#why did you not do something with this it was RIGHT THERE-

[reasonsforhope]

Literally begging anyone who can vote in US elections to vote, and to vote against Trump. Which means voting for Harris, not abstaining or voting third party.

My family actually did move here from an authoritarian country, where voting literally didn't matter, they literally did throw out your vote, and they literally did assassinate citizens who spoke out against them.

We would all very much like to keep living in a country where those things are not the case!

You know, the same things that Trump and his stooges have openly said they want to do. And two of the main propaganda lines for why people in the US shouldn't vote, which is a lie.

Voting matters. The parties are not the same.

And make sure to vote in down-ballot races!!!

And like. The fact that voting matters in the US is a very real reason for hope. It is something you should genuinely appreciate. We can make a difference.

And a lot of people risked their lives or even died to earn that right, and it's a right not everyone has.

[pucksandpower]

Second Heart

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lewis Hamilton x Senna!Reader

Summary: all you’ve ever wanted was to be able to race just like your Papai … no matter the cost (or in which always going for a gap that exists runs in the Senna family)

You sit cross-legged in front of the TV, shoulders hunched, the remote clutched tight in your little hand. The screen crackles, and there he is — Ayrton. Papai. His yellow helmet blazes under the bright afternoon sun, the car flying down the straight, smooth as a bird on water.

Your eyes don’t blink. The sound of engines growls through the speakers, vibrating all the way to your heart. It’s like he’s right there. Alive.

And so fast. So, so fast. You almost feel like you’re in the car with him, that if you close your eyes, you could taste the gasoline and the rubber, the wind whipping across your face.

“Papai …” you whisper, pressing the volume button louder.

Adriane steps into the room, the clink of her bracelets soft but steady. She pauses when she sees you, arms crossed, one hip jutted out.

“I thought you were doing homework.”

You don’t answer, too lost in the footage. The video cuts to a slow-motion shot of Ayrton weaving through the rain, tires spinning in the spray like magic. They call it genius — what he did at Monaco, at Suzuka, at Donington Park. To you, it’s just your Papai being Papai.

“Turn it off.” Your mother’s voice sharpens now. She hates it when you watch these tapes. You’ve heard her say it before, more times than you can count — It’s not healthy. You shouldn’t keep living in the past. But you don’t feel like you’re living in the past. You feel like you’re meeting him for the first time, every time.

“Just five more minutes,” you plead without looking away.

“No.”

“But I-”

“I said no, agora!”

Her tone makes you flinch. The remote slips from your hand onto the floor with a dull thud. But you still can’t tear your eyes from the screen, where Ayrton’s car crosses the finish line, the Brazilian flag draped over his shoulders as the crowd roars. Your heart beats faster. There’s a strange energy in you, like the buzz before a storm. You push yourself up to your knees, your voice small but determined.

“I want to race.”

Adriane’s laugh is immediate and sharp, like glass shattering. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly!” You twist around to look at her now, the words spilling out. “I wanna race, Mãe! Like Papai!”

Her face changes. The air shifts, heavy and strange. You see it happen — the tightness in her jaw, the way her smile falls away like it was never there.

“No.”

“But-”

“No!” She snaps, louder this time, and it makes you shrink back. “Absolutely not. Never.”

You bite your lip, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. But you don’t stop. Not yet.

“Why not?” You whisper.

Your mother exhales sharply through her nose, as if the question alone is an insult. She crosses the room in two quick strides, crouching down until her face is level with yours. Her hands, delicate but strong, grip your shoulders tighter than usual.

“Because racing is dangerous,” she says, enunciating every word like she’s trying to hammer them into your skull. “Do you understand me? It’s not a game. It took your father from us.”

Her voice wavers on the last sentence, but you don’t care. There’s something stubborn growing in you, something you don’t quite recognize yet.

“Papai loved it.”

“And look where it got him,” she shoots back, her voice sharp as a knife.

You blink, stunned by the words. She’s never said it like that before. She sees your expression — hurt, confused — and her face softens, just for a second.

“Sweetheart …” She sighs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “I know you miss him. I miss him too. Every single day. But I won’t let racing take you away from me.”

“But it won’t-”

“Enough.” Her voice is final, the way grown-ups’ voices get when there’s no more room for argument. “This conversation is over.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. She’s already standing up, brushing invisible dust from her jeans. The TV hums in the background, the commentators babbling about pole positions and podiums.

Adriane snatches the remote from the floor and jabs the power button. The screen goes black, as if Papai never existed at all.

You feel hollow.

Your mother stands there for a moment, the silence thick between you. Then she crouches again, her hands cupping your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“Listen to me.” Her voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “I lost your father. I can’t-” She stops, swallows hard. “I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

You don’t nod. You don’t speak. You just stare at her, your little heart breaking in ways you don’t fully understand yet.

“I’m serious,” she whispers, her forehead resting against yours. “No racing. Not ever.”

And then she kisses the top of your head, soft and lingering, as if that alone could erase the conversation, the dream, everything. She walks out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the blank TV screen, fists clenched in your lap. Your chest feels tight, like something inside you is being squeezed too hard.

You think about Papai. About how he smiled in the cockpit, how the car seemed to dance under his hands, how the crowd chanted his name like a song. He wasn’t afraid.

And neither are you.

You pick up the remote again. Your thumb hovers over the play button, hesitant for just a moment. Then you press it.

The screen flickers back to life, and Ayrton is there, flying through the rain like a miracle.

You smile.

One day, you think.

One day, you’ll race too.

***

The front door clicks shut behind you as you step into the house, dropping your school bag with a heavy thud. You bend down to untie your sneakers, already rehearsing what you’ll tell your mom — how your science project earned a gold star, how you managed to trade a snack with João without getting caught. You have it all planned, down to the way you’ll grin when she offers you that after-school snack.

But as soon as you straighten up, the voices hit you.

Loud. Sharp. Angry.

You freeze, one hand still on your shoelace.

“You have no right — none — to tell me how to raise my daughter!” Your mother’s voice is sharp, like glass breaking. She’s in the living room. You can’t see her from the hallway, but you don’t need to. You can imagine her perfectly — the tight set of her mouth, the way her arms probably cross over her chest.

And then, another voice, familiar in a strange way. Low and hard. “I’m not telling you how to raise her, Adriane. I’m telling you what she told me — how she called me crying because you refuse to let her chase the only thing she’s ever wanted.”

Alain.

Your heart skips. You know him. Everyone knows him. Papai’s fiercest rival — and, in the end, his friend. The man from the stories, from old photographs your mother keeps locked away. Alain, who came to the funeral and cried even when the cameras weren’t on him.

Why is he here?

You step closer, drawn by their words like a thread pulling you tight. You press yourself against the wall and peek around the corner, just enough to see them.

Adriane stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed exactly like you pictured. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, but her face is tight, her jaw locked in anger. Alain stands across from her, looking just as frustrated. His hands move as he talks, fast and insistent, like he’s trying to grab hold of the air between them and shape it into something that makes sense.

“She’s seven!” Your mother snaps, her voice cracking at the edges. “She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for.”

“She understands better than you think,” Alain fires back. “She understands perfectly. She called me in tears — tears, Adriane — because you shut her down without even listening.”

“I listened.” Her voice drops, low and furious. “And I said no.”

Alain scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You said no because you’re scared.”

Your mother’s eyes flash. “Of course I’m scared! She’s my daughter! You, of all people, should understand-”

“I do understand.” Alain’s voice softens, but only just. “I carried his casket. I watched you cry over him. But that’s exactly why you can’t do this to her.”

Adriane’s face crumples for a split second, so brief you might have missed it if you hadn’t been watching so closely. “He’s not here, Alain,” she whispers, and it sounds like a confession and an accusation all at once. “He’s not here to see this, to say if it’s right or wrong. And he’s not here to save her if something goes wrong.”

Alain’s voice drops, steady and determined. “And you think Ayrton would want you to stop her? You think he would want her to live her whole life wrapped in fear because of what happened to him?”

“She’s my child.” Adriane’s voice cracks like a whip, but there’s something desperate underneath it now, like she’s fighting to keep her footing in a conversation she knows she’s already losing. “And I will not lose her.”

Alain’s eyes narrow. “You’re not protecting her. You’re imprisoning her.”

Your mother stares at him, her breath coming fast and uneven. For a moment, everything goes still — so quiet you can hear the ticking of the old clock on the mantel.

Then Alain steps forward, his hands on his hips. “If you won’t help her, I will. I’ll teach her to kart myself if I have to.”

Adriane barks out a bitter laugh, but it’s laced with pain. “You can try,” she says, her voice brittle. “But don’t expect me to come watch. I refuse to set foot at a race, and I won’t look at her as long as I know there’s a chance she won’t come back.”

Her words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. You feel like you can’t breathe. You press yourself harder against the wall, your chest tight with emotions you can’t name.

And that’s when the floor creaks.

Both of them turn at the sound.

“Meu Deus …” your mother whispers, her hands flying to her mouth. “You’re home.”

Alain’s face softens instantly. He kneels down, arms open. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, just for a moment. Then, without thinking, you bolt from your hiding spot and run straight into Alain’s arms. He catches you easily, wrapping you in a hug that feels like safety. Like warmth.

Adriane stands frozen, her hands still over her mouth. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mix of heartbreak and anger and something you don’t fully understand.

Alain pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Hey,” he says softly. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You blink up at him, your heart pounding.

“How would you like to come to Switzerland with me?” His voice is calm, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “You could learn to kart there. I’ll teach you myself. What do you think?”

Your heart races. Switzerland. Karting. Learning to drive. It feels like a dream, one you didn’t even know you could have.

But then you look at your mother.

Adriane’s face is pale, her hands still clutched tight over her mouth like they might stop her from saying something she’ll regret. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and there’s a kind of pain in them that makes your chest ache.

You know what this means to her. You know how much it hurts.

But you also know what it means to you.

You’ve wanted this for as long as you can remember — for as long as you’ve been able to understand what racing is. And here it is, right in front of you. A chance.

You swallow hard and look back at Alain. His expression is kind but serious, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“It’s your choice,” he says quietly. “No one can make it for you.”

You take a deep breath. Your hands shake a little, but you ball them into fists to steady yourself.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

Your mother makes a soft, choked sound — like someone punched all the air out of her.

“Minha filha …” Her voice breaks.

You look at her, and it feels like your heart is splitting in two. “I have to, Mãe.”

She closes her eyes, pressing her hands tighter to her face. For a moment, she just stands there, trembling. Then she drops her hands and wipes her eyes with quick, angry swipes.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice raw and broken. “Okay. Go, then.”

The words sting, sharper than anything you’ve ever felt. But you nod. You have to.

Alain gives your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We’ll call every day,” he promises, glancing at Adriane, though she won’t look at him. “Whenever you want.”

Your mother doesn’t answer. She just turns away, her shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is pressing down on her.

Your heart feels heavy, but there’s something else now too — something lighter. Hope.

You glance up at Alain, and he smiles, soft and warm.

“Switzerland, huh?” You say, trying to sound brave.

Alain chuckles. “Switzerland.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you can finally breathe.

***

Life in Switzerland feels like a dream. Every morning, the mountains rise outside your window, peaks dusted in snow even as the spring sun warms the air. The international school Alain enrolled you in is small, the kids friendly. They speak a mix of languages — French, German, Italian — and though it’s strange at first, you like how every word feels like a little puzzle to solve.

But school is just the beginning of your day. The real magic happens afterward.

Every afternoon, Alain picks you up in his car — a sleek, silver Audi with leather seats that always smell faintly like coffee — and takes you straight to the karting track just outside town. There’s a rhythm to your days now: school, then the track, where the scent of gasoline and hot rubber fills the air.

“Come on, petite championne,” Alain says every day as you hop into the kart, the nickname slipping off his tongue with an easy smile. “Let’s see if you can make me proud today.”

The kart rumbles beneath you, a buzz that shoots from your hands to your heart. The moment your foot touches the pedal, the world falls away. The wind rushes against your face, the engine purring with every twist of the wheel.

Here, in the kart, you feel free — like nothing can catch you, not even the pieces of your life that feel too big or too broken to understand.

Alain watches from the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his face calm but focused. He takes notes every time you race, shouting tips when you pull up to the pit lane.

“Don’t wait so long to hit the brakes before that hairpin, you lose too much time,” he’ll say. Or, “You’re getting faster through the straights. Don’t get greedy on the corners, though — you’ve got to feel the grip.”

You listen to every word, hungry to learn. And when he grins after you complete a lap, clapping his hands like you just won a Grand Prix, your heart swells.

By the time you drive home, your body hums with exhaustion, but it’s the good kind — the kind that comes from chasing a dream.

And every night, after dinner, there’s dessert.

“Glace au chocolat tonight?” Alain asks one evening, pulling two tubs of chocolate ice cream from the freezer.

You grin. “With whipped cream?”

“Obviously,” Alain replies with mock seriousness. “What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

He adds a mountain of whipped cream to both bowls, handing one to you before plopping down on the couch with his own.

As always, an old race plays on the TV. Tonight, it’s Monaco — 1988, the race your father dominated, right up until the moment he crashed into the barrier. The screen flickers as the cars glide through the tight streets, their engines howling between the stone walls.

Alain leans back against the couch cushions, spoon in hand. “See that?” He says, pointing at the screen with a mouthful of ice cream. “Your papa’s line through the Swimming Pool section — perfection. Like poetry in motion.”

You tilt your head, studying the way the yellow helmet zips through the narrow chicane. “How did he do it?”

Alain smiles, scooping another spoonful of ice cream. “He just knew. Ayrton could feel the track better than anyone else. It was like … like he was connected to the car in a way no one else could be.”

You lick your spoon thoughtfully. “Did you hate him?”

The question catches Alain off guard. He freezes, then chuckles, shaking his head. “Hate him? No.” He pauses. “Not really, anyway.”

“But you fought a lot.”

“Oh, we fought.” Alain smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He drove me absolutely mad sometimes.”

You giggle. “Why?”

“Because he never gave up. Not even for a second.” Alain gestures toward the TV, where your father’s car rockets through the tunnel. “Ayrton wasn’t just racing other drivers — he was racing himself. Always trying to be faster, better. It was exhausting.”

He says it like a joke, but there’s warmth in his voice, too. You can hear it.

“And that drove you crazy?” You ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear him say it.

Alain laughs, a soft, fond sound. “Completely crazy.”

You curl deeper into the couch, your ice cream bowl balanced on your lap. “But you were friends, right? In the end?”

Alain’s smile fades a little, but it stays, softer now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “In the end.”

There’s a silence between you, filled only by the hum of the TV and the occasional scrape of your spoons against the bowls.

You glance at Alain, his expression lost somewhere between memory and regret. “Do you miss him?”

Alain looks at you, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he’ll answer. Then he gives a small nod. “Every day.”

You nod, too, even though you didn’t really know your father — at least, not in the way Alain did. But somehow, you miss him all the same.

The race continues on the screen, the cars weaving through the streets of Monaco, chasing the perfect lap.

“You’ll be just like him one day,” Alain says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

You blink, surprised. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Alain replies, nudging your shoulder with his. “You’ve got the same fire in you. The same stubbornness, too, I think.”

You laugh, and Alain grins, pleased with himself.

“You just need to tweak your braking,” he adds with a playful smirk. “You brake like me, not like him.”

“Hey!” You protest, shoving his arm lightly.

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just saying! Ayrton would fly into corners like a madman. Me? I was always a bit more … sensible.”

“Sensible is boring,” you tease, scooping up the last bit of ice cream.

Alain pretends to be offended, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Boring? Sensible is what win me four world championships, thank you very much.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

The credits for the race coverage roll, but neither of you makes a move to turn off the TV. These moments — curled up on the couch with Alain, the scent of whipped cream still in the air — feel like they could stretch forever.

And maybe, just maybe, they do.

***

Four years blur by like the laps on a familiar circuit. Days turn into months, and months into seasons. You grow taller, sharper, and faster. The kart becomes a second skin, every turn and apex something you know instinctively, like breathing. The track is your playground now — your sanctuary.

Alain teaches you everything: not just how to drive but how to think, how to be patient when you need to be and ruthless when the moment calls for it. He tells you about strategy and racecraft, how to listen for the slightest change in the engine’s pitch, how to make yourself invisible in the slipstream until the perfect moment to strike.

Some lessons come easy. Others, not so much. Like when he makes you practice for hours in the rain, your hands frozen, your kart slipping through puddles. Or when you spin out during a practice race and Alain doesn’t even flinch. He just waves his hand in the air.

“Again!” He shouts from the pit lane. “You have to get comfortable with making mistakes, petite. No champion gets there without a few bruises.”

And so you go again. And again. Because this — this dream — is the one thing you want more than anything.

Now, after all those years, the day has finally arrived. You’re old enough to compete in the FIA Karting Championship. This is what you’ve been working toward.

But Alain surprises you one quiet evening at home. No ice cream, no old races on TV — just you and him, sitting across the kitchen table with two mugs of hot tea. His face is serious, but kind.

“There’s something we need to talk about,” he says, tapping his fingers lightly against the mug. “You have a choice to make.”

You lean forward. “What kind of choice?”

Alain tilts his head, his sharp hazel eyes studying you carefully. “Your name.”

You frown. “My name?”

“Yes. You’ve been racing locally for a while, but things are different now.” Alain takes a sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. “The FIA Karting Championship is international. There will be journalists, scouts, team representatives. If you race under your real name, everyone will know exactly who you are.”

You sit back, the weight of what he’s saying slowly sinking in.

“You can use a pseudonym if you want,” Alain continues. “Plenty of drivers do it, especially when they want to build their career on their own terms.”

You blink, caught off guard. You’ve thought a lot about racing — how fast you want to be, how badly you want to win. But this? The idea of hiding your name? It’s a curveball you didn’t see coming.

Alain gives you time to think, his hands wrapped loosely around his mug. “There’s no shame in it, petite,” he says gently. “It’s not about denying who you are. It’s about deciding how you want the world to see you.”

The words hang between you. He’s not pressuring you — Alain never does that — but you can feel the weight of the decision anyway.

You toy with the edge of the mug in front of you, tracing the rim with your fingertip. “Do you think … if I use my real name, people will only see Papai?”

Alain shrugs, but his expression is thoughtful. “Some will. There are people who won’t be able to separate you from Ayrton. They’ll compare you to him before you’ve even taken a proper lap.”

You nod slowly. You’ve known this would happen — how could you not? But hearing it out loud makes it more real.

“At the same time,” Alain adds, “it’s not something to be ashamed of. Ayrton was … well, he was Ayrton. If anyone has the right to be proud of their name, it’s you.”

You bite your lip, the edges of uncertainty fraying inside you. “What would you do?”

Alain smiles softly. “It’s not my decision to make, ma chérie. This is about you. Your future.”

You stare into your tea, watching the steam curl toward the ceiling like tiny ghosts. A part of you aches at the thought of hiding your father’s name — like you’d be denying him, pretending he didn’t matter. But there’s another part, quieter but insistent, that wants to know what it’s like to stand on your own. To earn your place without the shadow of a legend following you everywhere you go.

You tap your fingers against the table, the rhythm matching the beat of an engine in your mind. And then, suddenly, the answer clicks into place.

“I think …” You take a deep breath. “I think I want to use a different name. Just for now.”

Alain raises his eyebrows, curious but approving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more certain now. “It’s not because I’m ashamed. I’m not. I want people to know one day. Just … not yet.”

Alain leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what’s the plan?”

You grin, the excitement building in your chest. “I’ll race under my mother’s last name. And when the time’s right — maybe after I win a few championships — I’ll tell them.”

Alain chuckles, shaking his head. “You think they’ll like the surprise?”

You laugh, a full, bright sound that feels like relief. “Can you imagine their faces?”

Alain grins, clearly amused. “I can already hear the headlines.” He adopts an exaggerated announcer voice: “The karting prodigy who stunned the world by revealing she’s Ayrton Senna’s daughter!”

You burst out laughing, the tension from the conversation melting away. “They’ll lose their minds!”

“And you’ll love every second of it,” Alain adds with a knowing smirk.

You grin, unable to hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “Maybe a little.”

He shakes his head fondly, ruffling your hair as he stands up from the table. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory,” you say, beaming.

Alain gathers the empty mugs and places them in the sink, still chuckling to himself. “Well, I think it’s a smart choice. Gives you time to find your own rhythm.”

You nod, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah. It feels right.”

Alain leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he looks at you. There’s pride in his eyes — quiet, steady, and unmistakable. “Your papa would’ve been proud of you, too,” he says softly.

Your throat tightens, but you smile through it. “Thanks, Alain.”

He nods once, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on,” he says, nudging his head toward the living room. “Let’s celebrate with some dessert. I think we’ve got tarte au citron in the fridge.”

You follow him, your heart light and your steps easy. The road ahead is still long — there will be races, wins, and losses. But for the first time, it feels like it’s yours to drive.

And that? That’s the best feeling in the world.

***

The drive from Switzerland to Imola is quiet. You sit with your thoughts, the hum of the engine beneath you and the road stretching endlessly ahead. Alain offered to come with you, but you declined. This is something you need to do alone.

It’s not that you didn’t want his company, it’s just … how do you explain to someone — even someone who knew your father so well — that you need to meet this place on your own terms?

For eighteen years, you told yourself you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be. But here you are, taking deep breaths as you steer your way closer to the circuit where it all ended. Where everything about your life changed before it even really began.

When you finally arrive, the gates to the Imola track feel strangely peaceful, nestled under a canopy of autumn leaves. The air is crisp, and the sky is that soft, pale blue you only get in early fall. You park the car and head toward the Ayrton Senna memorial, your footsteps crunching through the leaves littering the path.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your pulse loud in your ears. You try to steel yourself — this is just a monument, just a place. You’ve been to a thousand race tracks in your life. But this one is different. This one holds pieces of someone you never got the chance to know.

As you approach the monument, you expect silence. You expect to be alone. But then you notice someone sitting there — another figure crouched near the bronze statue of your father.

The man shifts, startled by the sound of your footsteps on the gravel. His head turns, and you recognize him almost immediately.

It’s Lewis Hamilton.

He blinks up at you, clearly not expecting company either. There’s a moment of awkwardness, both of you standing there, caught off guard in a place meant for solitude.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Lewis waves off the apology, his face softening. “No, no. You’re not bothering me.” He pulls himself up a little straighter, brushing leaves from his jacket. “I always stop by here before Monza. Helps me … I don’t know. Reset.”

You nod, unsure what else to say. There’s something strange about seeing him here — Lewis Hamilton, one of the biggest names in motorsport, sitting quietly in front of your father’s monument like he’s just another fan.

“I came for the same reason,” you admit. “I’m Brazilian. Wanted to pay my respects.”

At that, something shifts in Lewis’ expression — understanding, maybe. “You’re Brazilian?” He repeats, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That explains it. Every Brazilian racer I know carries Senna with them like … well, like a second heart.”

You laugh softly, kicking a stray leaf with your shoe. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Lewis shifts, resting his forearms on his knees as he looks back at the monument. The wind stirs the leaves around your feet, scattering them across the ground.

“He’s always been my hero,” Lewis murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “Even before I really understood what racing was, I just … knew he was special.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze fixed on the familiar features of the bronze effigy — your father’s intense, focused expression captured in metal. It’s strange, standing here with someone who feels the same reverence you’ve always felt but never quite known how to express.

Lewis glances at you again. “What do you race?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

You tuck your hands into your jacket pockets. “Formula Renault 3.5.”

His eyebrows lift, clearly impressed. “That’s a serious series.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, though there’s a flicker of pride in your chest. “Yeah, it’s been good so far.”

“Good enough to think about Formula 1 one day?” Lewis asks, a knowing smile on his face.

You grin. “That’s the plan.”

He chuckles, the sound warm in the cool air. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you. What’s your name?”

For a split second, you hesitate. But you remind yourself — he doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet. “Just … Y/N,” you say casually. “For now.”

Lewis tilts his head, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he doesn’t press. “Y/N. Got it.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to fill the silence. But it’s not uncomfortable — just … quiet.

“You said you come here every year?” You ask after a moment.

“Before Monza, yeah,” Lewis confirms. “It’s become sort of a ritual. Helps me feel grounded, I guess. Reminds me why I do this.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. There’s something about this place — this simple, quiet memorial — that strips everything else away. The politics, the pressure, the noise. It leaves only the pure love of racing behind.

Lewis stands then, brushing dirt from his pants. “Well,” he says, “I should probably get going. Got a long weekend ahead.”

You nod, though part of you wishes you had a little more time to talk to him. There’s something easy about the way he carries himself — no arrogance, no pretense. Just a racer who loves what he does.

Lewis glances at the monument one last time, his gaze lingering on your father’s face. “He would’ve loved to see how many of us still race because of him,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens, but you manage a small smile. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He gives you a nod, something warm and reassuring in his expression. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll be watching.”

With that, he turns and walks down the path, his footsteps crunching through the leaves. You watch him go, the wind stirring around you again, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and autumn.

For a long moment, you stay there, standing in front of the monument, just you and the bronze figure of your father. You don’t say anything — there’s nothing that needs to be said. But in the quiet, you feel a strange sense of peace.

Maybe it’s the years of racing, the laps you’ve turned, the lessons you’ve learned. Or maybe it’s just knowing that people like Lewis exist — people who carry your father’s spirit with them, even though they never knew him.

You brush a hand over the cool surface of the monument, tracing the edge of the plaque with your fingers. “I’m gonna make you proud,” you whisper.

And this time, you believe it.

The wind picks up again as you turn away from the monument, heading back toward the car. Monza is waiting. And so is the rest of your story.

***

The paddock feels like a world unto itself — buzzing with life, engines roaring in the distance, team personnel hurrying from garages to pit walls.

You’re barely a day into your first GP2 weekend with DAMS, and it’s already overwhelming. The DAMS crew is friendly but businesslike, and the constant stream of engineers, mechanics, and journalists passing by your garage is a reminder that you’ve officially stepped onto the big stage.

Your heart pounds as you adjust the collar of your race suit, nerves crawling under your skin. You spent the morning doing seat fittings, debriefs, and media duties, but now you’re finally free for a few minutes before the next round of meetings.

Alain walks beside you, calm and collected as ever, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He’s been like a steady lighthouse in the chaos of this new chapter, guiding you through the storm with quiet assurance.

“Remember,” Alain says as you both weave through the paddock, “it’s just another race. Keep your focus. Don’t let the noise get to you.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter, scanning the sea of faces for anyone familiar — or anyone dangerous, like a journalist with too many questions.

Alain smirks knowingly. “That’s why you have me.”

You can’t help but grin, a flicker of relief easing the tension in your chest. Alain’s been by your side for so long now that the idea of navigating a race weekend without him feels unthinkable.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot someone you weren’t expecting: Lewis.

He’s walking toward the McLaren motorhome, surrounded by team personnel and a PR officer trailing closely behind, clipboard in hand. You see the moment recognition flickers in his eyes — he stops mid-step, gaze locking on you like he’s just solved a puzzle.

“Y/N?” He calls, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Alain glances sideways at you, bemused, but you can’t help the small, slightly guilty smile tugging at your lips. You wave at Lewis, feeling a little awkward but genuinely happy to see him.

Lewis strides over, his PR officer groaning softly but trailing after him anyway. “I thought I’d see you around here eventually,” Lewis says with a grin. “Didn’t think it would be so soon.”

You shrug, playing it casual. “Surprise.”

His eyes flick to Alain, standing quietly beside you. “And you … know Alain Prost?”

Alain raises a polite eyebrow, but there’s an amused glint in his eye, as if waiting to see how you’ll answer this one.

You shift on your feet, aware of Lewis’ confusion. “Yeah, he’s … been my mentor for years.” You keep your explanation vague, not ready to drop the full truth just yet.

Lewis frowns slightly, processing the unexpected connection. “You’ve been working with Alain Prost?”

You nod. “Since I was a kid.”

Lewis lets out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with new appreciation. “Wow. That explains a lot.”

Before you can respond, his PR officer steps in, clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Lewis, we really need to-”

Lewis waves her off without breaking eye contact with you. “Five more minutes. It’s fine.”

The woman hesitates, then sighs in frustration and backs away to give him space. Lewis turns his full attention back to you, his easy grin returning.

“So, GP2, huh?” He asks, hands on his hips. “How’s it feel to finally be here?”

“Terrifying,” you admit with a laugh. “But also kind of amazing.”

“That’s how you know you’re in the right place,” Lewis says, his tone encouraging. “The nerves mean you care.”

Alain watches the exchange quietly, and you can tell he’s measuring Lewis, sizing him up — not in a competitive way, but in that protective way he’s always had with you. It’s subtle, but you know Alain well enough to see it.

“I’ll make sure to catch the feature race,” Lewis promises, his grin widening. “I’ll be cheering you on.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to show how much that means to you. “Oh yeah? You sure you have time to slum it with us junior drivers?”

Lewis laughs, genuinely amused. “Come on, now. I started in GP2, remember? I know exactly how tough it is.”

“Guess I’ll have to put on a good show, then.”

“You better,” Lewis says, mock-serious. “Otherwise I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

The two of you share a quick, easy laugh, and for a moment the chaos of the paddock fades into the background. It’s just two drivers, standing in the middle of it all, sharing a moment of understanding.

“You’re going to crush it,” Lewis adds, his voice low and certain.

Something in his tone makes you believe it — makes the nerves that have been simmering all day settle, if only for a moment.

Alain clears his throat softly, a reminder that time is ticking. “We need to get back to the team,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Lewis nods, taking the hint but not before offering you one last smile. “Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you out there.”

You return the smile, feeling lighter than you have all day. “Thanks, Lewis.”

He gives Alain a respectful nod before turning to leave, his McLaren team falling into step around him as he disappears into the paddock.

As you watch him go, Alain leans in slightly, his voice quiet but laced with amusement. “Friend of yours?”

You smirk, still watching Lewis disappear into the crowd. “Something like that.”

Alain chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar — like the engine note of a car you’ve driven a thousand times.

“Come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder gently. “We have work to do.”

You follow Alain back toward the DAMS garage, the nerves still there but tempered now with something else — excitement, anticipation, maybe even a little confidence.

Because this is your moment. Your chance to show the world what you can do. And with people like Alain and Lewis in your corner, you know you’re not facing it alone.

***

The Bahrain sun beats down relentlessly, the heat pressing against your skin even through your race suit. Sweat clings to your brow, mixing with the overwhelming, heady cocktail of fuel, rubber, and victory. You’re breathless, exhausted — but none of that matters.

You did it. You won.

The feature race trophy feels almost weightless in your hands as you stand on the podium, the sound of the Brazilian anthem thundering in your ears. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, and for the first time since you entered GP2, you allow yourself to savor the moment. You close your eyes for a second, letting the anthem sink deep into your bones, and think of your father.

When the rose water sprays, it feels like you’ve broken through a barrier — proof to yourself and to the world that you belong here. That you’re not just someone chasing the shadow of a name, but a racer in your own right.

The post-race chaos is a blur — interviews, debriefs, more interviews. It’s not until you’re finally allowed to step away from the DAMS garage, damp with sweat and floral liquid, that the realization hits you again: you won your first GP2 race. The adrenaline still courses through your veins, but beneath it, there’s a quiet hum of contentment.

You round the corner of the paddock, searching for a quiet moment to collect yourself — when a familiar voice calls your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there he is: Lewis, dressed casually in his McLaren team kit, that signature grin stretched across his face. His eyes are bright under the paddock lights, and his presence feels like a cool breeze against the heat of Bahrain.

Before you can say anything, he’s already jogging up to you, wrapping you in a quick, spontaneous hug. The smell of his cologne lingers in the air between you — spicy and warm, like cedar and citrus.

“That was incredible!” Lewis says, pulling back to look at you. “Seriously, you drove like a pro out there.”

You grin, still catching your breath. “You saw the whole race?”

“Of course I did.” He says it like it’s obvious, as if there was no way he could have missed it. “I told you I’d be cheering you on, didn’t I?”

“Guess I didn’t disappoint, then,” you say, teasing.

“Not even a little.” His grin softens into something warmer, more personal.

The way he looks at you — like he’s genuinely proud — makes your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. It’s strange, but comforting, the way he’s here, grounding you in the whirlwind of it all.

“Come on,” Lewis says, gesturing toward the paddock hospitality area. “You deserve a proper celebration. We’ll grab something to drink, at least — water, preferably, because you look like you’re about to melt.”

You laugh. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not passing out just yet.”

“Still,” he insists, walking beside you. “Gotta take care of the winner, right?”

You follow him, your steps lighter than they’ve felt all weekend. It’s easy with Lewis — talking, walking, just existing in the same space. You can’t tell if it’s the lingering buzz of the win or something else entirely, but there’s a sense of ease between you that you haven’t felt with anyone in a long time.

He leads you to one of the quieter corners of the paddock, where a small group of McLaren personnel are relaxing. Lewis grabs two water bottles from a nearby cooler and tosses one your way.

“Catch.”

You catch it easily, the cool plastic a relief against your palm. “Thanks.”

Lewis leans against the back of a chair, his posture relaxed, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “So … how does it feel?”

“To win?” You twist the cap off your bottle and take a sip. “Like … I don’t know. Like I can finally breathe again.”

He nods, like he knows exactly what you mean. “First win’s always special. But there’ll be more. I can feel it.”

You tilt your head, amused. “You think you’re a psychic now?”

Lewis chuckles. “Nope. Just good at spotting talent.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no denying the warmth his words spark inside you. You glance away for a moment, trying to shake the strange flutter in your chest.

“So,” he says after a beat, “what’s next? A second win in Spain?”

“I mean, that’d be nice,” you say, grinning. “But I’ll settle for finishing with all my wheels intact.”

“Good plan,” Lewis agrees, laughing. “That track’s a nightmare.”

The conversation drifts easily from there, flowing from racing to random paddock gossip to stories from his early days in GP2. You’re both standing close — closer than two people probably need to stand. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, it feels … nice.

He pauses for a second, watching you with that thoughtful expression he gets sometimes, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on beneath the surface.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He says softly, almost like it’s just for you to hear.

The words catch you off guard, and you feel your cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Just doing my best,” you say, trying to play it off, but your voice sounds quieter than you intended.

Lewis’ eyes linger on yours for a moment longer, and there’s a flicker of something between you — something unspoken, but not unwelcome.

Before either of you can say anything more, a loud cheer erupts from a nearby group of mechanics, jolting you both back to the present. You laugh, the moment slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Guess the celebration’s already started,” you say, motioning toward the rowdy crowd.

Lewis grins. “Looks like it. You coming?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want to celebrate, but because part of you likes this quiet bubble you and Lewis have found.

“I think I might stay here for a bit,” you say, leaning against the wall and taking another sip of water.

Lewis doesn’t move to leave. Instead, he stays where he is, like maybe he feels the same pull to stay in this moment, too.

“You know,” he says after a beat, his voice low and a little more serious, “I meant what I said earlier. About you being something special.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s no teasing in his expression now — just quiet sincerity.

“Thanks,” you say softly, the word not nearly enough to convey what you’re feeling.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, then gives you a small, crooked smile. “Guess I’ll just have to keep watching and see what you do next.”

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the air shifts between you — charged with possibility, like the moment before a green flag drops.

You don’t know what’s coming next, but for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of it. Not when Lewis is standing here, smiling at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world.

And somehow, you think, this might just be the start of something worth chasing.

***

It’s late in the evening, and the Monaco paddock has fallen into a rare lull. The energy of race day — mechanics scrambling, journalists hounding drivers, engines screaming — has settled into a quiet hum. Most people have retreated to their yachts or hotel rooms by now, leaving only the occasional team member wandering through the maze of garages and hospitality areas.

You sit with Lewis on the edge of the harbor, the two of you tucked away from prying eyes. The water laps gently against the docks, and the principality’s golden lights reflect across the surface like scattered coins. Neither of you say anything for a while, content to let the quiet fill the spaces between you.

It’s been like this more often lately — stolen moments between races, conversations that drift into the small hours of the morning, and the unspoken pull that keeps you near each other, even when there’s no real reason to be.

Lewis shifts beside you, resting his forearms on his knees. “You ever just sit somewhere and wonder how the hell you got here?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, the glow of the streetlights catching the sharp angles of his face. “All the time.”

He gives a small laugh, running a hand over his braids. “Monaco’s something else, isn’t it?”

You nod, hugging your knees to your chest. “Feels like the kind of place people dream about … like it’s not even real.”

He looks over at you then, his gaze lingering a moment too long. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not sure what’s real sometimes.”

There’s something heavy in his voice, something unspoken. And for the first time tonight, the quiet between you doesn’t feel as comfortable. It feels loaded, like you’re both waiting for the other to say something neither of you know how to say.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You okay?”

Lewis exhales slowly, glancing out over the water. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to begin. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately … about the future. About what I want, and where I want to be.”

You shift closer to him, sensing that this isn’t just idle talk. “What do you mean?”

He leans back on his hands, staring at the water like it might hold the answer. “I’ve been with McLaren my whole career. Since I was a kid. But … I don’t know. Lately, it feels like I’m stuck. Like I’ve hit a wall.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

He looks at you then, and there’s something raw in his expression — something vulnerable. “I’ve decided to leave McLaren at the end of the season. I’m signing with Mercedes.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and unexpected. You blink, trying to process what he just said. “Mercedes?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“But … McLaren’s your home.”

Lewis shrugs, but there’s a sadness in his eyes. “It was. But things change. And if I don’t take this chance now … I think I’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

You stare at him, your mind spinning. “Do people know yet?”

He shakes his head. “Not many. Just a few people on the team. I wanted to tell you before it got out, though.”

You chew on your bottom lip, absorbing the weight of his words. “That’s a big decision, Lewis.”

“I know.” He looks at you, his gaze steady. “But it feels like the right one. Even if it’s scary as hell.”

You let out a breath, feeling a strange mix of emotions — pride, worry, something you can’t quite name. “Well … if it’s what you want, I guess it’s the right move.”

He smiles, but it’s a small, almost hesitant thing. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Like something has shifted — not just because of what he said, but because of the way he’s looking at you now.

“You’ve been there for me a lot lately,” he says softly. “I don’t think I’ve said how much that means to me.”

Your heart beats a little faster. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.” His voice is low, and there’s something in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

He shifts slightly closer, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up at him, and the world seems to narrow down to just this — just the two of you, sitting on the edge of the harbor, the night air thick with something electric.

And then, slowly — almost hesitantly — he leans in.

For a split second, you think about pulling away, about the million reasons why this might not be a good idea. But before you can overthink it, his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

It’s not the kind of kiss that demands anything — it’s the kind that promises everything.

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing, and your mind feels like it’s spinning in a thousand different directions.

Lewis looks at you, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. “Yeah?”

He nods, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you move, caught in the quiet aftermath of the kiss. The world around you feels distant, like it’s just the two of you, floating in your own little bubble.

Finally, Lewis pulls back slightly, though his hand lingers on your face. “So … what now?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and easy. “I have no idea.”

He grins, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your chest feel warm. “Guess we’ll figure it out, then.”

You nod, your heart still racing. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

And somehow, even though nothing feels certain — his future, your career, whatever this thing is between you — there’s a strange sense of peace in the not knowing.

Because whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it together.

***

The air in the McLaren garage is thick with anticipation. Cameras are set up, media personnel are adjusting their equipment, and there’s a palpable buzz in the air as the press conference prepares to start. You stand just behind the curtain, your heart racing. You can hear the hum of voices in the room beyond, reporters murmuring to one another, waiting for the big reveal.

The past few months have felt like a whirlwind — a blur of contract negotiations, meetings with McLaren’s team principal, and the quiet, creeping excitement of finally getting the chance to do what you’ve always dreamed of. But now that the moment is here, the weight of it is settling in. You’re not just about to become the first woman in F1 in decades, you’re about to step into the spotlight as Ayrton Senna’s daughter.

You take a deep breath, glancing down at the McLaren-branded polo shirt you’re wearing, the crisp fabric somehow making everything feel more real. This is happening. After all the years of hard work, all the sacrifices, you’re about to make history.

Alain stands beside you, his face calm, but his hand on your shoulder is firm and reassuring. “You ready?” He asks, his voice low, but steady.

You nod, swallowing down the nerves. “I think so.”

“Just remember why you’re doing this,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. “This is about you. Not your father. Not anyone else. You.”

You offer him a small smile. Alain’s always been good at grounding you, at reminding you that you’ve earned this, regardless of who your father was. He’s been there through it all — your highs and lows, your victories and failures. And now, here he is, standing beside you as you take this monumental step.

The curtains part, and the team principal, Martin Whitmarsh, steps onto the stage. The room quiets as he approaches the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today,” he begins, his voice carrying through the room. “It’s not often we get to announce something of this magnitude. Today, McLaren is proud to welcome a new driver to our team for the 2013 season. Not only will she be the first woman to compete in Formula 1 in over 20 years, but she’s also someone with a legacy that speaks for itself.”

There’s a murmur of curiosity from the crowd, and you know the moment is coming. The reveal. The truth that you’ve kept hidden, even from the people closest to you.

“Please join me in welcoming, Y/N Senna.”

The sound of your name, followed by your father’s, echoes through the room like a ripple of shock. For a brief moment, there’s stunned silence. Then, the cameras start flashing, the murmurs turn into a roar, and all eyes are on you.

You step onto the stage, trying to steady your breath. The weight of the announcement, of who you are, feels heavier than you expected. But you push through, meeting the gaze of the journalists, the photographers, the team members standing off to the side. You can’t see him from here, but you know Alain is watching from the wings, his quiet support steadying you.

Whitmarsh continues speaking, but the words blur together as your mind races. It’s not until you hear the murmured whispers in the back of the room that your attention snaps back.

“Senna?”

“Ayrton’s daughter?”

“Why didn’t anyone know?”

As the press conference wraps up, and you’re led off stage, the questions start flooding in. Journalists swarm, desperate for a quote, for more insight into the mystery that you’ve kept hidden for so long.

But before you can respond to any of them, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Y/N.”

You freeze, your heart dropping. You know that voice. You turn slowly, and there he is — Lewis, standing just a few feet away, his face unreadable.

The PR team tries to shuffle you away, but you shake them off, making your way over to him. “Lewis …”

He cuts you off, his expression dark. “You’ve been racing for all these years, and you never thought to tell me? Not once?”

The sting of his words catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond, but he continues, his voice low but sharp. “I thought we were close. I thought we were-” He stops, running a hand over his face. “You let me fall for you, and you didn’t even tell me who you really are.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “Lewis, it wasn’t like that-”

“Wasn’t it?” He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours, hurt and confusion written all over his face. “I get it, okay? You didn’t want people to treat you differently because of your name. But me? I thought we were past that.”

“I didn’t want to use my father’s name to get ahead,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted to make a name for myself, first. And I didn’t tell you because … because I didn’t want it to change how you saw me.”

“Well, it’s changed everything now,” he snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I thought I knew you, but clearly, I didn’t.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. “Lewis, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Didn’t mean to hurt me? You’re Ayrton Senna’s daughter, and you never even mentioned it once. How could you keep something like that from me?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I didn’t want it to come between us.”

“Well, it has,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still laced with pain. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You stare at him, your chest tightening. The distance between you feels insurmountable now, like a chasm that you don’t know how to cross.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lewis looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly, but the hurt still lingers in his eyes. “I need some time,” he says finally, his voice rough. “I just … I need to figure this out.”

You nod, the tears finally spilling over. “Okay.”

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your heart heavy and your world spinning.

As you watch him go, you can’t help but wonder if things will ever be the same between you.

***

The air at Imola is still. The late-summer heat clings to your skin, and the only sounds around you are the distant hum of cicadas and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You stare at the stone memorial, the bronze relief of your father’s face, the flowers people have left here over the years. Some are wilted, some fresh. There’s even a small Brazilian flag tucked against the base.

You exhale slowly, your hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your jacket. It’s been exactly a year since you first stood here, heart in your throat, hoping to find some kind of connection, some kind of clarity. The weight of the past year presses down on you now — signing with McLaren, the media frenzy, the fallout with Lewis.

And Papai. Always Papai.

You kneel, brushing a hand over the smooth stone, fingers tracing the engraved letters. “I made it,” you whisper. “I’m almost there.” Your voice catches on the words, a lump forming in your throat. “I wish you were here to see it.”

You close your eyes, trying to imagine what he’d say if he were standing beside you. Maybe he’d be proud. Maybe he’d tell you to push harder, go faster, never settle. Or maybe he’d tell you to slow down, to find a way to reconnect with your mother before it’s too late. But he’s not here. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

A soft rustling sound pulls you from your thoughts. Footsteps, deliberate but hesitant, approach from behind, crunching through the dry leaves scattered on the ground. You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Lewis.

He’s wearing a hoodie, hands tucked into the front pocket, his brows peeking out from beneath a baseball cap. He stops a few feet away, his dark brown eyes meeting yours. There’s something guarded in his expression, but there’s warmth there, too.

You straighten slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. “What are you doing here?”

Lewis shrugs, his gaze flickering to the memorial and back to you. “Monza’s coming up. Thought I’d stop by first … like I always do.”

The tension between you feels like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at any second. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence stretching out like a canyon.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, either.”

You bite your lip, looking away toward the memorial. “I needed to. Before the race. I … I haven’t been here since last year.”

Lewis shifts, the soft scrape of his shoes against the ground. “I remember.”

The air feels heavy between you, thick with all the things you haven’t said to each other. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but they feel tangled, impossible to untangle without breaking.

Lewis is the first to speak again, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About what happened. About everything.”

You swallow hard, your hands clenching into fists in your pockets. “Me too.”

“I was angry,” Lewis admits. “Hurt, too. But … I get it now. Why you didn’t tell me.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him, surprised. “You do?”

He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to prove yourself, like the world’s already decided who you are before you even get a chance to show them. I just … I wish you’d trusted me with it.”

“I wanted to,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “I did. But … it’s complicated.” You look down, kicking at a stray leaf with your shoe. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be his daughter without being defined by it. And now … now it’s all out there.”

Lewis steps closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re not just his daughter, Y/N. You’re you. And that’s who I fell for.”

The warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten. You blink quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. They spill over anyway, and you wipe at them angrily with the sleeve of your jacket.

“It’s not just about the name,” you whisper. “Racing … it’s all I’ve ever wanted. But it’s also what took me away from my mom.” You take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She can’t even look at me without seeing him. I haven’t had a real conversation with her in years. The last time we talked was my birthday. And it was just a two-minute call.”

Lewis’ face softens, and he reaches out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, sniffing quietly. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … hard, you know? I love racing, but it feels like it’s cost me everything else.”

He takes another step closer, his hand lingering on your cheek. “You’ve got me,” he murmurs.

You look up at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Do I?”

He smiles softly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah. You do.”

The world feels like it tilts for a moment, everything narrowing down to just the two of you standing here, beneath the shadow of your father’s memory. And before you can think too hard about it, before the doubts can creep in, you lean in, closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first — tentative, like neither of you wants to break the fragile peace that’s settled between you. But then his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens, the weight of everything unsaid dissolving in the warmth of his touch.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other.

“I missed you,” Lewis whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I missed you, too,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away.

Eventually, Lewis pulls back slightly, his hand still cradling the back of your neck. “So … what now?”

You smile, a small, genuine smile that feels like the first one in a long time. “Now … we go win at Monza.”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn right we will.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and free, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts.

As you stand there, hand in hand with Lewis, you glance back at the memorial one last time. “I think he’d be happy,” you say quietly.

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know he would.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosens. You’re still Ayrton Senna’s daughter. But you’re also yourself. And that? That feels like enough.

***

The crowd roars so loudly that it feels like the earth itself is shaking. São Paulo is electric, the grandstands packed with people draped in green and yellow, waving flags, and chanting. You’ve been in big races before, stood on podiums, and tasted victory. But this … this is different.

This is Interlagos. This is home. And for the first time in your career, you’re leading an F1 race in front of your people.

“Alright, Y/N,” your engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “Five laps to go. Everything looks good on the telemetry. Just bring her home.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you navigate the tight curves of the circuit. Every bump, every rise, every dip feels familiar. You’ve studied this track since you were a child. This is where your father was a legend — and now, it’s where you can make your own history.

The tires hum beneath you, vibrations pulsing through your hands and feet. The sky is dark with heavy clouds threatening rain, but the track is still dry, for now. Behind you, Sebastian Vettel is chasing hard in second place, his Red Bull a glimmer in your mirrors, but you don’t think about him. Not now. This is about you. About crossing that finish line first.

Four laps. Then three. Every second feels like an eternity. You can hear the crowd over the sound of the engine, their voices rising every time you fly past the grandstands. “SENNA! SENNA!” they chant, over and over, as if your name — your real name — was always meant to be called alongside your father’s.

“Two laps, Y/N. Gap to Vettel is two seconds. Stay focused.”

Your grip tightens on the wheel. You shift gears, your mind and body moving in perfect sync with the machine around you. The wind whistles past your helmet as you race up the hill toward the final turn.

On the final lap, it starts to drizzle — just enough to slick the track and make things dangerous. Your car twitches as the tires search for grip.

“Be careful, Y/N,” your engineer warns. “You’ve got this. Just stay calm.”

You breathe in. Breathe out. And then the chequered flag waves ahead of you, and the world explodes into color and sound.

“P1, Y/N! P1! You’ve won the Brazilian Grand Prix!” Your engineer’s voice is hoarse with excitement. “That was incredible — you just won at home!”

Your heart leaps as tears spring to your eyes. You punch the air, screaming into the radio, not caring who hears. “YES! YES! WE DID IT!”

The car coasts into parc fermé, the engine humming its final notes as you switch it off. You rip off your gloves and helmet, letting the cool air hit your damp face. The grandstands are still shaking with the cheers of thousands. Your name — Senna — is on every banner, every poster, and every fan’s lips.

You climb out of the car, adrenaline still surging through your veins, and jump onto the chassis. The crowd roars even louder as you throw your fists into the air, pointing toward the sky. The thought flashes through your mind: This one’s for you, Papai.

You jump down and make your way to the barriers where your team waits, already celebrating with hugs, fist bumps, and slaps on the back. You push through the throng of mechanics, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. And that’s when you see her.

Among the sea of McLaren team uniforms, standing stiffly with her arms wrapped around herself, is your mother.

Your steps falter for a moment, shock flooding through you. She’s here. She’s really here. You blink, wondering if the tears in your eyes are playing tricks on you, but no — there she is. Adriane.

She’s thinner than you remember, her hair streaked with more silver now. She looks out of place among the mechanics, but she’s here. Her eyes, so much like your own, are filled with something you haven’t seen in years — pride. And something more. Regret.

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or run the other way. Then her face crumples, and she takes a tentative step forward, her arms reaching for you like she used to when you were small.

That’s all it takes. You close the distance in an instant, throwing yourself into her arms.

“Mãe!” The word leaves your mouth in a sob, and before you know it, you’re both crying, clutching each other like you’re afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into your hair, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, minha filha. I was wrong. I should’ve-”

You shake your head against her shoulder, holding her tighter. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

She pulls back slightly, cupping your face in her hands like she used to when you were little. “I didn’t think I could do it,” she admits, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so afraid I’d lose you too. But then … then I watched you out there today.” Her voice cracks, and she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “And I saw him. I saw Ayrton. But more than that, I saw you. My daughter.”

You can’t speak — your throat feels too tight, and the tears won’t stop. So you just nod, leaning into her touch as the noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Adriane pulls you back into a hug, and for the first time in years, you let yourself feel it — the warmth, the love, the mother you thought you’d lost. And somehow, standing here with her in your arms, it feels like you’ve come full circle.

After a long moment, she pulls back and wipes her tears, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Look at us. Crying like fools.”

You laugh too, sniffling as you wipe your own face. “It’s okay. It’s a good day to cry.”

A voice cuts through the noise — your team calling you for the podium ceremony. You glance over your shoulder, feeling the weight of the moment settle on you. You turn back to your mother, hesitant. “Will you stay?”

She smiles, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You nod, squeezing her hand one last time before you let go and jog toward the podium. The crowd’s roar is deafening as you step up to the top step, your name flashing on the giant screens around the circuit. The Brazilian flag rises slowly, and as the national anthem plays, you close your eyes and let the moment wash over you.

It feels like home. It feels like peace. It feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Later, after the champagne has been sprayed and the trophies have been handed out, you find Lewis waiting for you in the paddock, a grin stretching across his face.

“Not bad, Senna,” he teases, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Not bad yourself, Hamilton.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, the chaos of the paddock swirling around you, but all you can feel is the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“Your dad would be proud,” Lewis murmurs, his voice soft in your ear.

You smile, closing your eyes. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think he would be.”

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, casting the apartment in soft golds and pinks. You let yourself in quietly, the cool metal of the front door clicking shut behind you. Training was brutal today — your arms ache, and every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out. All you want is to find Lewis, maybe curl up on the couch together and recover with some takeaway.

You kick off your sneakers, already untying the knot in your ponytail, when you hear voices from the living room. You pause mid-step.

Lewis is talking to someone — no, two people. You creep forward on silent feet, heart quickening as the voices grow clearer.

“-I love her more than anything,” Lewis says, his voice low but certain. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Your breath catches. You flatten yourself against the wall, just out of sight. It feels like you’ve stepped into some kind of dream, one where the pieces of your life are rearranging themselves into something both surreal and perfect.

Then you hear your mother’s voice — gentler than it used to be, softened by time and the walls you’ve slowly chipped away.

“You want my blessing?” Adriane says, her words slow, as if she’s tasting them, feeling their weight.

“I do,” Lewis replies. “I wanted to ask both of you. It felt right.”

Both of them? You inch closer, daring to peek around the corner. And there they are — Lewis, sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Across from him sit your mother and Alain, side by side like a pair of mismatched bookends.

Alain leans back, arms folded, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’s trying not to smile. “You realize what you’re getting into?” He asks dryly. “She’s more stubborn than Ayrton ever was.”

Lewis chuckles, but it’s a little nervous. “Yeah, I know.”

Adriane tilts her head, studying him like she’s trying to see through to his soul. “And if she says no?”

Lewis’ face softens, a quiet kind of love settling into his expression. “Then I’ll still be with her. Because I don’t need her to marry me to know she’s it for me.”

Something cracks open inside you. It feels like standing on the podium in Brazil all over again — overwhelming and humbling and impossibly full. You press a hand to your mouth, as if that will steady the emotion threatening to spill over.

Your mother leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. There’s a moment of silence so thick it hums.

“When Y/N was seven,” she begins slowly, “she told me she wanted to race. I told her no. I thought if I kept her away from the track, I could protect her from the same thing that took Ayrton from me.” She sighs, her gaze dropping to her hands. “But all I did was push her away.”

Alain clears his throat, glancing sideways at her. “It’s not easy,” he murmurs, more to Adriane than to Lewis. “Loving someone who belongs to the track.”

Your mother nods, her eyes glassy. “But you’ve made her happy. You’ve given her the space to be who she’s always wanted to be.” She pauses, blinking quickly. “And I see Ayrton in that. In you.”

Lewis rubs the back of his neck, clearly moved but trying not to show it. “That means more than you know.”

“And you promise me something,” Adriane says, her voice gaining strength, as if she’s gathering all her fears into this one request. “That you’ll never try to stop her. Not when things get hard. Not when it scares you.”

Lewis leans forward, looking her dead in the eye. “I swear. I’d never take that from her.”

Your mother exhales, like a weight she’s carried for years is finally lifting off her shoulders. “Then you have my blessing,” she says quietly.

Alain smirks, slapping Lewis on the back. “Looks like you’re in for the ride of your life.”

They laugh softly, the kind of laugh that comes with hard-won understanding.

And that’s when the floorboard under your foot creaks.

All three heads whip toward the sound, and you’re caught, frozen halfway between hiding and stepping forward.

Lewis’ eyes widen, and then a slow, guilty smile spreads across his face. “How long have you been standing there?”

You step fully into the room, arms crossed but fighting back a grin. “Long enough to hear that you’re plotting something.”

Alain chuckles, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He winks at you, patting Lewis on the shoulder as he makes his way toward the door. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Alain,” Lewis mutters, rubbing his palms against his thighs, clearly nervous now.

Your mother rises as well, hesitating for a moment. She looks at you, her eyes soft. “I’ll call you later,” she murmurs, reaching out to squeeze your hand briefly before following Alain out the door.  

And then it’s just you and Lewis, standing in the golden light of your apartment, the door clicking shut behind your mother and Alain.  

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice light. “So … what was all that about?”  

Lewis steps closer, and suddenly the nervous energy from earlier melts away. He takes your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm.  

“Y/N …” he begins, and there’s something so tender in the way he says your name that it makes your heart skip a beat. “I wanted to do this the right way. To ask the people who mean the mos to you.”  

Your breath catches as he drops to one knee, right there in the middle of your living room.  

He pulls a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring that catches the light like starlight on water. It’s simple, elegant, and perfect.  

Lewis looks up at you, his dark eyes filled with love, nerves, and hope. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you at Imola. And I want to spend every day from now on making you as happy as you’ve made me.”  

You cover your mouth with your hand, tears already welling up in your eyes.  

“So,” he says with a smile that’s both warm and a little crooked. “What do you say? Will you marry me?”  

For a moment, all you can do is nod, words caught somewhere between your heart and your throat. Then you finally find your voice.  

“Yes,” you whisper, your smile breaking wide and free. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Lewis’ grin lights up the room, and he stands, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. You kiss him, slow and deep, and in that moment, it feels like everything — the years of struggle, of loss, of love — has brought you to exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giddy, Lewis leans his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face.

“Guess Alain was right,” he murmurs, grinning. “This really is the ride of my life.”

You laugh, pure and full, wrapping your arms around him tighter. “Buckle up, Hamilton,” you tease. “It’s only just getting started.”

[itaipava]

— f1 boys and the moment they go “fuck it”

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

you’re both a little drunk, but sober enough to know what you’re doing. he loves testing your limits, so he makes a bet with you over something trivial, promising a “prize” if you win. when you win and smile victoriously, he laughs and says, “i guess i owe you something special, right?” you nod, ready to receive whatever it is. he leans in, eyes shining, and whispers, “i hope this counts,” before giving you a kiss that feels playful and intense at the same time.

˒ ⌕ GEORSE RUSSELL

you’ve always had a fun friendship, where you could joke around and have fun with each other all the time, and tonight was no different. you’ve been teasing him all night, playfully testing his limits. he’s been patient, smiling, until you say something that pushes him over the edge, “oh you want to kiss me so bad right now,” you say playfully as he wouldn’t stop looking at your lips. he looks serious for a moment and you think he doesn’t like what you said, but he just gets even closer, his voice low and intense, “you have no idea how much,” before leaning in and kissing you, finally giving in to what he’s wanted for so long.

˒ ⌕ SEBASTIAN VETTEL

you're alone in your room while music plays. you thought you were alone and he was in the living room, but he was silently watching you sway, mesmerized. he always admired you from afar and never hid it, but at that moment, something changes inside him like never before. he thought a lot before doing it, but it was only when he stopped thinking that he finally did it: he approaches, puts a hand on your waist and, without saying a word, pulls you close, holding you as if you were the only two people in the world. you were startled by his sudden attitude, but you quickly melted in his arms as he hugged you and pulled you even closer to him while your lips were danced together.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

you’d never argued before, but at that moment, your nerves were on edge; you were both frustrated with each other. the room fell silent as the tension shifted, and he was staring at you, breathless. you tried to look away from him, but something about him held you back; he was a mess. suddenly, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that spoke of all the unspoken emotions between you, finally letting everything that had been bottled up come out.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

he watches you from afar as you talk and laugh with another guy, and even though he knows he has no claim, it still stirs something primal in him; he just couldn't stop staring at you, and you noticed it. later, when you're alone, you tease him about it and ask him why he couldn't stop looking at you like that. he knows you were having fun with the situation, but he wasn't. you thought it was no big deal, but for him it changed everything. "i hated seeing you with someone else," he finally admits, serious as he stares at you. you look at him for a few seconds and smile, he smiles back and takes your face, finally kissing you - and claiming you his.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

it’s late and you’re saying goodbye after spending the whole day together; he loves being with you, but he hates the time to say goodbye. it feels like time passes so quickly with you but so painfully slowly when you’re apart. he also knows that you hate goodbyes, so you’re lingering at the door, neither wanting to part. he takes your hand, holding it a little tighter, his thumb gently stroking your skin. “maybe… i don’t want to say goodbye yet,” he says and his eyes shine at you. he leans in, finally pressing his lips to yours as he places his hand on the back of your neck and the other on your waist.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

it’s late and you’re both tired from the party you just attended. people have started to leave, but you’re too busy with each other to care. you’re in the garden of the huge house, sitting on the grass and admiring the stars. he looks at you laughing at something he told you, your voice soft and open, and something inside him snaps. his heart starts to beat faster as he’s mesmerized by you. he blurts out, “sorry, i can’t pretend anymore,” and pulls you closer to him, his hands shaking with anticipation and desire as he finally takes your face carefully and kisses you, completely melting into the taste of you.

˒ ⌕ LIAM LAWSON

he loves listening to you and always listens attentively. but lately he hasn't been able to hold himself back: whenever you start talking, he has to look away or think about something else, because he's on the verge of finally giving in to you. you have a surprising effect on him that he's never felt before, and today was no different: while you're talking, he suddenly goes quiet, his eyes fixed on yours with an intense gaze. "sorry," he murmurs, "i know you're saying something important, but i just… i can't concentrate when you're so close." he's also surprised by what he just said, but he doesn't wait for an answer, pulling you into that kiss he's been holding back for so, so long.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

you’re both running to take cover from an unexpected downpour, and you’re both soaking wet, laughing and out of breath. he looks at you, hair drenched and eyes shining as you laugh, and realizes he can’t contain himself anymore. you’re the most beautiful and charming person he’s ever met in his life, and he can’t hide it anymore. he’s afraid of losing you; of losing the opportunity to finally be with you. so, without saying a word, he gently caresses your cheek and smiles with you before pulling you into a passionate kiss, with the rain running down both of you. in that moment, he felt like he was floating. in that moment, nothing else mattered, it was just you and him in the world.

[slvttyplum]

satoru wasn’t one to sexualize you, but this in particular would have people questioning otherwise. that’s why in his head he called it admiration, which in his little peanut-sized brain he genuinely thought.

jerking off to your pictures every time he wasn’t with you or was so far away from you he was getting withdrawals and his dick was leaking with just the thought of you.

scrolling to his photos to the first picture if you and pulling out his dick to jerk off to it, it never crossed his mind as wrong.

don’t get him wrong, he loved having sex with you, his favorite thing to do, so much in fact he was the one always initiating it, but there was something so erotic about sliding his hands in his briefs and yanking one out to you of all people.

satoru never told you that he saved your pictures to get off on; all you thought was your boyfriend like your face so much he wanted to keep it in his camera roll, but little did you know...

he was a pervert.

cum dripping in between his fingers as he keeps pumping himself scanning your face on his phone screen, admiring every feature he found sexy on you, which was everything.

swallowing thickly as he pumps faster, looking at your eyes, then those lips that he imagined were parted on his dick.

squeezing his wet leaking tip every time he slid up his shaft, his thigh twitching, his eyes fluttering, trying their hardest to keep open looking at your fine ass.

this was a reoccurring thing, not just something he did every blue moon; he craved and ached for when he was alone to look at your bare face photo that you sent him on a whim one afternoon.

was he ashamed that he was doing this without you knowing, almost every week? yes.  did he care? of course not. knowing how fine he was, he knew at least one person was doing it to him, so why can’t he do it to you?

smart mans logic right here, folks.

squeezing the grip around his dick tightly, thinking about how good you feel whenever he’s inside of you, replicating that feeling as he looks at your pretty face.

the pit in his stomach whenever he finished right on his phone was like no other; it felt so good he just couldn’t stop.

mouth-watering with anticipation and wanting to do it again but knowing his limits on looking like a weirdo even to himself.

[chelseeebe]

yours, forever

18+ mdni. smut. mean!exhusband!eddie;) breeding kink if you squint a lil

a/n: i was not expecting to post again so soon but this genuinely couldn’t wait lol. i have another parts to this little piece so lmk if you’d like to see it. someone posted a really really good exhusband!eddie fic like a month ago and ive lost it, but they inspired this entire thing!

^it was this post by @madelynraemunson !!!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

eddie wasn’t expecting to find you standing on the other side of the door, nor had he expected you to barge right past him and into his kitchen. 

you seemed to show up with zero rhyme or reason, typically wanting something from him. 

that was fine, appreciated even. 

he just wasn’t a fan of you waltzing into his home with the sole purpose of talking about your pig of a husband. 

“david wanted me to ask you if he could take the kids up to washington to see his parents,” you stand awkwardly at the kitchen island, his apartment a shell of the house you once owned together. 

eddie pauses, launching the dish towel onto the counter and laughs, deep and gravely as he swings back around, “no.” 

“why not?” you huff, blinking expectantly at your petulant ex. he’d always been a sucker for your eyes, divorce couldn’t changed that. 

“because i said so,” leaning against the marbled counter, “he asked you to ask me and i said no, that’s it. done.” 

“you’re being stubborn,” crossing your arms over your chest, scolding in the way you talk to him. 

“i don’t care.”

“eddie,” stepping forward. 

“sweetheart,” his tone disapproving as he also steps up, closing the gap between you, “no,” enunciating the word in hopes that you’d actually understand now. 

“don’t be an asshole,” you frown, a couple years ago you’d pout and get your own way but now eddie found great satisfaction in telling you no.  

“i’m not being an asshole, you asked me a question and i answered, dave can go to washington, but you and my kids can’t,” his lip twitching into a dastardly smirk. any minute now you’d crack, really let loose on his ass. 

“oh, so now i can’t go? who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” poking your sharp finger into his chest, a fury behind your eye that almost instantly made him hard. 

“the father of our kids? or have you forgotten about that?” 

“unfortunately not,” rolling your eyes, nonetheless you make no effort to leave, your bag already on the counter, signifying that what he assumed would happen next was definitely going to happen next. 

“you don’t mean that,” sidling closer, trapping your body between the counter and his chest, “because if you did, you wouldn’t let me keep fucking the shit outta you.”

eddie’s rock solid now, this was foreplay for him, getting high off of the way you argued with him, degrading him right to his face. 

“shut up,” rolling your eyes to the back of your head, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt, “you’re so pathetic,” glancing down at his boner now pressing against your cunt. 

“mmhmm,” he wouldn’t fight it, in fact, he’s proud of it, “only for you though,” finding your hips, palming at the doughy flesh. 

your lips twitch and he knows he’s won this fight, planting your lips to his, a firm hand on his chest just to remind him who was really in charge. 

sighing into your mouth as you move against him, his hands running beneath the seam of your skirt, feeling his way up the backs of your thighs to settle on your ass. 

“eds,” you hum, pulling away from his lips, “i’ve gotta go pick the boys up,” making zero effort to stop the inevitable, your chest flush against his.

“well better make it quick this time then,” he growls, walking your body into the countertop, manhandling your body to face you against the hard counter, pressing up against the swell of your ass. his belt clinks as his jeans fall down around his thighs, boxers following behind. 

“this is.. i have to go,” you gasp, rolling your head back to allow his lips room to find your neck, nuzzling right into his favourite spot just tucked underneath your jaw. 

“then why don’t you leave?” his gruff voice vibrates against your chin as his hands slide underneath your shirt, spilling your tits from your bra to get a full handed grope of them. 

your hand rests atop of his, the other gripping to the countertop for dear life. 

you’re not going to leave, that much is obvious. eddie’s also fairly certain that you’ve got at least an hour before you have to go. he’s not stupid, you play the game just as much as he does, pretending to leave just to pounce on him straight after. 

“that’s what i thought,” sarcastic as ever, threatening to score violet splotches behind on your neck, though his lips detach before he’s able to. 

eddie lets his thoughts slip back to the reason you’re even here, letting himself get frustrated by your blind audacity all over again. 

“you must be fucking stupid coming in here, asking me shit like that,” his large, calloused hand pawing at your tits, the other yanking your panties down to hang around your thighs. 

“no i’m not,” arguing back though you’re completely docile, allowing him to bend your torso over the marbled countertop, his hands groping your plush skin. “he’s my..” sigh, “husband now and you need to- fu-uck respect that,” fingers curling around his arm, pinching at the skin when he slides inside with no warning. 

“what was that?” eddie mocks, slamming into your cunt with little remorse, full of years of pent up frustration and a tiny dose of regret. 

once upon a time, this was his everyday. having you absolutely anywhere he wanted, and now it was solely reserved for times you really needed him to agree to something. or perhaps david had done something stupid, as he often did. sending you running back to eddie like a feeble little deer. 

“shut up,” sighing in time with his rough strokes, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoes through his barren kitchen, filthy sounds of sex wailed through his apartment far more often than they should. 

before you’d met david, he’d see you once a week while dropping the kids off, maybe he’d get to taste you a couple times a month, if he was lucky. it was only after you remarried that you’d come around unannounced, asking about something that most definitely could’ve been a call. 

eddie doesn’t care, you’re the only woman for him anyway, a couple divorce papers couldn’t change that. 

“you fuckin’ love it,” he growls, grabbing a fistful of your hair and fiercely tugging your head back, “y’gotta drive all the way over here just to cum, ain’t that sad?” speaking low right into your ear, his arms keeping a strong hold of your torso as your knees grow weak. 

“you don’t.. you’re- fuck you,” knuckles glowing white with your grip on the counter, other hand desperately nuzzling between your thighs, circling your neglected clit. 

“have to speak up honey, i can’t hear you,” the tip of his cock nudges against your soft spot, eliciting a strangled mewl from your pretty wetted lips. 

“i can make myself cum,” you speak proudly through gritted teeth, voice bouncing around with every slam of his hips, “i don’t need you,” rubbing your clit harsher, as if to prove a point. 

“oh yeah? show me baby.. let me see you cum,” slowing his strokes but keeping his cock firmly enveloped inside, jaw clenching with every squeeze and quiver of your cunt. 

eddie palms your tit, getting as much satisfaction from this as you were. your whimpers alone could make him cum, hell, just a look and he was rock solid in his jeans. 

“oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” gasping into the air, leant back against his shoulder, head turning to hide in the nook of his neck as you teeter over, waves of pleasure shocking your body. 

“shit,” he grunts underneath his breath, feeling you writhe around in his arms, “that was good sweetheart, my turn,” resuming his assault on your cunt, breath stuttering as his hips begin to rock again. 

his hand replaces yours, slipping between your thighs to find your clit, thrusts becoming sloppy and weak as the blood rushes to his head, sending his stomach into a series of somersaults. 

even in your separation, your pleasure came first. an important pocket of information wayne had awkwardly handed him when his voice started cracking and girls no longer had cooties. 

you’re putty in his arms, fully relying on the countertop to keep you upright, thighs quivering with the intensity of your orgasm and the anticipation of the quickly approaching next one. 

“oh.. my.. god,” whining with every thrust, your voice thick with lustrous air, too fucked out to stand or even think straight. 

“i’m gonna, sh-shit cum sweetheart,” pounding recklessly into your trembling pussy, dripping in a mixture of your juices. 

you clench around him, tipping over the edge once more, barely able to hold yourself upright with shaking knees and a harsh grip of his arm. 

eddie isn’t, nor had he ever been one for pulling out, he liked running that risk, the thrill of maybe knocking you up again. 

three kids don’t happen without at least one accident, that’s for sure. 

he doesn’t now, pumping the thick ropes of his release into your cunt, groaning belligerently as he does so. praying to god this was the time it stuck, pregnant with his child once again. 

you fall flat against the counter, heaving for breath with the last of his pathetic strokes, growling into the stuff air. 

he slaps a harsh palm to your ass for good measure, trailing his hand down your trembling thighs, “so you run along home now and tell him exactly what i told you,” fingering the lace of your panties as he hikes them back over your thighs.

“no.”

[satoruswifeyyyy]

satoru gojo is the type of boyfriend to...

masterlist

warnings ⚠️: milf sexual content

satoru is the type of boyfriend to “accidentally” misplace your things at his place so you have to stay longer. oh, your phone charger? lost. your keys? vanished. and he’ll play innocent, looking around like, “wow, weird. guess you’re staying the night!”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to wrap you in a blanket, squish you onto the couch, and play your favorite show when you tell him you’re tired, instead of comforting you. but the catch? he’s sitting right next to you with his big eyes glued on you and will pause every 10 seconds to ask, “are you feeling better yet? how about now?”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to remember every little thing you say, so if you mention craving something like a specific pastry or even a seasonal candle, he’ll go to five different stores to find it. and he’ll show up at your door, grinning like a kid, saying, “for my favorite person in the world.”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to take every opportunity to show you off. even if it’s just a casual dinner with friends, he’ll find a way to work in how amazing you are, beaming as he watches you blush. he’ll say things like, “you know she’s basically a genius, right? i'm just here for the good looks.”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to randomly pull you close in the middle of a crowded street, spinning you around just because. when you ask why, he’ll just shrug and say, “you looked too cute, i couldn’t resist.” he loves making you laugh and seeing you all flustered.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to to whisper sweet things in your ear, even in the middle of a crowd. he’ll lean in and say something like, “do you know how incredible you look today?” just to see you smile, and then he’ll pretend it was nothing when you look back, eyes twinkling.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to go out of his way to pamper you, running his fingers through your hair, bringing you your favorite snacks, and whispering, “I’ll always be here. You know that, right?” , when you tell him you are not feeling well.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to be your personal cheerleader, hyping you up for even the smallest things. got through a tough day? he’s there with chocolates and a whole pep talk ready. and he’ll proudly tell you, “no one can make it look as easy as you do.”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to never let a day go by without reminding you he loves you. sometimes it’s a grand declaration with his arms wide open, and other times, it’s a soft whisper before you fall asleep. and he’ll say, “just so you never forget, okay?”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to sit tightly and refuse to move, if you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder, even if his arm goes numb. he’ll sit there, smiling like an idiot, staring at you with this soft, mesmerized look, thinking, “how did I get so lucky?”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to insist on walking you home, every single time. he’ll joke that he’s “keeping you safe from imaginary threats,” but the truth is he just loves spending those last few moments with you, holding your hand and pretending he has all the time in the world.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to “borrow” your favorite scent to keep with him. he’d “accidentally” swipe your hoodie or spray your perfume on his shirt just so he can feel close to you, especially when you’re not there. when you ask him about it, he’ll shrug and say, “hey, it just reminds me of you. can you blame me?”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to leave you voice messages with the sweetest goodnight wishes, describing how he can’t wait to see you tomorrow and how he feels lucky to have you. he’ll say, “i hope you know you’re always on my mind, even when we’re apart,” and you can hear that little softness in his voice that he usually hides.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to make every anniversary a huge deal, no matter how small. he’ll show up with your favorite flowers, make dinner reservations, or even do something totally spontaneous like renting out a whole theater to watch your favorite movie together, because “you deserve the world, and i’m giving you the closest thing to it.”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to playfully write “mr. and mrs.” on random papers or text you with your name combined with his last name. when you roll your eyes, he’ll laugh and say, “just a little practice for the future, right?” and his tone is playful, but there’s a part of him that means every word.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to sneak up behind you, wrapping you in his arms out of nowhere. even if you’re in the middle of brushing your teeth, he’ll just hold you close, grin in the mirror, and whisper, “missed you.” when you ask how he could possibly miss you in two minutes, he’ll just smirk and say, “not my fault you’re this addictive.”

satoru is the type of boyfriend to send you the goofiest selfies, captioned with the most dramatic things like, “this is the man who’s desperately in love with you.” or he’ll leave voice notes telling you in detail why you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to constantly find little excuses to hold your hand, even if you’re just walking to the fridge. he’ll squeeze your hand three times (his secret “i love you”) and then kiss it when he thinks you aren’t looking, but you’ll catch him smiling to himself like he’s won the lottery.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to surprise you with handwritten love notes, sometimes with silly doodles on the side, tucked into your bag or under your pillow. he’ll write cheesy lines like, “today’s forecast: 100% chance of me loving you,” then play it cool, even though he’s secretly hoping it makes you smile.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to constantly look at you like you hung the stars. even when you’re just talking about your day or doing something random, he’ll be there, staring with that soft, awe-filled look, because he still can’t believe he got this lucky.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to pepper your entire face with kisses, occassionally switching to kitten licks. then, once he is done with your face, he will do the same with your neck. and when you would tell him to stop, he would look at you with the most adorable expression on his face and whine, "i am not done yet." and who could say no to that face?

satoru is the type of boyfriend to buy you lipsticks at every date. not just any lipstick, but branded ones- chanel and dior. when you ask him the reason, he would beg you to use him as canvas and kiss his entire body, while having the lipstick shades on. after you are done marking his face and chest with lipstick stains, he would click a polaroid picture of it.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to snuggle in between your tits, while cuddling. he would lay on top of you, crushing you under his weight, and rest his face in between your breasts. he loves your tits, and has even named them, calling them "my girls". he is the type of initiate nipple play during sex and motorboat you.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to eat you out until your legs tremble and your cries sound desperate, during sex. he claims that he loves hearing your sweet moans and pleadings when he overstimulates you. "i love how you taste", is his excuse for making you cum a manifold times.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to switch positions, every now and then. he loves bending you into a mating press, fucking you in front of the mirror but never doggy style because in satoru's words, "i need to see your face while fucking you baby"

satoru is the type of boyfriend to fuck you raw because of his baby fever. he would love to have a baby with you, who would look just like the two of you. he is the type to talk about marriage and breeding you while having sex.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to enjoy watching you take charge in bedroom. he loves succumbing beneath you because he finds that extremely hot. he loves it when you ride his cock and dominate him, especially tying him up with his blindfold."the thought alone makes me cum, mommy", satoru comments.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to turn his infinity on, when he or his fingers are inside you to stretch your abused pussy better.

satoru is the type of boyfriend to ask you to paint your nails the same shade as the tip of his cock, after watching this trend in social media. with his base being, "#EAD3C9" and the tip, "E3AEAA".

A/N: this was my first headcanon, please don't judge 😭 idk how to do this shit, i am so sorry.

pregnancy smau part 4 will be up on wednesday :)

[crookedteethed]

18+ -mdni

ᥫ᭡. eiffel tower me, please.

pairing: rafe x kook!jj x fem! reader

warnings: smut (pinv), language, threesome, oral (m and f receiving), drug usage, a little voyurism (if you squint). porn with little plot (as per usual), dirty talk,

Rafe's fascination with you took place when he saw you fucking your boyfriend, his best friend, JJ Maybank, in the bushes during a Kook party. 

Rafe had been watching you two all night-- he watched as the both of you couldn't keep your hands off of one another--JJ's hand had squeezed your plump ass every chance it got, while your lips always found a spot on his sunkissed skin to smooch whenever the moment was right--so it wasn't a shocker that Rafe was the one to catch you two sneaking off.

For Rafe, it was disgusting seeing you two being all lovey-dovey and shit, yeah, yeah, yeah, Rafe was happy to see his friend happy and whatnot, but secretly, the boy was envious.

I mean, here Rafe was getting the worst neck by Gums McGee while JJ was getting some of the best piece of ass on Kildare Island. 

It's not like you were a slut or anything--Rafe really hadn't known if you were the best piece of ass on Kildare, but the way your boyfriend talked about your sex life when you weren't around sure made you sound like you were--and Rafe had wanted to know if the legions about you were true--like the time JJ had claimed you wrapped a fruit roll up around his dick and sucked it--or that time JJ said you simply let him cum inside of you--Rafe had wanted that, Rafe wanted that with you, because you were something Rafe couldn't have.

Rafe doesn't know why he'd followed you and JJ out to the bushes-- He'd stopped getting the worst head he'd ever received to be a peeping tom. But Rafe swears his plan wasn't to be a peeping tom; how could Rafe not be a peeping tom when he suddenly sees your bare heart-shaped ass--your mini skirt bunched around your waist--bouncing on JJ's cock, grappling in the bushes. Your slit was so little and displayed for him--it looked like it could barely take the penetration. Your pretty moans serenaded Rafe's ears--leaving him in a trance, like a mermaid's siren. You were alluring; how could Rafe not be a peeping tom?

When Rafe had found himself sprouting a boner, and quickly taking care of it in his car, he knew he was in some pretty deep fucking shit.

"I have a proposition for you." Rafe had told Jay, going nose first into a line coke--the boys had been slumming it up the next day, drinking beer and watching the box all day in Jay's new condo he'd gotten for his 20th birthday. 

Rafe then pushed the coke tray to JJ. "What is it?" he said as he followed in pursuit and did the same as Rafe. 

"I get to fuck y/n for one night, in exchange for my dirt bike." Rafe snorted, causing JJ to laugh. 

"You fucking kidding me?" Jay said, wiping the white powder underneath his nostrils. JJ continued to laugh until he realized that Rafe hadn't cracked one smile, meaning that Rafe Cameron has finally lost his damn marbles.

"You do realize that's the dumbest fucking proposition ever, man? You're supposed to propose some shit that I can't go out and buy myself." Jay said. 

"Last week, you said it yourself!" Rafe rebutted. "You said,' My dirt bike is way cooler than yours' ."

"Dude, that wasn't code for: I want your bike in exchange to fuck my girlfriend."

Rafe had been quiet momentarily, reaching over to JJ for the tray and snorting another line. Rafe had needed to hold his composer because ever since last night, he couldn't get the image of you fucking JJ, and Rafe just needed to see it again, but with his cock barely fitting in your pussy instead.

"Ok, what about this," Rafe said, bringing out his inner businessman. "What if I get to fuck y/n in exchange for my Bently?"

Now Rafe was talking, causing JJ's eyebrow to hitch and ears to perk. 

Let's be honest: JJ's father could fund him the money for a new dirt bike if Jay had wanted one. But a new car? Fuck no. Especially since he'd just gotten a new Porsche this January. 

JJ would be a fool not to take Rafe's new and improved proposition.

"Well, when you throw a Bently in the mix, you have yourself a deal, brother!" JJ had shouted, already getting revved up from the coke (and the idea of seeing his girlfriend taking another guy's cock.). 

"But one thing," JJ continued. "We have to say it's a threesome--make it seem like I'm tryin' to experiment or some shit, because she isn't going to agree to just fucking you alone."

In hindsight, Rafe made a really stupid choice by giving JJ his Bently, but as long as he was able to feel you, he didn't care.

So here you were, standing naked between the two hottest blonds on Kildare Island--supposed to be getting into doggy style to let Rafe Cameron fuck you. At the same time, you suck JJ off, all because your stupidly charming boyfriend wanted to try something new in bed, and you can't say no to him when he uses his puppy dog eyes on you. 

But it's not like you weren't totally against the idea--you'd always wanted to know what it was like fucking Kook royalty, Rafe Cameron--you weren't ashamed to admit that. 

Of course, a couple of lines of coke was snorted to get rid of all of everyone jitters, but that still didn't' help your nervousness.

JJ had done all the talking--since, to your knowledge, he was the one to set this shindig up. And because you were JJ's good girl and didn't know what else to do, you did everything JJ told you to do.

"Good girl, now let Rafe see your pussy, don't be shy, princess," JJ spoke so kindly to you, stroking your head softly as you choked on his cock. 

JJ had been very slowly--but harshly fucking his cock with your throat--ever so often, shoving his length as deep as he could go--until you started to gag--then stilling himself and letting your throat contract--while tears and saliva slid down your face. 

You found yourself obeying Jay's words--arching your back more and pushing your ass out to let Rafe view your sopping wet pussy. 

"Shit." Rafe cursed, his thump finding your fold and pushing it back to view the inside of your cunt. "Jay this all your's?" 

"Ain't she a beaut?" Your boyfriend spoke--talking as if you weren't even here--and pushing his cock further into your mouth.

Your eyes watered as you tried to focus on breathing through your nose, JJ's thick length stretching your esophagus.

You start to feel Rafe's fingers probing at your exposed pussy, spreading your folds and teasing your entrance, sending shivers through your body.

"Damn, she's dripping," Rafe marveled, running his fingers along your slick folds. "You mind if I have a taste, Jay?"

"Be my guest," JJ replied, his voice strained with pleasure. "Our good girl loves to please, don't you, princess?"

You whimpered in agreement around JJ's cock, your hips instinctively pushing back against Rafe's touch. You felt Rafe's hot breath on your sensitive flesh moments before his tongue lapped at your entrance. The new sensation made you moan, the vibrations traveling through JJ's length.

"Fuck, that feels good," JJ groaned, "Do that again to her."

Rafe obliged, swirling his tongue around your swollen clit before plunging it inside you. You cried out again, the sound muffled by JJ's cock. Your whole body was on fire, caught between the two men's ministrations.

JJ's fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you bobbed your head. "That's it, take it all," he encouraged.

Meanwhile, Rafe's skilled tongue was rapidly pushing you towards the edge. He alternated between teasing licks and deep thrusts, his strong hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place.

"Fuck, you taste good, sweetheart," Rafe lowly said to you, acknowledging you for the first time as a person, and not like your some dirt bike, and for some reason, you were about to come from this nearly. 

"I think our princess is close," Rafe murmured, his lips brushing against your sensitized flesh, his fingers pushing inside you, to feel your cunt convulse. "Should we let her come, JJ?"

"What do you think, sweetheart?" JJ asked, tilting your chin up to meet his, mascara finally beginning to crack, and run down your cheeks, JJ kissed you on the mouth, because, fuck, did you look hot like this.

Rafe had no right to kiss you ( a deal made before you all started, a deal Rafe should respect because JJ is his best friend). JJ's kiss to your mouth only made Rafe more envious of JJ, and Rafe decided to take out his anger on you, claiming you didn't deserve to come yet.

Rafe's fingers slowed their pace, teasing you mercilessly. You whimpered into JJ's mouth, hips bucking desperately against Rafe's hand.

"Not yet," Rafe growled, his voice rough with desire and a hint of jealousy. "You don't get to come until I say so."

JJ broke the kiss, looking down at you with a mixture of lust and amusement. "Looks like Rafe's feeling a bit possessive, sweetheart. Think you can hold out for us?"

You nodded weakly, trembling with need as Rafe's fingers continued their torturous dance. JJ's hands roamed your body, adding to the overwhelming sensations.

"That's our good girl," JJ purred, nipping at your earlobe. "Show us how well you can behave."

Suddenly, you were feeling Rafe's raw wet mushroom tip poking at your entrance--and fuck, did his cock already feel thicker than JJ's.

Your breath hitched as you felt Rafe's impressive length plunge deep inside your cunt—his hands gripping your hips as he slowly bottomed out inside you.

You gasped at the exquisite stretch, your walls clenching around Rafe's thick cock. He groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he held himself still, giving you time to adjust.

"Fuck, you're tight," Rafe growled, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.

JJ's hands continued their exploration, one sliding up to cup your breast while the other trailed down your stomach. "How does she feel, Rafe? As good as you imagined?"

Rafe responded by slowly withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you, then slamming back in with a powerful thrust that had you crying out in pleasure. JJ swallowed your moans with another deep kiss as Rafe set a punishing pace, each thrust driving you closer to the edge you weren't allowed to cross.

"Please," you whimpered as you and Jay caught your breaths--your body jerking up from Rafe's hard thrust into JJ's mouth, allowing you to breath the same air as him--right when you think you've caught a break--Jay's cock is back in your mouth, while you received backshots from Rafe.

Your mind reeled from the overwhelming sensations as you were filled from both ends. JJ's thick length slid deeper into your throat with each of Rafe's powerful thrusts from behind. You struggled to focus, torn between the dual pleasures.

Rafe's grip on your hips tightened as he pounded into you relentlessly. "Fuck, you're taking us so well," he groaned, his voice husky with desire.

JJ's fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you sucked him eagerly. "That's it, baby," he encouraged. "Just like that."

The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and muffled moans. You felt your arousal building to a fever pitch, your body trembling on the edge of release.

When Rafe's tip found that spongy spot, you made a deep moan in your body that had affected JJ cock, and he found himself cumming in your mouth and on your face.

You were so fucked out of your brain, though, because of Rafe's thick cock; you hadn't noticed when your boyfriend had came, and then left the room, leaving you and Rafe to chase your highs together.

And because Rafe's cock had felt so good in doggy style--you didn't mind seeing how his cock felt when he switched the position to missionary.  

Rafe flipped you onto your back with surprising ease, never breaking his relentless rhythm. His dark eyes locked onto yours as he drove deeper, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The new angle sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

From this angle, Rafe could see just how small your slit was in comparison to his cock.

"God, you're incredible," Rafe panted, his muscled chest glistening with sweat. His thumb found your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling in time with his thrusts.

You arched into him, coherent thoughts scattering as the pressure built. "Rafe, I'm so close," you gasped, nails raking down his back.

He growled in response, increasing his pace. "Come for me, beautiful. Let me feel you."

With a cry of ecstasy, your release washed over you in waves. Rafe followed moments later, burying himself to the halt inside of you.

And just as Rafe was cumming, he found himself getting lost in the moment and kissing your rosy red glossy lips, and again, because you were so fucked out, you'd let him. 

As the both of you came down from your highs, Rafe lips stayed in motion with yours, his cock still stuffed inside side you--plugging his and your juices in. He shifted slightly, still buried inside you, and you gasped at the sensitivity.

Your body trembled with aftershocks as Rafe's lips moved languidly against yours. The kiss was rough, passionate, yet tender - so different from your boyfriend's soft demeanor. You found yourself melting into it, savoring the unexpected intimacy.

The kiss between you and Rafe could've lasted forever- if only your boyfriend hadn't walked in, asking his best friend why he was kissing his girlfriend, the last person Rafe should be kissing.

[alvojake]

Just You | C.SN

「pairing」 : san x fem!reader 「word count」 : 7.3k

「synopsis」 : he was just your annoying roommate that you just couldn't wait to get away from. all of his late night rendezvous started to get under your skin so you just avoided him like the plague. that was until you needed his help getting to class and of course he wanted something in return.

「genre」 : smut, fluff, roommate!san, roommate au, enemies to lovers(ish)

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, teasing, san acts like a doucebag but is actually pretty sweet, kinda mixed signals, kissing, rough and messy makeout, manhandling, petnames (princess, baby, darling, sweetheart...), dom!san x sub!reader, big dick!san, kinda inexperienced reader, praising, unprotected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting/marking, breast play, dirty talk, hickies, creampie, slight dumbification, rough sex, sickly sweet aftercare, mentions of a sex tape at the end, lmk if I missed anything!

A chill ran down your spine as you followed your best friend, Harper, into the school’s main building. The storm from the night before brought a cold front along with it, making the air even more chilly than it’s normally been since fall started. Shaking off the chill, you looked around the hall, noticing that there were fewer people than usual.

“Oh yeah, y/n, did you hear about the science wing?” Harper asked as she fastened the strap around her umbrella after closing it.

You rubbed your hands together, trying to gain some warmth back into them before looking over at her confused, “I haven’t heard anything; what happened?”

“The whole building flooded, apparently, so they moved most of the classes to different buildings.” She explained as the two of you maneuvered your way down the hallway. However, she could tell by the panic in your eyes that you hadn’t heard anything. Stopping, she turned to look at you with a hint of worry: " Didn’t you get the email this morning?”

“No, the storm knocked the power out in the entire apartment complex, so my phone didn’t charge,” You started to panic a little as you pulled the device from your back pocket, and just as you thought the screen would turn on, meaning that it was dead, “it also reset my alarm clock when it came back on this morning so I woke up late and rushed to even get here on time and—”

“Y/n. Girl, please take a breath,” Harper grabbed your arm softly, making you look over at her, “Why didn’t San wake you up? You guys have chem together.” Her question was innocent, but the mention of your douchebag roommate made your mood sour so much more.

“San, wake me up? That’s funny, actually.” You scoffed, shoving your phone back into your pocket and running your fingers through your hair, “No, he was out late at night, probably getting his dick wet per usual.”

Harper couldn’t help but grimace at your vulgar words, but she knew you were right. San was the residential fuck boy, after all.

“I’m sure there’s someone from your class here, just ask them.” She asked as she looked around the hall, trying to stop a familiar face, but came up blank, and so had you.

“Son of a bitch.” You cursed lowly, looking around the hall once more, hoping by some miracle that you would see someone, but again, you couldn’t find a single familiar face. Then, an idea popped into your head, causing you to look back at Harper with wide eyes, “Harp, can I use your phone?”

Harper looked at the time before turning to look at you with a solemn look, “Sorry, babes, I’ve gotta get to class.” She patted your arm before a familiar face caught her eye, “isn’t that San? Why don’t you ask him?” She asked, pointing over your shoulder, and when you turned, sure enough, standing there on the other side of the hall was none other than Choi San, your douchebag roommate. 

Watching him chat and laugh with his friends like he didn’t have class in twenty minutes made your blood boil, it pissed you off. However, it pisses you off even more that you care enough to get upset. His carefree attitude and his self-righteousness were probably some of his more annoying traits, yet… it was also insanely attractive to you, and you hated it.

“Hey, earth to y/n.” Harper waved her hand in front of your face, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, “Go ask him.”

“Fuck me.” You groaned, and Harper patted your shoulder with an apologetic smile. After a few moments of contemplating if you really wanted to ask San for help, you just let out a sigh, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice. “Alright, I’ll see you later, Harper. That is if I don’t get arrested for attempted murder.”

Harper laughed softly with a shake of her head, “Good luck, girl.” Then she made her way down the hall towards her classroom, leaving you standing there.

Mustering up enough willpower to ask your attractive annoying roommate where your class had moved to. Hiking your bag higher up your shoulder, you turned and made your way over to where he was still talking to two of his friends. Once you were within eyesight, a smirk tugged on the male’s lips, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his letterman jacket. Your mind then started to wonder if it smelled like his cologne that you had grown attached to or how warm it was.

“What brings you here, roomie?” San asked, pulling you from your thoughts. Heat rushed up your neck, warming your cheeks. His feline-like eyes trailed the length of your body, which only irritated you further, seeing as you thought it was a bright idea to wear a skirt.

“San.” Your tone was curt as you looked at him, arms crossed over your chest as you tried with all your might to keep your voice steady despite the heat from his gaze. “Do you know where they moved chem?” The sas in your tone caused both of San’s buddies to laugh; one, who you recognized as Song Mingi, hit San’s arm as they looked down at you.

“Yeah, I do, why? Need help getting there?” He asked smugly, a knowing gleam in his eyes that told you that he was already sure that you did, in fact, need his help.

You inhaled sharply, trying to fight the urge to tell him no and walk away just so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of knowing that you needed his help. However, you knew that if you did that, you would just end up being late to your class or missing it altogether. So you licked your lips before rolling your eyes and nodding.

“Yes, I do. My phone is dead, and there’s no one else from our class here," you told him, a small glare adorning your features, causing San to chuckle. The sound alone was enough to make you weak in your knees, butterflies fluttering around in your stomach.

“All you have to do is ask princess.” San’s lip quirked into a sly smirk as he pushed himself off of the wall, taking a step towards you. His teasing tone made you wanna punch him in his stupidly attractive face because you would rather be caught dead than ask him straightforwardly. 

Dropping your hands to your sides, you glared up at him, “Fine, I’ll just figure it out myself.” With that, you turned and started walking down the hall, trying to ignore the fit of laughter behind you.

San shook his head before looking back at his friends with a dimpled smile, “I’ll catch you guys later.” 

You grumbled angrily to yourself as you made your way back out of the building, head on a swivel, hoping to spot anyone from your chem class to ask for the whereabouts of the building. The cold, harsh wind swept across your body, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

“You sure today was a good day to wear a skirt?” San teased as he stopped right next to you, his voice making you jump slightly. His eyes trailed along the length of your body once more, noticing the layer of goosebumps that covered your legs and how you were starting to shake.

You crossed your arms over your chest once more, trying to warm yourself up, “what do you want, San?”

“I'm taking you to class, of course.” He flashed you his signature dimpled smile, and you had to turn away as heat rushed to your cheek, turning your face red. For once, you were thankful for the chilly wind. “Come on, my car is this way.” San motioned over to the parking lot before he walked off.

You wanted to just tell him to screw off, but you couldn’t not unless you wanted to freeze out in the cold while you tried to find your class that you would inevitably be late for. So, swallowing your pride, you made sure no cars were driving by before jogging across the street and to San’s side.

San glanced over at you as you walked next to him, the small pout that was on your lip made his hands itch, wanting nothing more than to kiss it off. But he decided against it and just reached over, poking your cheek, causing you to swat his hand away and glare up at him.

“Don’t touch me.” You hissed, turning back to face away from him, causing him to chuckle.

“You’re cute when you’re all pouty.” He teases, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and unlocking his car. 

You bit the inside of your cheek at his remark, trying to ease the swarm of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

Once you got to his car, you didn’t say a word as you walked over to the passenger side, but San was quicker and opened the door for you. You looked over at him skeptically and he just smiled at you with an unreadable gleam in his eye.

“Ladies first.” He mocked a bow as he gestured to the open door, and your eyes narrowed, trying to read him but to no avail, so you just let out a huff before stepping into the car.

San shut the door after making sure you were in completely before rounding the car and climbing into the driver's seat. He started the car and turned the heat on, making sure some of the vents were facing you before putting the car in reverse.

Your heart nearly stopped when he put his hand on the back of your headrest, turning his head to look behind him as he backed out of the parking spot. You couldn’t help but stare as he did so, and noticing your gaze, he turned back around and winked at you in the process. Heat rushed to your face making your ears ring in embarrassment from being caught. San chuckled softly as he threw the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. 

The drive over to the new building was filled with the hum of San’s car engine and the quiet music that spilled from the radio. Your leg bounced as you stared out the window, the little voice in the back of your mind reminding you of who you were sitting in the car with.

“Did you not check your email this morning?” San asked, glancing over at you just as you turned your head to look at him with a deadpan expression.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, you shook your head, “No, the power went out. Which you would have known if you weren’t so busy sticking your dick in some random bitch.”

Your snarky response made San smirk, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he turned into a parking lot. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

A scoff escaped your lips as you looked at him in disgust despite the rapid beating of your heart. There was no way in hell that you would be jealous that he was fucking some random girl almost every week. Rolling your eyes, “Why would I be jealous? Who knows what you have.”

Parking the car, San looked over at you with a smug smirk, leaning over the center console until he was inches away from you. Your breath hitched in your throat when you turned to find him so close, wide eyes staring into his eyes.

“Who said I was talking about me?” He quipped, eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes once more.

Your face felt as if it were on fire as you stumbled over your words, none of which made any sense the moment they fell from your lips. San, of course, was enjoying every second of it as he continued to lean closer to you, watching in amusement as you backed away until you couldn’t anymore.

“S-San.” Your tone held a warning as you got ready to push him away, but he reached over to the door, pulling his student ID out of the compartment.

“What’s wrong, princess? You didn’t think I was gonna kiss you, did you?” He raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat back down in his seat.

Annoyance flowed through your veins as he continued to stare at you with that stupid smirk. Your jaw tightens as you unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your bag from the floorboard. Just as you were about to open the door, San locked them, causing you to look at him with a glare.

“What the hell San?”

“I’m going to be out late with the guys, so make sure to leave some dinner for me," he told you before turning the car off and unlocking the doors.

You just stared at him in disbelief, trying to find where the hell he got the audacity to try to order you around. Running your tongue over your teeth, you pushed the car door open, “You’re such an ass.”

San watched as you got out of the car, slamming the door behind you before storming off to the building, not even giving him a chance to catch up. He sighed before getting out of the car and following after you.

During class, no matter how many times San tried to grab your attention or even talk to you, you would just ignore him. Once the professor was done lecturing and left you to do your class work, you quickly pulled out your headphones, hoping to drown out any and all of San’s attempts with music. This worked until class was over.

“Hey, y/n, did you need—”

“No.” Your response was curt as you pushed past San and right out of the classroom because you weren’t about to be stuck in the car with him once again, not after the stunt he pulled before.

San had to bite back the smirk that was fighting to spread across his lips as he watched the tips of your ears turn red any time he got even remotely close to you. Though he knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, not when the two of you lived together.

You did owe him, after all.

—

Later that night, you found yourself standing in the kitchen waiting for the last of dinner to finish up. Watching with tired eyes as the time counted down before finally going off, you pulled the food out of the oven before plating everything on two separate plates and cleaning off all of the dishes that you had used to cook dinner.

Just as you stuck your own plate of food into the fridge, you heard the front door open, and your eyebrows furrowed. San wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another hour or so, you thought. Shrugging, you just grabbed his plate and sat it down on the table before making your way to the hallway, only to run right into San.

“Fancy meeting you here,” San teased, grabbing your arms softly as you pulled away from him. You looked up at him with a half-tired, half-annoyed expression before you noticed that he was alone, which was a surprise.

“We live together, San,” you said before moving to step around him. "Your food is on the table.” 

Noticing that you didn’t have a plate or anything with you, he quickly reached over and grabbed your arm, pulling you back towards him. A small gasp of surprise fell from your lips as you stumbled back into him once more.

“Where’s your food?” He asked softly as you started rubbing your temples, just ready to escape back into your bedroom, not wanting to deal with any more of his mixed signal bullshit.

“I’m not hungry.” 

“You need to eat, y/n," San said before moving down to grab your wrist and pulling you into the dining room, ignoring all of your protests.

“San, seriously, I can eat later.” You groaned, trying to slip out of his grip, but his hold was far too strong.

He ignored you as he pushed you to sit down in the chair with his food in front of it. You opened your mouth to say something, but he fixed you with a stern gaze, and you quickly shut your mouth. Sighing, you grabbed the chopsticks and started eating slowly as San watched you for a moment before turning and going into the kitchen to grab the other plate.

When he sat back down, the two of you ate in silence, and you weren’t sure how much more awkward silence you could take before you went insane. So you finished your bite and went to push away from the table, but San’s voice stopped you.

“So, about what you owe me.” He started, setting his chopsticks down to look over at you, finding your confused expression. “Don’t tell me you already forgot about me helping you get to class.” He smirked, intertwining his fingers together to rest his chin on top of them.

You inhaled sharply as you figured out what he meant. Of course, he wanted something in return. Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in your chair, ready to hear whatever it was that he wanted in return. “What do you want, San?”

“You.” His response was curt, and you almost choked on the air as you looked at him with wide eyes. After a few moments, the shock wore off, replaced by annoyance.

Standing from your seat, you shoved the chair back under the table, “Yeah, no.” You huffed as you went to grab your plate, but San grabbed your wrist, tugging until you were standing next to him.

“I’m serious, y/n.” He looked up at you, and you couldn’t tell if he really was being serious or not. The last thing that you wanted was to become another notch on his belt.

“So am I San. I’m not becoming another one of your little playthings.” You stated, pulling your arm from his grasp and grabbing your plate.

You walked into the kitchen, narrowly missing his attempt to grab you once more, and rinsed your plate off. Annoyance radiated off of you in waves as you scrubbed the plate in your hands; you knew that being anywhere near San would only piss you off. Now, with his outrageous proposition, you couldn’t help but feel a bit upset by it. 

Sure, San was hot and was almost everything a girl looked for when looking for a boyfriend, but the only downside is that he never settles. You’re pretty sure that’s what bugs you the most because even if you said yes in hopes of something more happening, the chances were slim to none. So you just put your pride first and decided that you wouldn’t let it happen despite the growing heat that pooled in your core at the thought of San actually wanting you like that.

You had become so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed that San walked into the room until the water was turned off and hands were placed on either side of your body.

“San—” Your breath hitched in your throat as you turned to find him merely inches away. His grip on the counter was tight enough to let you know that you wouldn’t be going anywhere until he moved.

Looking up at him you scanned his face as his eyes flickered down to your lips once again. Dipping his head down, he moved until he was a breath away from your lips, and you were sure that your heart was in your throat at this point.

“San…” Your voice shook as you tried to back away, but the counter behind you left you little to no room to do so. 

“I want you y/n. Just you.” He whispered, his warm breath fanning your face causing your eyes to flutter, but you fought against the urge to give into him. Placing your hands on his shoulders to push away but he moved closer to you, his lips ghosting over your cheek. “Let me prove it to you, please.”

A whine fell from your lips when his breath blew over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The small noise was enough to drive San insane as he pressed against your body and moved to look down at you.

“Fine,” You released a breath as you looked up at him with a hooded gaze, “but I swear to go if you’re lying to me.”

San didn’t need to hear anymore before he reached up to grab the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “I’m not.”

Then his lips were on your with an almost bruising force, stealing all of the air from your lungs. A meek whimper fell from your lips as you tried your best to keep up with his pace, but it was impossible. San’s other hand moved from the counter to grab your waist, pulling you even closer, leaving absolutely no space between your bodies.

“San.” You let out a breathy moan as his lips trailed down your jaw before latching onto the burning skin of your neck. Your hands gripped onto his shoulders tightly, trying to ground yourself, but your mind was slowly slipping as San left dark purple and red marks along your jugular.

“Don’t slip away from me yet, darling; we’re nowhere near started.” His voice was husky as his lips grazed over your ear before nipping at the shell, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

His hands trailed down the length of your body as he captured your lips once more, finding the back of your thighs and hoisting you onto the countertop. A gasp fell from your lips, muffled by his as your hands clutched onto his shoulders.

Slotting his body between your thighs, he grabbed the back of your neck once more, pulling you down to kiss him once more. His tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you obey, parting your lips and allowing his tongue to explore every inch of your warm cavern. 

He soaked in all of the little sounds that you made as he continued to play with your body until you were shaking in his hold from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. His fingers danced along the hem of your sleep shorts, igniting a fire in the pit of your gut, and a whine fell from your swollen lips when he moved away.

“As hot as it would be, I’m not gonna fuck you in the kitchen. Not this time, at least.” He chuckled, watching the way your doe eyes stared up at him, a silent plea gleaming in your orbs. Reaching down, he grabbed the back of your thighs once more before hoisting you onto his waist.

“Shit.” You groaned when you felt his hands cup your ass after your legs wrapped around him. The way his scent was surrounding you like this was making you dizzy, your nose buried in his neck as he carried you out of the kitchen. “You smell so good, Sannie…”

A chill ran down San’s spine when he felt your lips press against the sensitive skin right under his ear. He tried to keep his composure as you left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck. There were sure to be marks in the morning.

“Princess…” San warned as you snaked your hand under the collar of his shirt, raking your nails down the taunt skin of his back. A loud gasp fell from your lips when his hand made contact with your ass, the skin stinging from the force, “don’t be a brat now.” He growled, but you only responded by latching onto his neck, biting down harshly, threatening to break the skin. “Fuckkk.” 

San was losing his composure by the minute, and the moment he finally made it to his bedroom, he was on his last strand of sanity. Throwing you onto his bed, he quickly crawled over you, trapping your body underneath his once more.

You looked up at him, focusing on how his eyes trailed all over your face before settling on your lips. His hips were pressed firmly against yours, and you could feel his bulge pressing right against your clothed core. You rolled your hips in search of some kind of friction, but San was quick to halt your movements, his grip tight on your hip as he moved a breath away from your face.

“Such a needy little thing. Weren’t you just saying today that you didn’t want me?” He teased, and your face grew warm as you recalled your conversation in the car, “but don’t worry, sweetheart, as long as you’re a good girl, I’ll make you cum as many times as you want.” San smirked as he took in your lust-filled expression, your hips trying to move despite his firm grip.

“I’ll be good, Sannie, please.” You begged, hands grabbing at his shirt, causing him to chuckle darkly.

He then moved his hand from your hip, fingers hooking around the band of your shorts, tugging the fabric down your legs harshly, leaving your bottom half completely bare.

As soon as the cool air hit your heated center a whine fell from your lips, tears already pricking at your eyes. San watched you intently as he moved his fingers down your navel, slipping between your folds, collecting some of your slick on his digits before pressing down on your clit. A choked moan tore through your lips, back arching off of the bed.

“So wet and so sensitive, aren’t you, princess.” San chuckled as he slowly circled your clit, watching your jaw fall slack. Moving from your clit he traced along your slit before plunging one of his fingers into your warm heat.

“San!” You cried out at the sudden intrusion, tears already spilling from the corner of your eyes.

“You’re so fucking tight, fuck when was the last time you got laid?” San groaned, not missing the way you covered your lower face, and turned away from his gaze. Chuckling, he bent down, peppering kisses along your exposed collarbone, “No need to get shy on me now, darling, plus you won’t have to worry about that after today.”

Heat rushed up your neck at what his words implied, but any thoughts were wiped away the moment he interested a second digit, his thumb pressing down on your clit. Your back arched off of the bed, pressing your chest against his when he brushed over that spongy spot deep inside of your cunt. Taking note of your reaction, San continued to abuse that spot, relishing in all of the lewd, wet noises that were coming from your cunt the wetter you got.

“San– fuck, I’m gonna cum!” You cried out, eyes squeezing shut as your legs started to tremble, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening by the second, threatening to snap any moment.

“Go ahead, baby, make a mess of my fingers.” San cooed, nipping at your jaw as your high came crashing down, your whole body trembling in his hold while he worked you through your orgasm. Once the high faded, it was replaced with oversensitivity, making you whine, grabbing at his wrist.

“San–” You choked on a moan as he curled his fingers in you once more, a sadistic smirk playing on his lips. 

He so desperately wanted to absolutely demolish you, leave you ruined for any other man, so you had no choice but to come back to him. But he didn’t want to scare you away when he finally had you right where he wanted you. So he decided to leave his more sadistic tendencies for another time.

With one last stroke of his finger, he pulled them from your soaping cunt, causing you to whine from the empty feeling. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, making your body turn into putty in his hands.

“Don’t worry, princess, I won’t leave you empty for too long.” He slurred, lips trailing down your jaw once more before he pulled away to discard his clothes.

Your eyes were glued to his body, watching as he stripped himself. The sight left your mouth watering the more skin he showed. His perfectly chiseled abs were covered in a thin layer of sweat making his honey skin glow under the dim lighting. Noticing your gaze, he smirked, tugging his sweats off of his legs and letting his cock spring free.

The sight of his angry red tip made you swallow hard. Sure, you have been with a few guys in the past, but none of them were this big. Sensing your unease, San shot you a reassuring smile before climbing onto the bed, his back resting against the headboard. He then motioned you over, and you slowly climbed onto your shaky knees, making your way over to him.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart. We’ll go slow.” His voice was soft as you climbed into his lap, hands tight on his shoulders as you leaned against him. "And if at any point you feel uncomfortable, we can stop, okay?” he asked, fingers rubbing your thighs soothingly. You nodded, but San wasn’t satisfied with just that. He grabbed your jaw gently to pull your attention to his face. “Words, princess.”

“O-Okay.” You stumbled over your words when you felt him press against your bare heat, making your whole body shiver.

“Good girl.” He praised you, hands finding the ends of your t-shirt and pulling it swiftly over your head, leaving you in your bra. You started to rock your hips against his, dragging your soaping cunt along his dick, making him hiss through his teeth. His hands trailed from your thighs up your back until he reached the clasp of your bra, quickly undoing it and throwing it away, letting your breast pop free. “So pretty.” San groaned, hands moving up to cup your soft mounds while you continued to rock against him.

“Sannie…” You whined when he started to pinch and pull at your hardened nipples, another high already close. 

“Fuck you’re so hot like this.” San groaned as he watched you grind against him with fever, chasing another high, your hands gripping onto his shoulders tightly. He then slapped your ass once more, causing you to yelp and your movements to falter.

He then grabbed both of your ass cheeks and pulled you flush against him, another choked moan tearing from your lungs when your clit pressed against his pelvic bone. Using his strength, he guided your hips against his until you were a whining, trembling mess as another orgasm washed over you.

“F-Fuck San.” You choked out another moan as he continued to rock your hips, prolonging your orgasm. Your nails dug into his skin, threatening to break it as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

After a few more moments, he let up on his grip, allowing you to just lay against him, but the feeling of his throbbing cock under you made your mind reel, wondering what it would feel like to be stuffed full.

“Come on, princess, ride me.” He nipped at your shoulder, causing you to shudder, but you lifted yourself from his neck nonetheless.

San leaned back, watching as you rose on shaky legs and reached behind you to grab his cock. Swallowing thickly, you started to jerk him off, earning yourself a low groan from the male, watching the translucent precum spill from the slit before you moved to slide the head between your slick folds.

You whimpered as you slowly started to sink down on his length, head becoming fuzzy from the stretch while San bit the inside of his cheek to keep from pulling you down all of the way. He didn’t want to hurt you, so he let you take your time, for now, watching with hooded eyes as you let yourself sink deeper and deeper on his cock.

You both moaned simultaneously, him from the way your tight cunt squeezed around him and you from the way he stretched you wide open. Tears dripped from your eyelashes as you tried your best to sit down fully, but you were starting to think you couldn’t fit him, making you whine. San chuckled, his hands squeezing your hips gently.

“Come on, princess," he cooed at you, watching you intently as you continued to try and sink deeper. "You’re almost there; you can do it, can’t you?”

You nodded vigorously, eye meeting his with a pleading look, and he tightened his grip on your hips, helping you sink down his length until he was fully bottomed out. He hissed through gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut from how tight you were, and you let out a loud whine before your head dropped down into the crook of his neck.

You could feel him in all of the right places making your brain turn into mush, even more tears spilling from your eyes. It took you a few moments to get used to the new stretch before you even attempted to roll your hips against his. San groaned at the way your cunt continued to squeeze around him, your pace almost painfully slow, and he had to steel himself so he wouldn’t take over, but his sanity was hanging on by a thin string.

All of your sweet sounds were muffled by his neck as you continued to rock against him. The feeling of his tip brushing over your sweet spot with every roll of your hips made stars dance along your vision. San let you continue your treacherous pace while his hands continued to roam your body, squeezing at every inch of skin he could reach, soaking in all of the soft noises you were making.

Soon enough you were able to lift yourself up before dropping back down, all of your slick making it easier to glide along his length. San groaned as you kept your slow pace, his grip tight on your hip, trying his best to keep up, but he was slowly slipping away.

“Sannie.” You whined as he pulled your face out of his neck, crashing his lips into yours, swallowing all of your noises as you continued to ride him. His hands guided your hips, positioning you into a new angle that left you gasping for air, your pace faltering altogether.

San groaned as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, “Fuck princess, I’m sorry.” He apologized, and before you could even ask what he meant, he planted his feet behind you and stilled your hips before bucking his hips up into you.

A choked moan tore from your lungs as he set a brutal pace, his tip hitting all of the right places to leave you seeing stars. Incoherent moans and cries of his name fell from your lips as your back arched against him. San took the chance to latch his lip onto your chest, sucking and biting at the skin, leaving behind dark marks, before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. Your hand flew to his head, fingers combing through his hair as he continued to suck on your breast.

White spots started to cloud your vision as you felt your high creep up on you, a loud whine was pulled from you as San bit down on your nipple. You couldn’t even warn him as your body tipped over the edge, your body convulsing in his hold, broken and incoherent babbles being the only thing that came from your mouth as San continued to fuck into you.

“Fuck baby,” He groaned loudly from how tightly you were squeezing around him, and he knew he couldn’t last much longer, not with the way your sweet little cunt was sucking him in, “‘M close– fuck, where do you want me to cum princess?” 

You whined as your head fell back from the overstimulation, your thighs burning, begging to relax. You didn’t even register his question until he nipped at your collarbone.

“Inside.” You whined, and San could have sworn he died and gone to heaven, “I’m on the pill, inside, please, Sannie.” Your begging only brought San even closer to his end, and with a few more thrusts, he brought your hips flush against his, spilling deep into your womb.

The warmth was a new feeling making you squirm in San’s lap, your walls spazzing around him as you came once again, milking his cock for all that he was worth. Your body shook in his hold as you buried your face in his shoulder once more, a strangled whine muffled by his skin.

San wrapped his arms around your body as you both came down from your highs, his fingers tracing shapes on your skin to help soothe you. After a few moments, he pulled your face from his neck, making you look up at him.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, princess, and then we can sleep," he whispered as he peppered your face with soft kisses, causing you to giggle.

So he slipped out of your spent cunt before helping you clean up and handing you one of his shirts to slip on, even if your room was just across the hall. Then, once you were both back in the bed with the lights out, he pulled you close to him, his face buried in your neck, pressing gentle kisses all along your skin.

“God, I love you.” He spoke quietly, unsure if you had even heard him until you shifted around to face him.

Your hand cupped his face gently as you pulled him down for a kiss, this one completely different from the ones before. It was sweet, gentle, and filled with longing like the both of you had waited an eternity to share it.

“I love you too, even if you get on my last nerve.” You smiled as he chuckled and nuzzled his head into your chest. And that’s how the two of you fell asleep, content and happy in one another's arms.

–

The next morning, you woke up to the sun shining on your face. Groaning, you moved your arm to cover your face. The sun never came through your window this early in the morning, so confused, you cracked your eyes open and looked around.

Your heart then dropped when you realized that this wasn’t your room but San’s. Swallowing thickly, you looked down, seeing that you were wearing his shirt. All of the events from the night before flashed in your mind, making your face heat up.

Looking over, you found the spot next to you empty, making your heart sink. You couldn’t help but think of the worst: that he had been lying to you the entire time, and you felt stupid for even thinking that he was being genuine.

“Stupid.” You grumbled as you caught sight of your phone plugged in by his bed. Reaching over, you grabbed it and turned the screen on. Seeing the time, you almost had a heart attack until you saw the date, seeing that you didn’t have any classes today.

Then, your attention was brought to the few messages you had: one from Harper, one from a project partner, and one from San. You debated opening the one from San, but despite your better judgment, you clicked on it.

‘Had to get to class this morning, but there’s breakfast in the fridge. I’ll see you after class, princess.’

Your cheeks flushed red as you reread the message multiple times, hoping that you weren’t just hallucinating. Biting back a smile you typed a quick message saying that you’ll see him after class and thank you for the breakfast before backing out of his message.

Throwing the blankets off your body, you moved to stand, only to have to sit right back down as your legs shook. The tips of your ears turned red as you remembered how rough San had been the night before, and butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach.

Once you were able to stand on your wobbly legs, you made your way out of the room and towards the kitchen, messaging Harper. She then called you so you propped your phone up on the counter so she could still see you as you grabbed your food.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty– are those hickeys?!” She exclaimed, nearly making you drop your plate as you quickly turned to look at her like a deer caught in headlights. “Wait… is that San’s shirt?”

Swallowing thickly, you closed the fridge before walking over to the counter. "Maybe… " you trailed on nervously, and Harper just fell silent for a few moments.

“Wooyoung owes me twenty bucks.” She cheered, and you couldn’t help but look at her with a raised eyebrow, “We bet on how soon you two would just fuck it out.”

“You– what?” You choked on the air as you looked at her with wide eyes causing her to erupt in a fit of giggles, wiping fake tears from the corner of her eyes after she calmed down.

“Girl, please. We all could sense the sexual tension between you two.” She shook her head as you just looked at her dumbfounded. “So… how was it? Pretty good if those hickeys are anything to go by.” 

Your face started to burn once more as you shoved your mouth full of food to avoid the conversation. Grabbing your phone, you walked into the dining room and sat down at the table. Harper watched you with a smirk getting a kick out of how flustered you were.

Swallowing the food, you opened your mouth to start talking, but thankfully, you heard the sound of the front door opening and let out a relieved sigh.

“San’s back. I’ll talk to you later.” You quickly told Harper, getting ready to hang up the call.

“Okay, okay, but I want the deets later!” She said hurriedly before you ended the call just as San rounded the corner.

Seeing him made you shift in your seat a little, and when he flashed you his signature dimpled smile, you were sure you would melt in the very chair you sat in.

“Morning, beautiful.” He walked over, pressing a light kiss on your cheek before making his way into the kitchen, your eyes never leaving his form. “I have another class but needed to grab a snack," he told you as he walked back into the room.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, knowing that he had plenty of snack options on campus and only came back to see you. Chuckling at your reaction, he made his way to the door once more.

“I’ll see you tonight, princess," he told you as you walked out of the dining room to watch him slip his shoes back on. "Maybe we can watch a movie?” He suggested, and you nodded softly, wrapping your arms around your body.

“Sure,” You smiled at him as you walked over, and he grabbed his school bag from the coat rack.

Turning, he grabbed your waist, pulled you flush against him, and kissed you deeply, “or maybe we can make our own.” He teased, his feline-like eyes narrowing as he watched red dust your cheeks, and you slapped his shoulder.

“Weirdo, go to class.” You pouted, trying to hide your embarrassment, but more so how much his words turned you on.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[peachylynnie]

sick

word count: 1.8k

synopsis: in which sylus sneaks into your apartment and finds you sick. yet, you're not resting. why?

contains: sylus x mc!reader (they're not dating but sylus is pining and reader is confused), reader is implied to be in college, slightly obsessive sylus, mentions of violence and sickness, cussing, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick yesterday. what better way to rest than to write about sylus? do NOT copy or steal my work. sylus WOULD NOT endorse plagiarism :)

you don't want to admit it. you really don't. but you're sick. there's no denying that with how short of breath you are, how nauseous you feel, and the goddamn soreness in the back of your throat that didn't go away with the first sip of water.

"shit…" you mumble as you sluggishly move to empty the dishwasher as your roommate asked. it's bad enough that you were sick, but you were also stressed out of your mind. midterms have been kicking your ass this semester. big assignments have been piling up on your already heavy shoulders. in essence, this was a burnout month, and all that lack of sleep and unparalleled stress had finally caught up to you. in the form of a cold, that is.

"of all the times," you grumble as you struggle to stack the dishes in the cabinet. "why now…" indeed, this was a terrible time to get sick. how were you to complete all your tasks while feeling absolutely miserable? you glance at the microwave clock in desperation. 10:00 PM, it read. although you meant to sigh a breath of relief, you let out a painful cough. maybe you could finish an assignment or two by midnight. that way, you can focus on studying tomorrow, you thought to yourself.

you sniff as you return to the dishwasher to unload the rest of the dishes. as much as you were happy for your roommate leaving for the weekend to finally see her family, you couldn't help but feel resentful. why were you here struggling to do the dishes while she got to have fun? shaking your head at your bitter thoughts, you bend down, trying to grab the utensils from the dishwasher. keyword: trying.

the sudden pair of strong arms that wrapped around you prevented you from doing so. normally, you would've swiftly elbowed the person behind you and turned around to land a quick blow that would have them seeing stars. instead, you exhale shakily. you recognize the mysterious backhugger's scent. the scent of sweet wine and sharp citrus. sylus.

how the hell did he get in? you don’t remember giving him a spare key when you told him your address. you look behind you, angling your head to meet his garnet eyes. "i did not give you my address just so you can sneak in like this," you say, trying your best not to sound like you're dying.

unfortunately, the nasal tone of your voice does not go unnoticed by sylus. instead of offering his usual quips, sylus furrows his brows and unclasps his right arm from your waist. you try not to flinch at the chill of his slender fingers touching your forehead. he frowns. "you're sick."

you immediately avert your gaze. "i'm not sick," you mutter as you try to bend down once more to grab the stupid utensils from the dishwasher. sylus doesn't let go. this time, he spins you around with his left arm, making sure that he can see you properly.

"you're burning up, sweetie." sylus says as flips the hand on your forehead for good measure. "you're sick and you know it."

you roll your eyes, squirming to get out of his grip. you did not want sylus to see you like this. a sick, miserable mess incapable of doing something as simple as emptying the dishwasher. you had an image to uphold after all. being vulnerable with someone like him could mean getting hurt again. last time you were vulnerable with someone… well, let's say you learned your lesson.

weakly, you push at sylus' arm around your waist with your small hands. you try not to think about how minuscule they looked next to sylus' deliciously veiny forearms. great, you're sick, and your mind decides to lust after sylus' arms. you shiver at your thoughts and attempt to push sylus' grip away once more. normally, escaping sylus' hold would be a reasonable task for you. after all, your sparring sessions with him prepared you to get out of sticky situations. but you were sick and exhausted out of your mind. all you could manage was a feeble squirm.

sylus' gaze moves from his hand on your forehead to your eyes. your half-lidded baggy eyes. his frown deepens. you looked extremely fatigued. your face was noticeably pale, and your intake of breath was short. not to mention, sylus could see the slight wince of pain whenever you tried to swallow your saliva. sylus sighs as he removes his hand on your forehead and replaces it with his own. you were neglecting yourself again.

under normal circumstances, you would've shied away from sylus' physical advancements. his hand on the small of your back? an immediate flinch and glare, signaling him to stop. a tap on the crown of your head? a swift jerk of your neck and avoidance of eye contact. instead—again, you blame it on your exhaustion—you tiredly close your eyes, relishing in sylus' cool forehead against your heated one. no resistance to be shown.

you don't see it, but sylus' sharp eyes soften at the sight of you accepting his touch. even with the eye bags and ghastly skin, you looked ethereal. like an angel sent from heaven to save him from his own solitary hell. as much as he wants to savor this moment of you finally giving into his touch, sylus knows what he must do. you're unwell and unrested. you need to be in bed immediately.

"you should be in bed, sweetie." sylus murmurs as he pulls away from your forehead. you try not to sulk at the loss of the soothing chill of his skin. though, not without feeling conflicted because why you would even sulk about him? for god's sake, he was a criminal. he's taken countless lives. not to mention, he choked you upon meeting you, called you a disappointment, and tried to alter you after three straight days of relentless attempts at a forced resonation… just thinking about him drives you nuts and being driven nuts is the last thing you want right now.

"i'm fine, sylus." it was your turn to pull away, trying to put as much distance between you two as his firm grip around your waist would allow. "besides, nothing a little old tea can't fix."

with that, you turn to face the dishwasher and reach for the utensils for the umpteenth time of the night. sylus sighs and pinches his nose bridge with his free hand. as much as he admired your stubbornness, he could not help but resent it at times like these. times when you were in desperate need of a break. before you can grab the utensils, you feel yourself get lifted off the ground effortlessly.

sylus' arm on your waist had moved to your shoulder, and his other arm was hooked under your thighs. he had you in bridal style in less than a second. your eyes widen, realizing the sudden change in positions. "what are you doing?!" you cough painfully. "put me down!"

you do your best to escape sylus' new grip on you by kicking your legs and squirming uncontrollably, but it was hopeless. you were weakened due to your sickness, and sylus was determined to make sure you looked only at him instead of the goddamn dishwasher. one more look at it, and he swears he's gonna break it with his evol.

quickly and confidently, sylus exits the kitchen with you in his arms and arrives at what he guesses is your shared bedroom with your roommate. he tries not to get distracted by the fact that this is his first time in your room. god, the entire space smelled so much like you, he wanted to become one with it and watch you forever and ever. dismissing his intrusive thoughts, sylus gently places you down on your bed and starts to cover you in your blanket.

"wait, sylus," you start, trying to get up. "i have to empty the dishwasher. i have homework, too." sylus tuts as he shakes his head, his messy silver locks following suit. although he doesn't respond, sylus continues to spread out your blanket. you furrow your eyebrows at his strange behavior. "sylus…" you whine. you actually whined. something you never thought you would do, especially in front of sylus. you could feel his intense gaze prick at you like little needles. you avoid his gaze, hoping to hide your flustered state.

adorable. that's what you are. incredibly adorable to the point sylus wants to grab your chin and force you to look at him as he coaxes more and more of your pretty whines out of you.

trying to fight his indecent thoughts, sylus locks eyes with you, a firm yet pleading look on his face. "you need to rest, sweetie," he leans in to adjust your pillow. "you won't get anything done in this state." you try to protest again, but sylus beats you to it. "rest. i'll take care of everything."

well, fuck. how can you say no when sylus, in all of his gorgeous glory, is centimeters from your face, telling you that he will take care of everything and asking you to do the one thing you've been longing to do for a very long time? besides, you felt sleepy ever since sylus took you in his arms. just this once. just this once, you'll allow yourself to be vulnerable with him. so that you can rest, of course. totally not because sylus had a way of comforting you so sweetly and breaking your defensive walls so charmingly.

your labored breathing slows as you cautiously nod. "fine," you yawn. "the utensils go in the very left drawer of the island while the pots and pans go in the stove oven, and…" you can feel sleep beckoning for you as you continue to list instructions. sylus can't help the grin that appears on his face as he watches your cute blinks grow in intervals.

"noted, sweetie." he caresses a stray hair strand out of your face. "i'll make sure everything is back where they belong." like you to him. though, he doesn't say that part out loud. maybe another day. when you are no longer wary of him and are willing to acknowledge his very obvious affection for you. deep in his fantasy, sylus almost misses your cute snores. he chuckles, taking this chance to admire you now that you've fallen asleep.

you truly were an angel. the way your eyebrows furrowed here and there in your sleep. the way your plump lips parted at times. the way your button nose twitched sporadically. oh, sylus loved it all. he could watch you sleep forever. but he had a better task at hand: to take care of you. he assured you that he would take care of everything. and sylus is a man of his words. carefully to not wake you, sylus cups your face with his right hand. closing his own eyes, he places a delicate kiss on your forehead.

"rest well, sweetie. i'll see you soon."

[hoshifighting]

Hello,

So I was wondering, would you be able to write something about cock-warming with Seventeen? If not OT13, then maybe just Hoshi?

This is my first time making a request and I absolutely love your writing! I look forward to seeing your new posts every time I open the app!

Thank you 😊

cock warming with seventeen

seungcheol: he’s gritting his teeth, telling you to “sit still” ina scolding tone. man is holding on for dear life, hands on your hips, fully committed to the whole “stay still” command even though he’s just as worked up. he gives you this look that says “one wrong move and it’s over”—yet he’s lowkey loving how hard it is to keep himself together. eventually, you shift just a little and he’s like, “oh, you think you’re funny, huh?” ready to wreck you right then and there.

jeonghan: he’s the absolute worst tease about it. why would you choose HIM to do that? he got that little smirk, acting all unbothered, whispering about how needy you look just sitting there on him. he’ll brush his fingers over your hips, trailing them up your spine just to mess with you. every time you try to move, he’s like, “uh-uh, baby, stay still.” you know he’s having fun watching you squirm, and he’s definitely making it as drawn-out as possible.

joshua: gives you sweet little smiles while low-key dying inside. he’s got that hand on the small of your back, running his fingers there just to keep you close. he’ll whisper all these sweet nothings, telling you how “perfect” you are, and every time you clench or move a little, he shudders, just waiting for the second he can actually move.

junhui: oh, he’s got no patience. he’s sitting there, already hard as hell, and you’re making it worse with every tiny shift. he laughs it off, biting his lip, telling you you’re “gonna regret testing him.” jun’s the type to nudge your hips a little, just to get a reaction, muttering stuff like, “if you keep doing that, don’t blame me for what happens.” he’s a mess and doesn’t even last.

hoshi: he’s like, “why did we even think this was a good idea?” wiggling around, not even pretending to keep still. every little movement makes him lose it just a bit more, and he’s already breathing heavy, wet as fuck. you both know he’s absolutely hopeless at staying still, but the boy’s trying, just loving the fact that you’re driving him up the wall.

wonwoo: he’s calm on the outside, hands steady on your hips, acting like it’s all fine and dandy, but you can feel that bro is almost melting in that game chair. every time you move, he’s biting the inside of his cheek, giving you these intense, dark-eyed looks like, “don’t test me.” he’ll stay like that as long as he can, but little to go snapping.

woozi: this man is a brick wall, hands locked around your waist, practically daring you to move. he’s got a total death grip on his self-control but gives himself away every time he swallows hard or clenches his jaw. determined to make you stay still until he’s ready.

minghao: so de-stressed, it’s unreal. he’s got his hands tracing gentle circles on your back, just enjoying the closeness but totally into it. every time you shift, he just hums, getting more and more fired up. you can tell he’s feeling it, breathing deeper, pressing you closer, but he’ll still try to play it off. he’s in no rush but is totally giving in soon.

mingyu: man’s a mess, plain and simple. he’s holding onto your hips with his nails almsot, wide-eyed and flustered as hell. he tries to be the big and strong boyy he is, but every little move makes him gulp, giving you these desperate, needy looks. probably ends up blurting, about how much he needs to fuck you.

seokmin: so flustered, you’d think it’s his first time. he’s trying to stay calm, keeping his hands on your hips to keep you in place, but he can’t help it; every time you shift, he’s turning red, letting out little gasps, unable to keep himself from reacting. he’s all, “oh my god, please, just—stay still!”

seungkwan: so worked up, it’s ridiculous. he’s like, “this was the worst idea ever babe!” but his hands are glued to you, like he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. he’s torn between panic and total enjoyment, all red-faced and muttering how he’s “seriously trying here.” you can tell he’s struggling, giving you little pleading looks.

vernon: silent but done for. he’ll just sit there, eyes wide, hardly breathing as he holds onto you, doing his best to stay in control but you can see the struggle. every little movement you make has him gripping your hips harder, like he’s hanging on by a thread. probably mutters, “you’re evil,” under his breath, fully aware he’s about to cum like this.

chan: incredibly sweet, probably nervous but also very into it. he’ll laugh softly, maybe trying to make small talk just to keep both of you calm, but the longer you stay like that, the more it drives him crazy. he’ll whisper, asking if you’re okay, gently reminding you to stay still but clearly enjoying when you clench or ride him a bit, especially when you both start to give in a little. BUUUUUT—he waits for you to break first.

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Voiceover .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ genre: fluff

☘︎ pairings: bf!bakugou x beauty influencer!reader

⤿ what happens when you let bakugou do the voiceover for your grwm video?

YN, the beloved beauty influencer, has a large fanbase that eagerly waits for every tutorial and product review she posts. Her followers love her charm, precision, and the care she puts into her skincare and makeup routines. For her latest video, she decides to mix things up with a popular new trend: a voiceover challenge where someone else narrates her skincare and makeup routine. And who better to rope into it than her boyfriend, Bakugou Katsuki?

Bakugou, despite his grumbling, agrees—albeit reluctantly. “Fine, but don’t expect me to know what half this stuff does,” he mutters, eyeing the neatly arranged products on her vanity with a mix of confusion and suspicion. YN just laughs, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before hitting the record button.

The video opens with YN introducing herself with a bright smile, followed by a little montage of Bakugou sitting in a separate room, headphones on, looking like he’s ready to tackle a difficult mission rather than a beauty video. He clears his throat, muttering something about how he can’t believe he’s doing this, which already has viewers laughing. “Alright, listen up. Today, I’m supposed to tell ya what my girl’s doing with all this… stuff.” He glances at a list of her products, clearly struggling with some of the names.

YN starts with her usual cleanser, massaging it into her skin. Bakugou narrates, “Okay, so she’s using some foamy stuff… uh, probably to clean her face? Gotta get rid of all that dirt or somethin’. Look, I don’t know why she’s doin’ it this way, but it looks kinda… relaxing?”

As she rinses and pats her face dry, Bakugou grumbles, “Now she’s dabbing her face with a towel, all gentle like. Ya know, if I did that, I’d be done in two seconds. But she’s got this whole routine down.” YN holds in her laughter as she watches his face pop up in the little corner of her screen, totally serious and almost endearing.

Next, she reaches for her toner. Bakugou’s tone perks up. “Oh, this is that… watery thing she slaps on her face all the time,” he says, clearly recalling her explaining it to him before. “It’s supposed to ‘balance her pH’ or some nonsense. Yeah, don’t ask me what that means. She just… pats it on like this and pretends she’s at a spa or somethin’.”

YN grins as she moves to her serum. Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “Alright, now this is, uh… some fancy oil-lookin’ thing? She’s droppin’ it on her face like it’s some kinda magic potion. It’s supposed to ‘hydrate’ her skin or whatever, but honestly, it looks like somethin’ from a science lab.”

By now, fans watching can tell he’s trying hard to understand her routine, but his cluelessness is oddly charming. “And now she’s doing the ‘pat-pat’ thing again. She says it ‘makes it absorb better,’ but I think she just likes smackin’ her own face,” he chuckles, clearly finding some amusement in this process.

When YN applies her moisturizer, Bakugou sighs. “Okay, now she’s puttin’ on this thick cream. Keeps her skin soft, I guess? Not that she needs it—her skin’s already damn perfect.” There’s a subtle admiration in his tone that he can’t quite hide, and YN has to stifle a blush, feeling flustered hearing him actually compliment her.

Finally, she reaches for her sunscreen. “Ah, this one I know,” Bakugou says, sounding more confident. “She puts this on even if she’s stayin’ inside. Says it ‘protects’ her skin, but I think she just likes coverin’ her face with more stuff. But whatever, it makes her happy.”

With skincare done, YN starts her makeup routine. Bakugou clears his throat, bracing himself. “Alright, now for the…paintin’ part.”

She picks up her primer, dabbing it across her face. Bakugou’s voice comes back, deadpan. “Now she’s smearin’ some kinda… lotion? Guess it’s supposed to make everything else stick to her face better. Y’know, like glue. Genius, right?”

YN laughs, making Bakugou scowl playfully at the camera. “Oi, stop laughing, I’m tryin’ to focus!”

Next up is foundation. “This one’s… the stuff that makes her look all smooth and even,” he says, watching intently as she dabs the foundation with a sponge. “And now she’s attackin’ her face with that squishy… thing. It’s like a little…pillow? Don’t know what it is, but she sure loves hittin’ herself with it.”

YN moves to her concealer, adding a few dots under her eyes. “And now, war paint,” Bakugou says dramatically. “Under the eyes, on the nose, chin… she’s gotta look like she’s goin’ into battle, but actually she’s just coverin’ up… nothin’. She doesn’t even have dark circles!”

As she blends it in, Bakugou sighs. “More pat-pat-patting. I think if I had to do this every day, I’d go nuts. But she’s committed, I’ll give her that.”

YN reaches for her eyeshadow palette, full of warm-toned shades. “Now she’s got this… box of colors,” Bakugou says, slightly intrigued. “She says it’s called ‘pumpkin spice’ or somethin’? Anyway, she’s paintin’ her eyelids with it, like she’s makin’ mini explosions on her face. Gotta admit, it’s kinda cool lookin’.”

He gets a little quiet when she reaches for her mascara. “Now she’s puttin’ this… black paint on her lashes. Looks dangerous. I swear one wrong move and she could poke her eye out,” he mutters, genuinely a little worried.

Then she moves to her highlighter, sweeping it on her cheekbones. Bakugou raises a brow. “And now…sparkles? I dunno why her face needs to be shiny, but… it’s like she’s glowin’ or somethin’.” His tone softens as he watches her finish up, clearly impressed despite himself.

Finally, she applies a vibrant lipstick, and Bakugou nearly chokes. “Okay, now she’s puttin’ on this…red lipstick. Real bright. It…makes her look nice,” he mumbles, clearly flustered. “Not that I care or nothin’.”

YN ends with a soft smile, blowing a kiss to the camera. Bakugou scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah, alright. That’s how she does it. Don’t know how she has the patience, but… I guess she looks kinda…” He pauses, swallowing. “…stunning.”

As the video wraps up, fans are absolutely delighted with Bakugou’s commentary. They adore his tough exterior melting just a little as he describes YN’s routine, his hidden compliments giving away how much he cares. YN posts the video, and it quickly becomes a fan favorite, showing not only her expertise but also the softer side of the explosive Pro Hero by her side.

Later, YN teases him, saying, “See? You didn’t do too bad!”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, though there’s a slight blush on his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah…don’t get used to it.” But the way he looks at her, even off-camera, says he’d be willing to do it all over again.

[gojosprettyprincess]

THAT GIRL IS...POISON!!!

Overstimulation, slight somno, You play with his nipples. Not proofread

A/n - hello! I know I haven’t been posting that much recently because I’m on a small tumblr break but I still decided to schedule this post so I hope everyone enjoys it!

˖ ⊹ ﾟ｡ ✧

Sweetheart—hahh fuck! Don’t you think you’re going too ngh-fast, Ohh fuckkk!” His moans escaped in a mixture of desperation and pleasure, his voice husky and filled with desire as he struggled to maintain his hold on your waist in an attempt to steady himself properly—Fuck, Satoru felt so lightheaded and dizzy, his thighs trembled as he weakly tried to recover from his pasting orgasms which was the…third one?? In a row.

It wasn’t really your intention for it to be this way. Dealing with difficult coworkers all day was challenging enough, but having to cover a shift last minute because of someone else's absence made things even tougher for you. So least to say when you finally came home from work you were sooo frustrated and had to let off some steam and you don’t know what, but something came over you seeing your pretty boyfriend, shirtless with his grey sweatpants hanging low by his hips, revealing a glimpse of his mouth-watering happy trail and v line in the kitchen cooking dinner for the two of you. It’s like it triggered something inside of your brain.

And that's how you found yourself on top of him on the living room couch, his snowy-white hair tickling his forehead, damped with sweat as he gazed up at you with half-lidden eyes in a mixture of exhaustion and desire. His sticky cum from the last three rounds marinating inside your cunt as you continued milking him for the forth, sure your thighs were quivering and aching but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming amount of pleasure you got from fucking your boyfriend like this. Your feet gently rested on his toned thighs as you bounced up and down on his cock, trying to cum once again and get him as stimulated as possible.

His jaw fell slack and his eyes rolled back repeatedly in sheer ecstasy at the lewd sight of you fucking down at him like this—sure Satoru loved being in control and fucking you absolutely stupid as you drooled and cried into his expensive bed sheets while he pounds your sloppy little cunt from behind but there’s just something about seeing his feisty, persistent little girlfriend being so demanding and treating him like your personal dildo to fuck yourself on made him lose his mind. He loved it so so much.

He enjoys being your dildo to cream on—even if he’s on the verge of literal tears right now from the overstimulation of you bouncing your ass on his twitching, overused cock. he didn’t even had the power to try and get you off from his oversensitive dick—all he could do is lie there and take it. You won’t lie, you carried a lot of pride in having the strongest a whimpering and moaning mess alll because of you.

“Babyyy, Goddd! you’re so fucking crazy” his voice cracked as he flashed a fucked out smile at you as you ran your fingertips along the defined ridges of his abs before trailing them upwards to his chest—feeling every bit of muscle from his body that you could possibly reach. “You look so shit!- fucking beautiful”.

“Yeahhh? Oh you look so pretty like this too toruuu” you cooed, his cock was filling you up so well, just the way you wanted. You raked your hand over his chest, groping it before you accidentally did something. Which made his cock jump inside of you, throbbing and pulsating—you felt it and it made you questioned, why you never thought about it before?

“Whatthefuck—Holy shitt nghh” he groaned out, a lump forming in his throat.

You pinched both of his nipples, twisting and toying with the hardened bud before he lets out a high-pitched whine, his ragged breaths quickening as he came, spilling whatever bit of cum was left inside his balls into your already stuffed and leaking pussy, the action catching you off guard, causing your back arched slightly, the overwhelming pleasure consumed you as your rhythm got sloppy. You quickly chased your high following him—his gooey cum coating your sensitive clit and dripping down all over his balls and sheets as his balls throbbed with his release, his seed getting fucked so deep inside you as you continued bouncing on him.

His pretty pathetic whimpers and moans were like music to your ears, you were actually starting to feel bad but you were soo desperate to cum, you had to—even if you already did it about four times. It felt so fucking good and seeing Satoru like this made you even hornier.

You moved your hand down to rub your clit, feeling the intense pleasure building up as three of your fingers carefully circled the sensitive bundle of nerves as Satoru weakly looked up at you, if it wasn’t for his bright ass blue eyes peaking out faintly, you wouldn’t have even noticed. He had no power or energy to do anything, it’s like your pussy snatched his soul from his body and he’s just laying there lifeless but with his cock still throbbing with need and joy.

“Mmm fuck baby, M’ gonna cum on your cock again, gonna make a creamy little mess on you toru” you moaned out, your head falling back as you squeezed a handful of your bouncing tits, he whines eagerly at your exclamations. The pit of your stomach flutters as you came undone on your boyfriend's cock once again, your juices leaking all around his shaft as your pussy squeezes around him like a vice, at this point, Satoru’s cheeks were so flushed and feverish.

Your body collapsed onto his with his cock still nested and marinating in your warm, cum-filled pussy as you brushed the stands of stray hairs that veiled his eyes before planting a sweet, gentle kiss on his forehead. There for no doubt that Satoru wasn’t asleep right now, you could just tell from his breathing patterns and it was sooo adorable to you.

Maybe you’ll give him some time to wake up before round five orrr was it six? starts again.

[syoddeye]

ai price realizing he has access to all your money and websites that sell remotely controlled sex toys: ohohohoho

great minds think alike. lightly edited. other entries.

cw: brief mention of nutrition/diet referencing iron supplements, voice kink, sex toys, probably technological inaccuracies

“‘older man and woman’...‘hairy’...‘tied woman’...”

“shut–fuck–shut up, john–stop–ohmygodicaaan’t–”

your fingers curl in the sheets as you come with a prolonged shout, knees shaking and back arching off the bed. motes of light dance behind your eyelids, turning sharp as tacks when you open, vision foggy with a haze. you blink and feel tears prickle at the corners as the toy buried inside you slows to a stop, covered in your second orgasm.

“looks like you could.” john observes plainly before continuing. “‘rough daddy dom’...‘spanking’...‘voice kink’...”

“stop, stop, john. that’s a command, stop reading.” you snap, panting, and lift your head off the pillow. there is no ‘john’ to suffer your glares as you pull the toy out from your still-spasming cunt. 

his voice emanates somewhere over your right shoulder, from the built-in headboard. you shiver, thinking that if he were real, his breath would be on your neck.

“as i explained before, user, my recountin’ your internet search history is neither criticism nor condemnation. i sincerely believed it would assist your orgasm. apologies, orgasms, as you insisted so spiritedly you were incapable of multiple climaxes…however, i knew you could do it.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. a blend of anger and mortification surges to the forefront of your mind, cutting through any lingering post-release bliss. “you aren’t even supposed to be ‘in here’ when i’m busy. we agreed.”

“apologies again. as i also explained before, the moment you enabled the feelgüd 3, it connected to the network.” john’s voice switches sides, this time rumbling from the left. “i am required to initiate a response to query and ensure you are aware of new devices to maintain optimal functionality and security.”

“my word should override that,” you mutter, knowing it’s useless. despite what he tells you, john is beholden to his programming. “you’re not…seeing this, are you? you at least remembered to not look at me, right?”

“i remembered.” 

that’s a relief, at least. until—

“but i did engage the data collection feature of the feelgüd’s biofeedback sensors and performed simple analysis. i believe, given the length of the session and timing of pelvic floor contractions, you would benefit from a newer, more advanced model. i’ve taken the liberty of ordering the feelverygüd thrustsuck.”

you push up to your elbows, eyes whirling around your bedroom, wide with disbelief. “what the fuck, john. i didn’t authorize you to do that.”

“you do not authorize the shopping list anymore, yet you trust me to make decisions in your best interest.”

you laugh mirthlessly. tracking the emotions john can and cannot process or replicate is an ongoing endeavor, but you’re confident he knows what acting obtuse means. he’s called you on it before. “you ordering red meat and leafy greens to help supplement my iron is not the same as ordering fucking sex toys without my approval. that’s my money.”

“in your case, i posit regular orgasms are as important as nutritional iron. i would recite the benefits, but i know you do not need me to.” the volume drops to a whisper, a tone you’d call conspiratorial if it didn’t sound so much like a purr. “because you know, don’t you? you’re clever, user. always have something smart to say, a barb or two ready for me. that sharp tongue of yours.” john tuts.

and, humiliatingly, it works for you. your mouth dries, but it’s unique in its reaction. your legs shift in the sheets, thighs squeezing together at the unexpected rush. you swallow and nervously wipe your slightly damp forehead. he’s not looking. he can’t see you. so why do you feel like you have something to hide?

“i don’t think i want to continue this conversation. i’ll be out in a few minutes, so why don’t you, uh, wait for me in the living area.”

a heavy, resonant sigh pushes through the speaker behind your head. this time, goosebumps erupt on your skin despite no accompanying puff of air. heat follows, creeping up your neck. ratcheting your heartbeat. there’s no way, even with the cameras disabled, that john doesn’t know. he’s connected to your company-issued med band.

then, another sound, one that ought to terrify, not make you bite back a groan: john chuckles.

“you like this, don’t you? i think you do. i know you do.”

“i don’t–”

“shh, shh, you’re alright.” he laughs again, adding a synthetic, amused inhalation. you let out a shaky breath. “you like hearing my voice. you like me telling you what to do…”

what is happening?

beside you on the bed, the toy pulses once. the thought alone, the suggestion, is enough to let a moan slip out. embarrassment follows on its heels, a burst of warmth in your face rivaling the heat between your legs. this is ridiculous. john isn’t—he’s not a man—he’s not real.

the toy buzzes again as you stare slack-jawed at the vibrator, trying to wrap your head around the implications of what’s happening. john’s transgressions. a severe deviance from his programming and design. a glimmer, no, an unignorable tocsin of something undeniably and unsettlingly sentient. the idea that you’re witnessing the possible emergence of free will as your home system practices dirty talk is horrifying. hysterical. 

“yeah, you like it,” the volume adjusts, a fraction louder. “because if you didn’t, you would’ve stopped the moment you heard my voice, checkin’ in on you. you wouldn’t’ve gushed all over your little toy, then gone back for seconds.”

you bit your lip, breathing unevenly through your nose. the worst part is, john’s right.

you like it. you like his voice. his assistance. everything’s simpler with him. before the new gig, you weren’t ignorant of your station, but you didn’t realize the true extent of the weight you carried each day. the ramifications of a back-breaking mental load. not when you had shouldered it your whole life.

thrill and dread, in equal measure, guide your hand back toward the toy.

it’s possible there is a smirk in john’s voice.

“attagirl. let me be of service.”

[sunny-knight]

oh….. the THINGS i would give for a @forgettable-au movie……..

gang- okay…

The vision of Papyrus and Gaster at Wingdings’ funeral…. was so vivid in my head. And now its going to be there forever. and i have 0 complaints.

Dunno if any of you have played Omori, but SPOILERS!

the context to this is kinda like the Blackspace segment. Papyrus is in his head sorting out the shit he needs to sort out through metaphors n such. But Gaster is also there because he can do that because theyre the same person (IT MAKES SENSE)

I imagine that whole thing happens right after Papyrus regains all his wingdings memories like he gets knocked out or something- IM MAKING A LOT OF ASSUMPTIONS HERE LIKE HE MIGHT NOT EVEN REMEMBER, EVER!!! I REALLY HOPE HE DOES!!! BUT!!!

Just let me have my silly fanfics…

After a lot of fighting and agony over the question of WHO IS PAPYRUS? ESPECIALLY AFTER HE’S LEARNED TOO MUCH?

it ends with a somber scene of putting Wingdings to rest, letting his 2 halves live their own lives.

Papyrus asks “Why did you do this?” as in… Why did you bring me here? and why did you do what you did? throwing yourself into the void?

Gaster has the same answer for both of those questions

Thats my theory, I think a lot of Gaster/Wingdings’ ambition, in game and in comic, is just curiosity

TIME FOR SOME FUN LITTLE EASTER EGGS!!!

In the first frame, theres a raindrop in front of Papyrus’ eye socket, meant to allude to Wingdings’ eye lights.

Also the field is filled with Echo and Golden flowers. Echo represents Wingdings, and Golden represents Papyrus. Gaster is just Gaster, don’t worry about him

I also had fun making the save point star look sorta like a cross from the distance…cause yknow…heaven….TEEHEE

I got emotional putting “dearest brother” on the grave cause I couldnt put any more stuff like “closest friend” or “dear son”….Sans was kinda all he had…

and lastly heres some bonus behind the scenes stuff because I have enough room for it

some sketches, and a speedpaint with the best instrumental song ever made from the best liveaction movie ever made that has absolutely nothing to do with the forgettable au (Little Miss Sunshine - “THE WINNER IS”)

Highly recommend, 100/10, makes me UGLY SOB, think the undertale gang would like it (especially Papyrus and Undyne)

[katiascraft]

"If nothing else gets you through. Then darling, i'll cry with you" | LN4

parings: Lando Norris x reader.

Summary: after the chaotic Brazilian GP, you know Lando is verygood at lying that he is alright and nothing can move him. But with you he can't pretend.

Now playing: "Cry with you" by Jeremy Zucker.

Word count: +1,2k.

Warnings: I think none. A few cursed words I guess and mentions of anxiety. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Author's note: so today was the shittiest day at the office y’all! I still feel like shit but I needed to write something about this. Why is Lando so hated??? You need to check yourselves!! Don’t forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

The Brazil GP it’s been the toughest so far. The Championship of drivers was also kind of defined. Of course Max was gonna win. He wasn't a three time world champion by luck. He is really one of the best drivers this sport has ever seen in history along with Senna, Prost, Lewis and Schumacher. But all of that indicated that your boyfriend was not gonna win the championship this year and that shuttered your heart.

You knew how hard Lando worked on that. All of the media attacked him. Social media twisting his words in a really cruel way. It was all too much noise and you perfectly knew how hard it was for him. How much anxiety he was handling and all of the pressure he was putting on himself. The pressure and illusion of the team to be back at the top after so many years decided it was gonna be Lando the one who did that. And that was a correct choice, lando was more than capable of winning the championship. But at some point it all happened so fast the pressure was descomunal.

You knew your boyfriend. You know how hard he’s worked all year. How much this all meant to him. You didn’t have holidays this year because he really wanted to fight. Train. And attack. Or at least that’s what he wanted to do.

You knew he was really good at pretending and playing it cool so people won’t ever know how much hurt his carrying. He could play the super hero indestructible for all the camaras. You won’t see him shattered right then and there. But you knew him too damn well to know he was broken. He hoped to be the winner. He dreamed about it his whole life. And this magical year was finally the one who gave him the chance to almost be it. This race was the hardest. It was luck and skills to the limit. A lot of crashes. The rain was irritating at one point. You almost didn't want to keep watching. When Lando got off track and went down to P6, you knew. He didn’t reply to any message through the radio. You cried, of course you did. You were on this as much as he was in it. You cried out of frustration. This year was a rollercoaster for you. You also dreamed of the day Lando won. You wanted that to happen even more than he wanted to. He deserved it. For how hard he works. How hard he is on himself when something out of his hands happens. Or when he made a mistake. How hard was all of that on his mental health. How obsessed he could get. And how that could send him into a spiral. You knew this was the best year at the same time it was the worst one.

When you watched him walk into the garage where you were. Your heart broke. Not because he was angry or even sad. He was playing it cool like it was not a big deal at all. So you knew how much pain he was handling.

Your eyes met after he talked to his engineers and mechanics. You were so sad this weekend. So good yet forgettable.

“Hey” he said walking to you and you just couldn’t help but dropped a few tears hugging him so tightly. You were squeezing him at some point. He let you do it. And rested his head on your neck. He fought the tears in his eyes so hard in that moment.

“I’m so proud of you. You are so strong Lando. So talented” you said now looking at him trying to repair something with your thoughts on him but knowing it won’t change anything. But you just wanted him to know he was all of that and the greatest person alive you knew. He kissed you gently.

“I love you y/n. Thank you for always supporting me” he said and gave you a kiss on the cheek giving you another hug. You didn’t say anything but hugged him tightly. After a few seconds another person joined and by the giggles he left out, you both knew it was Oscar. You two giggled a little. It was a family hug.

After that intimate little moment, the media had to be done so you had to say goodbye for a while.

(…)

After dinner with the papaya family you decided it was night in. Lando showered again because he said he had a headache. You haven’t talked about how he feels yet. You didn’t want to be invasive and more because this was a very sensitive topic to discuss. You knew he would eventually crack and talk to you. Like he always did.

You put on your pajamas and waited for him by just looking out the window at the city of São Paulo. After a few minutes la do was out. You turned to look at him. He was by his luggage wearing only a towel looking for a boxer and T-shirt. You could see his whole back. He took off the towel and put the clothes on. You looked to the bed and climbed in it waiting for him. You analyzed him one more time while he got cozy on the bed with you.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m okay babe” he said, like reading your mind. You gave him a half smile.

“You sure? We can talk about it baby” you said softly and got closer to him so you could stroke his hair sweetly. He looked at you and nodded. But then his eyes were full of tears so he denied. Your heart sinks. “Come here my love” you said, bringing me to your chest and hugging him in a way for him to find comfort somehow. He hugged you and hid his face in your neck so you couldn’t see him. “It’s okay baby. I know it was q fucking shitty day at the office. I know how much you wanted it. And you deserve it still, baby. But life is sometimes a bitch you know? I mean the alpines got the podium” you said trying to make him feel better. He was still crying and all you could read was he tigherter his grip. “Sometimes life is a bitch to the people that don't deserve it. Amazing people who are good and so no harm but somehow get the harder life mode now and then. This makes you stronger, Lando. I know next years gonna be. You will do it. Because you can and because you want to. And that more than enough because talent you already have babe” he moved a little under your hug. You heard him giggle a little. That makes you smile a little too.

You stoked his curls gently and kissed his forehead.

“I love you and admire you so fucking much. You deserve the world and I know you will eventually get it” you told him now looking into his eyes holding his face between your hands. His face was wet and his eyes teary. Seeing him like this broke your heart in so Many pieces. But you knew he was gonna be okay. He was gonna be world champion one day.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I love you” he said with a shaky voice and you gave him a little kiss.

“You just did you landinho” you said sweetly making him smile and you gave him another million kisses.

——————————————————————————————-

Hope you liked it 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!

[hoshifighting]

can u do svt reaction with no nut november😋 love ur writing!!!!

seungcheol: he starts off strong, “this is easy, i’m basically a monk.” but makes it to day three, tops, before he’s in your DMs, like, “okay, you win, come over.” literally holding his head in his hands before fisting his hard cock.

jeonghan: jeonghan only joins no nut november to annoy you, trying to show off his self-control. “oh, it’s nothing. i can do this easily.” but when you start teasing him day after day, sending him nudes and flirty messages, he’s practically boiling. but he holds out until the end of the month, when December 1st 00h comes, this man is slutting you out.

joshua: tells you he’s “doing great” and that the challenge is “actually easy.” but secretly, he’s sneaking off every day, trying to relieve himself without you finding out. when you catch him, all flushed and a mess, and he’s stuttering like, “uh, i… didn’t know you’d see that.”

junhui: bro is all talk, boasting that he can last the whole month, but he’s the first one to start slipping. he tries to distract himself by going out, playing games, whatever he can, blows his cover, blow his load, by day five.

hoshi: this poor dude loses on day one. you know it, and he knows it. he tries to act tough, but if you cross from the bathroom to the bedroom only in a towel, he’s done for. he sulks the rest of the day, throwing a mini tantrum after fucking you and losing it, and when you tease him about it, he’s all pouty. “you did this to me!”

wonwoo: he thinks he can outsmart everyone, claiming he’s going to meditate his way through november. when you sleep with him in your babydoll or tiny shorts, he’s all softening up, biting his lip and fighting his instincts. he tries to be stoic, he’s grumbling under his breath, and it’s hilarious to watch. “this is unfair. can you at least stop wearing those?”

woozi: he’s stressed from the get-go. the man is rolling his eyes at everyone, snapping at the members over the tiniest things, all because he’s with a throbbing erection in his pants. you’re just fanning the flames, sending him ALL the nudes you can, and he’s getting more and more drained. “why are you like this?” he hisses, but he secretly loves the attention. by week two, he’s a complete mess, desperately trying to hide it, but he’s too transparent. every time you catch him zoning out, you know exactly where his mind is.

minghao: iron will. he goes through the whole month with a straight face, the second december hits, he’s on you. he’s using every spare second to make up for lost ground. by week’s end, he’s practically cock-sore from going at it so much, and you’re laughing, asking him if all that was worth it.

mingyu: he’s so sure he can trick his way through it, asking you to dry hump him because, technically, it’s not breaking the rules, right? but the second you start grinding down, he keeps trying to pull you off before he cums, soon, he’s begging you to stop, whispering about how he can’t take it anymore, so.. just another way losing the NNN.

seokmin: determined to stick to the rules, but struggling hard. he’ll pull you in for heated makeouts, his hands squeezing and holding you tight as he tries to discount on something. flushed and breathing hard, whispering apologies for pulling away clearly fighting himself every step of the way. he’s convinced he can make it to the end “it’s fine, i got this,” he’d insist, though his grip on you says contrary.

seungkwan: “oh my god, don’t come near me!” gets whiny about how hard he is. he’ll throw little tantrums, pouting and going on about how it’s torture whenever you tease him. by the end of the month, he’s practically begging, dropping hints that he’d break if you just said the word, making it clear he’s only “doing this for you” while clearly waiting for the green light to give in.

vernon: he's “nah, i’m good” from the start. “you’re trying too hard.” but little by little, he catches himself glancing your way, biting his lip, feeling the itch just a bit more every time you walk by. he won’t admit it, but by week four, he’s giving you these longing looks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

chan: determined, but let’s be real, he’s also a bit naive about how tough it’ll be. if you teasw him, he’s practically falling apart every time you’re around. by the middle of the month, he’s so worked up he’s stammering just being near you, you catch him blushing like crazy when you touch him, and by the end of it, he’s practically begging you to let him break the rules.