER THE TABLE BUT SHE’S SMILING AT HIM. HE MIGHT SURVIVE THIS.

Gabby (Social Media): Sabrina is way too kind for this world.

Jordan (Marketing): Should we be worried about her decision-making skills?

Gabby (Social Media): Absolutely.

Lando (Car): GUYS GUYS SHE JUST PUT HER HAND ON HIS ARM. THIS IS PROGRESS.

Matt (Mechanic): Do you think he’s gonna pass out?

Lucy (Engineer): 50/50 chance.

Jordan (Marketing): Do we have a medic on standby?

Adam (Hospitality): I bet he overthinks it and freezes.

Lando (Car): HE’S JUST STARING AT HER HAND LIKE IT’S A COMPLEX MATH PROBLEM.

Matt (Mechanic): Yeah, that tracks.

Lucy (Engineer): What’s the over/under on him panicking and excusing himself to the bathroom for like ten minutes.

Adam (Hospitality): Already placing bets.

Lando (Car): I AM SO PROUD. MY BOY IS ON A DATE. HE’S FLAILING BUT HE’S ON A DATE.

Emily (PR): This is the single most unhinged group chat I have ever been part of.

Gabby (Social Media): Agreed.

Matt (Mechanic): Not even top five, honestly.

Lando (Car): I WILL UPDATE YOU ALL LATER. STAY TUNED.

Lucy (Engineer): God help us all.

Lando (Car): OKAY UPDATE. OSCAR SURVIVED THE HAND ON ARM INCIDENT. BARELY.

Lucy (Engineer): Define “barely.”

Matt (Mechanic): Is he still breathing?

Lando (Car): Yes. But he was so still for like a full 30 seconds that I thought he had short-circuited.

Adam (Hospitality): He probably did.

Gabby (Social Media): The man is a Windows XP loading screen in human form.

Lando (Car): Anyway. They’re talking again. I can’t hear what they’re saying but Sabrina just tilted her head like she’s curious about something.

Emily (PR): Oh god. What did he say?

Lando (Car): I HAVE NO IDEA BUT HIS FACE IS COMPLETELY RED.

Matt (Mechanic): He probably just apologized for spilling the water… again.

Lucy (Engineer): That’s fair. But also, is it too much to ask for him to just act normal for one date?

Gabby (Social Media): Yes.

Adam (Hospitality): Highly unrealistic expectations.

Lando (Car): HOLY SHIT WAIT. HE JUST MADE HER LAUGH. ON PURPOSE.

Lucy (Engineer): No way.

Matt (Mechanic): That doesn’t sound right.

Adam (Hospitality): Are you sure she’s laughing with him and not at him?

Lando (Car): It looked intentional???

Emily (PR): Are you absolutely certain?

Lando (Car): No.

Jordan (Marketing): Reasonable.

Lando (Car): BUT SHE’S STILL SMILING AND HE LOOKS LIKE HE MIGHT ACTUALLY BE RELAXING.

Lucy (Engineer): Impossible.

Adam (Hospitality): Sounds fake.

Matt (Mechanic): I won’t believe it until we see proof.

Lando (Car): WELL GOOD NEWS. I HAVE FOOTAGE.

Emily (PR): Lando, please tell me you did not just record them on their date.

Lando (Car): I may or may not have.

Jordan (Marketing): That is so creepy.

Lucy (Engineer): So send it.

Adam (Hospitality): Yeah, we need evidence.

Lando (Car): SENDING…

(Lando has sent one video.)

Matt (Mechanic): …Wait. Is this actually real???

Lucy (Engineer): He did make her laugh.

Jordan (Marketing): She leans in a little too.

Adam (Hospitality): This is history.

Emily (PR): I hate that we’re all so emotionally invested in this.

Lando (Car): GUYS WAIT—

Jordan (Marketing):: Oh no.

Matt (Mechanic): What?

Lando (Car): HE JUST LOOKED AT HER LIPS.

Lucy (Engineer): 😳

Adam (Hospitality): 😳

Jordan (Marketing):: 😳

Matt (Mechanic): 😳

Gabby (Social Media): …Are we about to witness Oscar Piastri actually kissing someone???

Lando (Car): I DON’T KNOW BUT HE IS THINKING ABOUT IT. I CAN SEE IT.

Lucy (Engineer): Oh my god.

Gabby (Social Media): Sabrina just tucked her hair behind her ear. That’s the universal “I like you” sign.

Matt (Mechanic): This is HUGE.

Lando (Car): GUYS HE’S GONNA DO IT. HE’S GONNA—

Gabby (Social Media): DON’T JINX IT.

Lando (Car): OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE. HE JUST PANICKED AND LOOKED AWAY.

Lucy (Engineer): Oh my god.

Adam (Hospitality): This idiot.

Matt (Mechanic): The sheer whiplash.

Lucy (Engineer): This is painful to witness.

Emily (PR): Someone go shake some sense into him.

Lando (Car): I AM SO MAD.

Gabby (Social Media): We were so close.

Lucy (Engineer): Classic Oscar Piastri.

Matt (Mechanic): What now.

Lando (Car): I AM FORMULATING A PLAN.

Jordan (Marketing):: God help us.

Emily (PR): Please don’t make it worse.

Lando (Car): I will get these two together if it’s the last thing I do.

Gabby (Social Media): Let’s be honest, it probably will be.

Lucy (Engineer): R.I.P. Lando Norris. Cause of death: excessive matchmaking attempts.

Gabby (Social Media): We’ll put it on your tombstone.

Lando (Car): YOU’LL THANK ME WHEN THIS WORKS.

Gabby (Social Media): Big if.

Emily (PR): Huge if.

Lando (Car): You’ll see. 😈

Lando (Car): OKAY. NEW PLAN.

Gabby (Social Media): Oh no.

Lucy (Engineer): Here we go.

Matt (Mechanic): I’m scared.

Jordan (Marketing):: We should be.

Emily (PR): Lando, I beg you to reconsider whatever you’re about to say.

Lando (Car): TOO LATE. I’M TEXTING OSCAR RIGHT NOW.

Adam (Hospitality): About what?

Lando (Car): ABOUT HOW HE NEEDS TO STOP BEING A COWARD AND KISS HER.

Matt (Mechanic): …During the date?

Lucy (Engineer): Oh my god.

Jordan (Marketing):: He’s going to see you texting him.

Gabby (Social Media): Lando, no.

Lando (Car): Lando, yes.

(Lando has sent a screenshot.)

Lando (Car): SENT.

Matt (Mechanic): …“KISS THE GIRL YOU COWARD.”

Gabby (Social Media): That’s what you went with???

Jordan (Marketing):: Subtle.

Lucy (Engineer): Elegant.

Emily (PR): Deranged.

Lando (Car): Well, he just looked at his phone.

Gabby (Social Media): Oh god.

Matt (Mechanic): How’s he reacting?

Lando (Car): He blinked. Like, twice. Real fast.

Adam (Hospitality): That means he’s panicking.

Gabby (Social Media): Yeah, that’s a full system reboot.

Lando (Car): WAIT. HE JUST PUT HIS PHONE DOWN AND SAID SOMETHING TO HER.

Lucy (Engineer): WHAT DID HE SAY.

Lando (Car): I DON’T KNOW, I CAN’T LIP READ. BUT SHE’S SMILING.

Matt (Mechanic): HOLY SHIT.

Gabby (Social Media): If this works, I take back everything I said.

Lucy (Engineer): No you won’t.

Gabby (Social Media): Yeah, no I won’t.

Lando (Car): HE’S LEANING IN.

Gabby (Social Media): OH MY GOD.

Adam (Hospitality): I’M GOING TO THROW UP.

Gabby (Social Media): IT’S HAPPENING.

Jordan (Marketing): SOMEONE RECORD THIS.

Emily (PR): DO NOT RECORD THIS.

Lando (Car): I ALREADY AM.

(Lando has sent one video.)

Gabby (Social Media): HOLY SHIT HE DID IT.

Gabby (Social Media): I NEED A MOMENT.

Matt (Mechanic): HE ACTUALLY KISSED HER.

Jordan (Marketing):: I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS WORKED.

Emily (PR): Delete the video. Right now.

Lando (Car): Absolutely not.

Matt (Mechanic): He’s still alive, right? Like, he didn’t just immediately short-circuit and pass out?

Lando (Car): Barely.

Lucy (Engineer): I think we should all take a moment to recognize the true hero here.

Jordan (Marketing):: Lando?

Lucy (Engineer): Lando.

Matt (Mechanic): Lando.

Gabby (Social Media): Please don’t encourage him.

Lando (Car): You’re all so welcome. 😌

***

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri smau #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine

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throttleheart · 4 months ago

Text

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ Lucky Charm

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slow Burn, Light Angst

Word Count: ~3.1k

Summary: You’ve just started your dream job as a performance analyst at McLaren, determined to stay professional. But when Lando starts treating you like his personal good luck charm, lines blur, and feelings get complicated.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Your first month at McLaren is a whirlwind of data reports, race simulations, and trying not to trip over your own feet in the garage. You’ve worked too hard to get here—countless nights spent studying telemetry, endless practice interviews, a degree that felt like it stretched a lifetime. And now? Now you’re standing in the middle of the paddock, heart pounding as the team rushes around you before qualifying.

You’re supposed to be focused, analyzing Lando’s sector times, but then—

“Hey.”

You look up just in time to see Lando grinning down at you, still in his race suit, hair damp from the heat. His blue eyes flick over your tablet screen before settling on your face. “Anything good in there?”

You clear your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is. “Uh—yeah. Your Turn 3 exit is a bit sketchy, but overall, you’re—”

“Fast?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, shoving the tablet against his chest. “Decent.”

He laughs, bright and carefree, before giving you a casual tap on the shoulder. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

And he does.

Lando qualifies P2.

After the session, he finds you again, a little breathless, still in his suit, curls sticking to his forehead. “Told you.”

“Alright, alright.” You shake your head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe you’re not completely hopeless.”

The next time he talks to you before a session, he places P3.

The time after that? He wins a race.

It becomes a thing. A ritual.

Before every session, Lando seeks you out. A quick chat, a joke, sometimes just a simple fist bump. And every time, he performs well. The team jokes about it, calling you his good luck charm. At first, you play along, chalking it up to coincidence. But then—

“You know,” Lando says one evening after a particularly chaotic race, “I think it’s actually working.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

“This.” He gestures between the two of you. “Talking to you before a race. Feels… right.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you force a chuckle. “So what, you’re just using me for luck?”

His smile falters for half a second—so quick you almost miss it. Then he shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, softer this time. “I think I just like talking to you.”

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a superstition anymore.

It feels like something else entirely.

Something real.

⸻

Lando’s words linger in your mind long after he’s left.

“I think I just like talking to you.”

It shouldn’t mean anything. He’s a driver, you’re an analyst, and the garage is always buzzing with adrenaline and post-race emotions. But something about the way he said it, the way his voice softened, makes your heart beat just a little too fast.

You try to shake it off. Professional. You need to be professional.

But Lando doesn’t make that easy.

⸻

The next race weekend in Monza is a blur of heat, strategy meetings, and endless streams of data. You tell yourself to keep your distance, but Lando doesn’t get the memo.

“Where’s my lucky charm?” he calls out before FP3, scanning the garage until his eyes land on you.

The team laughs. You roll your eyes. “You realize this isn’t real, right? Your performance is based on skill, not—”

“Blah, blah, blah.” He waves you off with a smirk before leaning in slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. “But just in case, got anything for me today?”

You huff but play along, pretending to inspect him. “Mmm… helmet’s a bit crooked.”

His hand flies up instantly, adjusting it. “Better?”

“Perfect.”

“Good.” He grins before jogging off to his car.

The worst part? He takes P2 in qualifying. Again.

⸻

By Sunday, the entire paddock seems to be in on the joke. Every time Lando does well, someone—whether it’s a McLaren engineer, a journalist, or even another driver—mentions you.

“Guess we know who to thank if Lando gets another podium!”

“You traveling to every race now, or just the ones where he wants to win?”

You laugh it off, pretend it doesn’t affect you, but Lando? He leans into it.

After a chaotic race, he finishes P3. Instead of celebrating with the team first, he finds you. Sweat-soaked, grinning, energy still buzzing from the adrenaline rush.

He stops right in front of you, eyes bright. “Told you it works.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a hug—quick, warm, and entirely unexpected. Your breath catches as his arms tighten for just a second before he pulls away, still grinning.

“Thanks, lucky charm.”

Your face is burning, but before you can say anything, he’s pulled away by his engineers.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just Lando being Lando.

But then, later that night, your phone buzzes.

Lando: Dinner? Just us? No luck involved.

Your stomach flips.

Maybe… maybe this is more than just a superstition after all.

⸻

Your fingers hover over the screen, heart hammering.

Dinner? Just us? No luck involved.

Lando’s text stares back at you, casual yet completely not casual at the same time. You should say no. You should remind him that you work together, that you’re supposed to keep things professional.

But your thumbs betray you.

You asking as a friend or as a driver trying to secure another podium?

The response is almost instant.

Lando: What if I’m asking as a guy who just really wants to take you out?

Oh.

You swallow, staring at the message for longer than necessary before typing back:

Fine. But if you lose the next race, I’m blaming your bad dinner choices.

Lando: Deal. Pick you up at 8?

Pick me up? We’re literally in the same hotel, Norris.

Lando: Details, details. See you soon, lucky charm.

⸻

You spend way too much time trying to figure out what to wear. It’s not a date. It shouldn’t be a date. But when you open the door at 8 p.m. sharp and see Lando standing there—hoodie, jeans, hands stuffed into his pockets, but with that ever-present grin—you start to think maybe it is one.

“Ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

He takes you to a small, tucked-away Italian restaurant, far from the usual tourist spots. It’s dimly lit, cozy, the kind of place where the staff greets him like they’ve known him forever.

“You’ve been here before,” you note as you slide into the booth.

He shrugs, smirking. “I like to keep my secrets. Besides, had to impress you somehow.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters anyway.

Dinner is… easy. Surprisingly so. Lando makes you laugh more times than you can count, telling ridiculous stories from his karting days, his voice animated, hands gesturing wildly. You talk about work, sure, but also about everything but work—movies, music, the worst travel mishaps you’ve ever had.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and Lando dramatically recounting the time he almost missed a race because he lost his passport (“Listen, I had one job, and I still screwed it up”), you realize something.

This is dangerous.

Not because of the job, not because of the jokes about being his good luck charm. But because this feels natural. Too natural.

And natural things have a way of turning into something real.

⸻

As you leave the restaurant, the cool night air hits your skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth still lingering in your chest. You walk side by side, and for once, Lando isn’t filling the silence with jokes.

He nudges you lightly with his elbow. “So… does this mean I get extra luck next race?”

You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Hmm.” He pauses, then looks at you, more serious this time. “What if I just wanted an excuse to take you out?”

Your breath catches.

“You wouldn’t need an excuse,” you admit softly.

Lando’s eyes search yours for a moment before a slow smile tugs at his lips. “Good to know.”

And then, without thinking—without overanalyzing like you usually do—you reach for his hand.

Maybe this is more than superstition after all.

⸻

Lando doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not when you weave through the quiet streets back to the hotel. Not when you step into the elevator, the air between you thick with something unspoken. And definitely not when you reach your floor, lingering in the hallway like neither of you really wants the night to end.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, and you wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

“So,” he says, voice softer now, “are you gonna admit it?”

You blink up at him. “Admit what?”

His grin is lazy, teasing—but there’s something else beneath it. Something real. “That maybe, just maybe, I was right about you being my good luck charm.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart isn’t in it. “I think you just like having an excuse to talk to me.”

Lando steps in just a fraction closer, the space between you vanishing. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “And maybe I don’t need an excuse anymore.”

Your breath catches.

This is it.

That tipping point between something playful and something real, between superstition and whatever this is.

And then—

The sound of distant voices echoes down the hall, a group of engineers heading toward their rooms. Lando takes a small step back, exhaling like he’s resetting himself.

“Guess I should let you sleep,” he says, but he still doesn’t let go of your hand.

You squeeze it lightly before finally pulling away. “Night, Norris.”

“Night, lucky charm.”

You don’t miss the way he watches you as you walk away.

⸻

The next morning, the paddock feels different.

Maybe it’s just you. Maybe it’s the way your skin still tingles where Lando’s fingers brushed against yours, or the way your mind replays the moment in the hallway over and over again.

Or maybe it’s the way Lando keeps looking at you.

It starts early. During the strategy briefing, he sits directly across from you, chin resting on his hand, watching you with an infuriating little smirk. When you finally glare at him, he just winks.

Then, during practice, he makes a beeline for you the second he hops out of the car, barely even acknowledging the engineers first.

“Alright, how’d I do?”

You glance at your tablet. “You lost three-tenths in Sector 2.”

Lando groans dramatically. “Maybe I should’ve held your hand before the session.”

Your breath stutters, but before you can respond, one of the mechanics chimes in. “Careful, mate. If you start relying on her too much, you’ll have to bring her on the podium with you.”

Lando’s grin is immediate. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

The team laughs, but you can’t shake the way he’s still looking at you. Like he’s already decided something.

Like this is more than just a joke to him.

⸻

Race day comes faster than you expect.

You tell yourself to focus, to push aside whatever’s happening with Lando and just do your job. But then—

“Lucky charm!”

You barely have time to turn before Lando jogs over, race suit half-zipped, curls slightly damp from the heat.

“You’re really sticking with that nickname, huh?” you tease.

“Obviously. It’s science at this point.” He leans in slightly, voice lowering just for you. “Besides, it’s the best excuse I have to talk to you before every race.”

Your chest tightens.

“Lando—”

“Just—wait here a sec.”

Before you can ask why, he jogs off. You watch, confused, until he returns seconds later—this time holding his spare driver’s cap.

“What are you—”

He lifts it, placing it carefully on your head. His fingers linger at the brim as he tilts it slightly, like he’s adjusting it just right.

“There,” he says, stepping back to admire his work. “Now it’s official.”

You blink up at him. “Now what’s official?”

His smile is softer now. “You’re part of the pre-race ritual.”

Your heart is definitely beating too fast now.

“You better win, Norris,” you manage to say.

Lando just grins. “For you? Always.”

And then he’s gone, jogging toward his car, leaving you standing there in his cap, completely and utterly screwed.

Because if it wasn’t obvious before…

It sure as hell is now.

This isn’t just a ritual anymore.

This is real.

⸻

Lando wins the race.

Not just a podium—a win.

You barely register what’s happening when he crosses the finish line first, the team around you erupting into cheers, engineers shouting, mechanics throwing their arms in the air. The McLaren garage is a blur of orange, people hugging, champagne already being popped somewhere.

And yet, in the middle of the chaos, all you can think about is him.

The moment Lando climbs out of the car, he’s swarmed—by the crew, by cameras, by the world. But then his eyes find you, and it’s like everything else disappears.

You barely have a second to react before he’s running toward you, still breathless, still high on adrenaline.

“Lando—”

But you don’t get to finish, because suddenly, his hands are on your waist, lifting you off the ground, spinning you in a dizzying circle.

“You’re actually insane,” you laugh, gripping onto his race suit.

“Insanely fast,” he shoots back, grinning.

When he finally sets you down, his hands linger—one resting against your back, the other still holding onto your arm, like he’s making sure you’re real.

His voice lowers, just for you. “Told you it works.”

Your heart stutters. “Lando—”

“Let me have this moment first, yeah?” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours. “Then we’ll talk.”

There’s something unspoken in his gaze, something that makes your stomach flip. But before you can respond, the team is pulling him away, dragging him toward the podium.

You stand there, dazed, as you watch him climb to the top step, the anthem playing, the trophy lifted high. The whole world is watching him—but he keeps looking at you.

And you realize, in that moment, that this was never just a superstition for him.

Not even close.

⸻

The celebration lasts all night.

The McLaren team floods the paddock club, drinks flowing, music blasting. Lando is in the center of it all—laughing, dancing, letting everyone pour champagne on him. But every so often, his gaze flickers to you across the room, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You try to keep your distance. Not because you want to, but because you don’t trust yourself. Not after what happened in the garage. Not after the way he held you like that.

But Lando doesn’t let you avoid him for long.

“You’re hiding,” he accuses, sliding into the seat next to you.

“I’m sitting,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “Why are you sitting alone?”

“Just needed a breather.”

His lips twitch. “From me?”

“From everything,” you say, but you both know that’s a lie.

Lando leans in slightly, his voice quieter now. “You remember what I said earlier? About talking after the race?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Still want to avoid that?”

You hesitate. “I just… don’t know what you want me to say.”

Lando exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. For the first time all night, he looks nervous. “I don’t need you to say anything,” he admits. “I just need to know if I’m the only one feeling this.”

Your stomach twists.

“Lando…”

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he continues quickly. “I just—I need you to know that this isn’t just some joke to me. Or a lucky charm thing. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath catches.

He watches you carefully, as if bracing himself for rejection. But there’s no hesitation when you finally reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers.

“You’re not the only one,” you say softly.

Lando’s grin is immediate, relief flooding his face. He squeezes your hand, pulling you just a little closer.

“Good,” he murmurs, eyes shining. “Because I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to fake another superstition just to keep talking to you.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But you like me anyway.”

And for once, you don’t argue.

⸻

Lando doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.

Not when the team drags him back onto the dance floor. Not when champagne is spilled (multiple times). Not even when he’s pulled into photos, making sure you’re right there beside him, his arm slung around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And the thing is? It is.

By the time you both escape the party—slipping out onto the quiet hotel balcony overlooking the city—it’s well past 2 a.m. The celebration is still raging downstairs, but up here, everything feels still. Peaceful.

Lando leans against the railing, exhaling deeply. “Think I still have champagne in my hair.”

You grin, reaching up instinctively, fingers brushing through his damp curls. “Yeah, you do.”

He watches you carefully, eyes flickering between yours. “You gonna fix it for me, lucky charm?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart stutters all the same. “You have to stop calling me that.”

Lando hums. “Mmm… nope.”

Before you can protest, he turns slightly, facing you fully. The teasing fades just a little, replaced by something quieter. More serious.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs.

You know exactly what he’s talking about.

“I know.”

Lando shifts, his hand finding yours again, playing with your fingers absentmindedly. “You still sure I’m not imagining this?”

Instead of answering, you take a small step closer. You don’t know if it’s the leftover adrenaline, the buzz of the night, or just the fact that you’ve wanted this for far longer than you ever let yourself admit.

But when you finally tilt your chin up and press your lips to his, none of that matters anymore.

Lando freezes for half a second—like he can’t believe it’s actually happening—before he melts into you completely, his free hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss is slow, unhurried, like neither of you are in any rush to let go.

When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven.

“Yeah,” Lando whispers, a grin tugging at his lips. “Definitely not imagining this.”

You laugh softly, fingers still curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “Good.”

He presses another quick kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, eyes twinkling. “So, does this mean I get extra good luck now?”

You groan, shoving him lightly. “You cannot make this a racing superstition.”

Lando just grins, catching your hand again. “Too late. You kissed me before the next race weekend. Pretty sure that means I’m winning again.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, voice dropping, “you kissed me anyway.”

You huff, but you don’t deny it.

Because, well… he’s not wrong.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

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