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inkandapex · 2 months ago

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stream madness pt.3

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris and his girlfriend, Y/N continue to grace the stream with tooth-achingly sweet moments, often caught on camera. But they’re not immune to some naughty slip-ups, much to Max F's dismay.

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

Mic On

It was already well into the night, and somehow, Max had convinced Lando to hop on his Twitch stream for a late-night Counter-Strike session. They were in between rounds when the door creaked open, and Y/N walked in.

Lando tugs off one side of his headset the moment he felt her hand rest on his shoulder, tilting his head back to look up at her.

“Oh, hey baby. How was dinner?” he murmured, catching her hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his hair, making his eyes flutter shut for a brief second. “It was good. You’re on stream?”

“Mhmm.” He nodded, completely unbothered, yanking off his headset entirely.

Max’s voice suddenly boomed through the speakers. “Hey Y/N! Chat’s been looking for you.”

Y/N laughed, settling into the empty gaming chair beside Lando. “Sorry, chat. I was out with friends.”

Y/N’s eyes continued to scan the chat, answering a few questions every now and then, completely unaware of the way Lando was staring.

He hadn’t looked away since the moment she walked in. Not once.

Max was still talking, chat was flying, but Lando? Lando was somewhere else entirely.

Y/N finally glanced over, catching his intense gaze. She raised a brow, lips curving into a small smile. “What?”

Her soft voice snapped him out of his trance, but instead of looking flustered, Lando’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. He didn’t answer right away—just leaned in slightly, fingers reaching for his mic.

An attempt to mute himself.

Except—

He missed.

He tugs her chair a little closer, his hand sliding onto her lap as that familiar cheeky smirk plays on his lips.

“I was just thinking… you look really good right now, my love. Do you wanna—”

"MIC ON! MIC ON! YOUR MIC IS STILL ON!"

Max’s panicked scream blasted through the speakers.

Max’s panicked shouts made both of them jump, Y/N spinning her chair away in embarrassment while Lando nearly slid off his own chair from laughing.

Chat was going feral.

Lando, still wheezing, finally managed to get words out. “I just wanted to ask if she wanted to stay on the stream and play with us!”

Max, still skeptical, narrowed his eyes through the screen. “Sure, Lando. Sure.”

Lando shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Get your head out of the gutter, mate. Dirty bastard.”

Y/N, still red-faced, simply sighed. The damage was already done.

"max always having to come to their rescue will never not be funny" "LN was ready to risk it all" "cant blame bob, Y/N looks amazing" "MAX SHOUTING" "Please tell me someone clipped that"

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Fish are friends NOT food

"Baby, please. Your food is touching my food."

Lando’s whiny complaint made both Max and Y/N pause mid-chew, turning to look at him like he’d just announced he was retiring from racing to become a monk.

Max glanced over at Lando’s plate, unimpressed, before shaking his head with a chuckle. "You're unbelievable, mate."

"It's just sushi, Lan" Y/N muttered, barely sparing him a glance as she scrolled through her phone.

"It's fish!" Lando exclaimed, holding up his plate dramatically for the camera, zooming in to prove how his spring rolls were daring to brush against Y/N’s salmon nigiri.

Max snorted. “Grow up, Lando.”

Lando huffed, crossing his arms. "You grow up." He looks over at his girlfriend, pleading eyes "Baby please, I don't even want to touch it"

“Lan…” Y/N sighed in defeat, picking up the piece of sushi he was so dramatically complaining about and popping it into her mouth. “Happy?”

Lando watched in absolute horror, his face scrunching up like he’d just witnessed a crime. He shivered at the mere thought of it. “Don’t know how you can eat that… raw too.”

Y/N smirked, grabbing another piece. She held it up to him. “Try it. Come on.”

“No.”

“I promise you it’s good.”

“And I promise you I’m gonna be sick.” Lando leaned back, holding his arm out like she was trying to feed him actual poison.

Max, watching the whole thing unfold, burst out laughing. “This is the farthest I’ve ever seen Lando be from Y/N while being in the same room as her.”

Chat? Losing it.

"HE’S SO DRAMATIC I CAN’T" "MAX WITH THE LIVE COMMENTARY" "bro is scared of sushi"

“I’ll do a photoshoot for Quadrant merch if you eat one piece.”

Silence.

Both Max and Lando’s heads snapped toward Y/N so fast they could’ve gotten whiplash.

Y/N had denied every single request to model for Quadrant—begged, bribed, guilt-tripped—nothing had worked. Until now.

Max turned to the camera, mouth slightly agape. “Do you guys understand how long we’ve been asking Y/N to model for us? They weren’t even dating yet and we were already trying to convince her.”

Lando’s gaze flickered between the sushi and Y/N, eyes filled with pure despair and conflict.

“Two collections,” he blurted out.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“You have to model for two collections” Lando negotiated, like this was a high-stakes F1 contract and not about eating a single piece of fish.

Max and Y/N exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

“There you go, chat,” Max said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now you know we’re working on two new collections, thanks to Lando’s terrible bargaining skills.”

Lando groaned, realizing he had just leaked their upcoming release in real time.

“Fine,” Y/N conceded, “but you have to actually chew and swallow it.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “AND… you do a shoot with me for LN4 merch too.”

The room fell silent again.

Max watched in amusement as Lando and Y/N locked eyes, neither blinking, waiting to see who would fold first.

Max smirked. “This is the most intense negotiation I’ve ever witnessed, and I’ve seen Alpine and McLaren fight over Oscar Piastri.”

Finally, Y/N held out her hand. “Deal.”

Lando took it, but instead of shaking, he brought it up to his lips and kissed it. “Deal.”

Max exploded. “I can’t believe this is happening. Someone clip this, please, I’m begging—fuck it, I gotta film this.” He fumbled for his phone, nearly knocking over his drink in the process.

Lando let out a deep, dramatic breath, grabbing his water bottle like it was his lifeline.

Y/N’s smile stretched wide, almost devilish, as she slowly inched the piece of sushi closer to Lando’s mouth.

“Open up, cutie,” she cooed.

Lando shot her a look of betrayal, but he had already sealed his fate. With a deep breath, he took the piece into his mouth, chewing at full speed, eyes squeezed shut like he was enduring actual pain.

Max was already cackling.

Lando forced himself to swallow, then dramatically opened his mouth wide to prove it was gone before immediately chugging half his water bottle like his life depended on it.

Y/N and Max? Wheezing.

Max threw his hands up. “And history has been made!”

Still recovering, Lando grabbed a spring roll and took the biggest bite possible, desperately trying to erase the taste of fish from his mouth.

Y/N ruffled his hair, grinning proudly. “Proud of you, my love. I’m telling Carlos about your bravery today.”

Lando nearly choked on his spring roll. “No. You are not.”

"HE TOOK IT LIKE A CHAMP" "Lando vs. Sushi—Sushi wins" "CARLOS NEEDS TO HEAR ABOUT THIS ASAP"

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Australia GP

Max had woken up far too early, but the excitement for the Australia race had him buzzing. He’d set up his stream, ready to deliver some live commentary for his viewers as they watched the race unfold. Max had already talked about Lando's stellar performance from practice and qualifying, and of course, a handful of jabs about Y/N's debut on the big screen.

As the camera cut to Y/N chatting with Cisca, Lando’s mom, during the red flag pause, Max’s eyes lit up.

“Ah, there she is! WAG title stealer!” Max exclaimed, clapping his hands loudly as the broadcast showed Y/N mid-conversation, the words "Lando’s partner" flashing across the screen beneath her name.

The chat exploded with laughing emojis as Max quickly snapped a picture on his phone, an evil smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m sending this straight to Lando. He’s gonna love this. Bro is down bad for her, it's actually sickening”

The race hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. Max was feeling empathetic for all the rookies, as well as Carlos and Fernando, who were all out of the race early, DNFing one by one. But what really sent everyone into a bit of a spiral was when both McLarens went off-track, and then Oscar slid off into the grass.

Max kept going with his commentary, his usual sharp observations now mixed with praise for Oscar’s effort to get his car back on track. He was doing his best to keep it light, but when the camera cut to a replay of the McLaren garage’s reaction, Max couldn’t help himself.

“Oh dear,” Max chuckled softly, eyes glued to the screen. “Look at Y/N. I think she aged 10 years and it’s only race 1 of 24.”

Y/N’s face was a mix of concern and pure stress, tightly holding hands with Cisca as she watched her partner’s car struggle. Her eyes went wide when Oscar’s car slipped, and the pressure was visible on her face.

Max, clearly enjoying himself, added, “Poor Y/N looks like she’s about to start a full-on grey hair collection.”

The chat was absolutely losing it.

"MAX IS SO SAVAGE LMAO" "Y/N'S FACE JUST AGES A DECADE" "she's just like us" "SOMEONE CHECK ON Y/N SHE'S ABOUT TO HAVE A MELTDOWN"

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Swirly Pistachi-OH!

Max and Lando sat side by side, setting up a lobby to play a new game, both of them already gearing up for the chaos that would ensue. The vibe was relaxed, but that quickly shifted when the door opened, and Y/N walked in, looking absolutely fuming.

"Lando! I can't believe you. I've—"

Max immediately reaches over and mutes his mic, the tension in the room rising as both he and Max exchanged brief glances. Y/N didn’t even acknowledge them, her hands waving around, clearly heated about whatever had just happened. Her eyes locked onto Lando,

Lando can be seen reaching out to her, both now in deep conversation while Max sat there like a child caught in the middle of his parents arguing.

Lando can be seen running his hands through his hair, immediately reaching for his phone as she stormed off, clearly done with the argument.

Max, ever the opportunist, unmuted himself with a small sigh. “Alright, so… that argument?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It was about who ate her ice cream from the freezer”

Lando, still rubbing his temples in frustration, groaned. “Mate, keep your voice down, she has super hearing.”

Max burst into laughter, throwing his head back. “Chat’s probably thinking it’s something serious”

Before Lando could respond, the door slammed open again with a dramatic flair, and there stood Y/N, hands on her hips, eyes practically smoking with fury.

"It was swirly pistachi-oh— Fewtrell, you know how hard it is to get a hold of that!" she snapped, voice sharp as a knife.

Lando pursed his lips, doing his absolute best to hold back his laughter, but it was clear he was about to lose it. He could feel Max trying to hide his grin beside him, but Lando knew the minute Y/N saw him struggling, it was only going to make things worse.

Max, still processing, blinked a few times in disbelief. “Wait, like Lec’s swirly pistachio? Charles Leclerc’s?”

Y/N shot Max a look that could melt steel. “Yes, Max. Charles' ice cream. It sells out so fast around here, it’s like gold. And Lando—” she turned her glare to him, the look of death now firmly in place, “—decided to eat my stash. The whole thing. All of it.”

Lando couldn’t keep it in anymore and burst into laughter, clutching his stomach as the weight of the situation hit him. But the moment he saw Y/N's expression change—eyebrows raised, hands on her hips like she was ready to deliver an epic punishment—his laughter faltered.

Y/N squinted at him like he had just committed war crimes. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

Lando immediately stopped laughing and put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry, baby, please… Come here.”

But Y/N stood firm, not budging an inch. Her arms stayed crossed, her expression still ice-cold.

Lando’s smile faltered as he stood up to walk towards her. “Come on, my love… I already texted Charles to see if he can get us some more,” he said, doing his best to sound sweet and sincere, though the grin trying to form on his face was absolutely betraying him.

Y/N eyed him suspiciously, her lips pursed in the tightest line. “You texted Charles? Before apologizing to me?”

Lando hesitated, then shrugged sheepishly. “Well, he’s the pistachio supplier, isn’t he? Just trying to get the best deal for us.”

Max, now full-on crying from laughing, added, “You know, I think Charles might just have one last scoop left in his freezer. You’ve got to pull out the big guns, mate.”

Lando pulls her into a tight hug while shooting Max a glare that could only be described as a silent plea for mercy. But as Y/N’s gaze softened slightly, he knew he might just be getting out of this one alive… for now.

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The Accidental Moan

Lando and Max were deep into a heated game of Tarkov, and Y/N walked in, casually leaning against the doorframe, watching the two of them play. She walks over behind Lando’s chair, arms folded as she observed their chaotic gameplay.

Lando glanced up at her, offering a playful grin. “Hi, my love. Wanna grab a chair and join us?”

Y/N smiled, shaking her head, her fingers threading through Lando’s messy curls. “I’m good. Just making food right now. Came to check on you two.”

Max groaned from the other side of the room. “Perfect timing. I’m starving.”

Y/N laughed. “I know, you’ve been playing for hours.”

Lando leaned back in his seat, humming contentedly as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Mmm, that feels nice, baby,” he sighed, half-losing focus on the game as he relaxed into her touch.

Y/N grinned, her fingers still running through his hair. “Your hair’s a bit tangled, you know.”

Max snorted from the other side. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t seen a brush in weeks.”

Lando smirked, keeping his eyes on the screen but clearly enjoying the attention. “I like it like this.”

Y/N laughed lightly, “I’m sure you do.” She leaned down to give him a quick kiss on the top of his head as he leaned into her touch.

“Alright, I gotta go check on the food,” Y/N said, pulling her hands away from his hair. But as she did, something unexpected happened.

Her fingers got caught in the tangles of his curls, and as she moved away, it pulled harshly, making Lando let out a loud, unintentional moan.

Max, mid-game, froze. His eyes widened in shock. “What the fuck was that?!”

Y/N froze too, her face immediately turning a shade of red. She stood there, staring at Lando, unsure how to recover.

Lando, now realizing exactly what just happened, doubled over in laughter, his face bright red. “I swear, it wasn’t what it sounded like,” he managed to say between fits of giggles.

Max, still shocked, looked from Lando to Y/N, his face full of disbelief. “Oh no, it was exactly what it sounded like”

Lando, trying to stop laughing but failing miserably, looked at Y/N. “Oh baby...” He burst into laughter again, shaking his head.

Y/N, standing frozen with her hands still awkwardly in the air, just shook her head, biting back a laugh herself. “I didn’t mean to—” she started but was cut off by Lando’s giggles. "You know what, i'm leaving" Y/N shakes her head as she rushes out of the room

Max and Lando, still laughing at the absurdity of the situation, wiped tears from their eyes. “I can’t—I can’t even focus now,” Max gasped, trying to regain his composure.

Lando, still chuckling, shook his head, attempting to steady himself. “Yeah, alright, I’m good. I’m good.”

They both took deep breaths, trying their best to get back into the game.

Max, still grinning like a Cheshire cat, clicked his tongue and looked at Lando. “So... hair pulling, huh?”

“Shut up, Max.”

"LANDO IS INTO HAIR PULLING" "max's face!" "POOR Y/N" "LANDO CAUGHT ON LIVE AGAIN"

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Make me pretty

Viewers slowly began to fill Max's stream, immediately flooding the chat with comments about the unusual setting. The camera was focused on Lando, who was sitting in a make-up chair, while Y/N stood off to the side, rummaging through a pouch.

Max clapped his hands and grinned. “Alright, chat, welcome!”

Lando flashed a smile and gave a small wave to the camera. “Bit of a different setup today, we managed to rent out a tiny studio for an impromptu shoot,” Max explained.

Y/N returned to stand between Lando’s legs, gently dabbing a make-up sponge on his face.

“Y/N’s the one making sure Lando looks presentable today,” Max added.

Lando tilted his head slightly, looking up at her with a soft smile. “Make me pretty, baby.”

Y/N chuckled, carefully applying concealer. “I can if you'd stop moving so much”

Max stood to the side, watching intently. “Can you make him look like Carlos?”

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, scoffing as she carefully worked on Lando’s face. “I said I can make him look pretty, Max, not like a Spanish model. I’m not God.”

Max choked back a laugh, and Lando’s jaw dropped as he stared at Y/N, utterly bewildered. “Are you saying Carlos looks so good you can’t even make me look remotely like him?”

Y/N shot him a playful smirk as she continued her work. “Took the words right out of my mouth, baby.”

Lando shakes his head, looking at the camera and pointing a finger at it. “My girlfriend, everybody…”

“I’m kidding, Lan, come on!” Y/N laughs, tilting his face back to look at her as she brushes powder onto his face. Lando scrunches up his nose. “That tickles.”

Y/N chuckles at his reaction, planting a quick peck on his nose. “All done. See? Gorgeous.”

Lando looks at himself in the mirror, nodding with satisfaction. “Damn, I look good.”

Y/N stops him from getting up. “I gotta do your hair, baby. Just a little longer.”

Lando glances at the clock and then back at her. “You gotta hurry up a bit, love. Need to do Max’s makeup too, and we both know that’s gonna take you nearly the whole day just to make him look half decent.”

Max, who’s been silently listening to the conversation, suddenly snaps. “Why the fuck am I catching strays? I haven’t said a word in the past five minutes!”

“Max, come on mate, look at you. You look ghastly. You feeling okay lately?” Lando grinned

Max shot him a glare, rolling his eyes. “You look ill, Lando. Have you seen yourself?”

Lando waved him off dramatically. “Seriously, Max. I’m getting worried here. You look like you need a bit more TLC. Maybe a nap... an exorcism?”

Max groaned. “I hate you. You’re so annoying.”

Lando smirked. “You’re annoying.”

Meanwhile, Y/N stood silently with a hairbrush in hand, staring at the camera. Her expression was a mix of exhaustion and quiet desperation, as if she was silently pleading for help from the viewers as the two continued to bicker like an old married couple. “Help me…” she muttered under her breath, eyes still locked on the camera.

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2 Hands

Lando and Max were on their respective twitch streams, playing a rather relaxed game of UNO. It wasn't until Max decided to cheekily check Lando's stream to sneak a peak of his cards.

What surprised him, however, was his friend who had an annoyingly smug smirk on his face, his other hand no where in sight. And his girlfriend, suspisciously sat quietly beside him, wrapped in a blanket.

"You naughty little shit"

Lando’s whole body tenses. Y/N immediately looks away, suddenly very interested in the chat messages scrolling by at the speed of light.

Max’s smirk widens. "Hand check. Right now"

Lando, the master of deflection, tries to laugh it off as he shows his hand that was once set on the mouse. "Mate, what do you mean? My hands are—"

"Nah nah nah, show me both hands. Now!"

The chat goes feral.

"MAX IS ONTO THEM." 🕵️‍♂️"Lando’s sweating LMAO.""Y/N LOOKS GUILTY ASF."

After a long, agonizing pause, Lando finally raises his hands, one noticeably slower than the other. Max absolutely loses it.

"YOU NASTY LITTLE FUCK!" he cackles, pointing accusingly.

"Oh come on Max it was just on her bo—"

"Lando!" Y/N shouts and hides their face in her hoodie, and chat is now 100% convinced they just witnessed history.

Max: 1 | Lando: -100 | Y/N: Applying for Witness Protection

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Sim-sanity

Lando and Y/N glances behind them as Max walks into the room, a couple of bags of food in hand, his face a mix of annoyance and hunger.

"You two should just throw your phones away, I've been trying to call you for an hour" Max grumbles, shaking his head as he drops the bags onto the table.

Y/N smirks, grabbing one of the bags. "Hello to you too, grumpy." She starts pulling out boxes of food, her attention split between Max and the chaos on Lando's screen.

Lando, who’s completely absorbed in his game, glances up just long enough to acknowledge Max. "Oh you're here"

Max eyes the screen, raising an eyebrow. "Oh nice, Y/N, you're finally sharing your Sims with the stream?"

Y/N rolls her eyes but keeps pulling food out of the bag, clearly not impressed. "That's Lando's Sim. I was supposed to play, but he hogged it."

Max laughs as he leans in, squinting at the characters on the screen. "Mate, is that you and Y/N? Hold up, they actually look like you two. It's kinda freaky..."

Lando grins, still not taking his eyes off the game. "Yeah, I found a pre-made version of me and spent hours making Y/N."

Y/N shrugs as she digs into her food, rolling her eyes again. "He wouldn’t even let me play. Spent hours on it and wouldn't let me touch it."

Lando, not missing a beat, taps his mic as if it’s a casual question. "Chat—should we hire a nanny for Livie or should I quit my job and stay home?"

Max freezes. "Who the hell is Livie?"

"Our kid, Max," Lando says, looking at him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Keep up."

Y/N looks at Max, nodding seriously. "Yeah, we’ve got two kids now."

Lando, eyes glued to the screen, clicks furiously as he navigates through the Sims world, completely absorbed in his virtual family.

Y/N and Max exchange amused glances, trying not to laugh at how seriously he’s taking the game.

"Kind of concerning how invested he is in this," Max says, his voice low, as he watches Lando’s furrowed brow. "He doesn’t even play VR golf with this much concentration."

Y/N, chuckling under her breath, leans back in her chair, shaking her head. "Oh, Max, no. He’s really invested. Don’t let the quiet fool you—he’s planning their whole life. I'm pretty sure our Sims' kids are more organized than we are."

Lando leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied grin. "Alright, baby, Livie’s grown enough, and Sim me just quit his job. Time to woohoo for our third baby," he says nonchalantly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard as if he’s casually discussing his grocery list.

"You're mental"

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luv-lock · 1 month ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤMY CRAZY BOYFRIENDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Teen Team Guys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When They Act Crazy But Think It's Normal.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Mark Grayson, Rex Sloan, Rudolph 'Rudy' Conners, Male Eve Wilkins.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— MARK GRAYSON ⋆

You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you slide open your closet door, fully prepared to grab a sweater and move on with your night. Instead, you’re greeted by the sight of Mark, squatting in the corner like some feral raccoon, clutching one of your hoodies to his chest.

He blinks up at you, wide-eyed.

“…Hey.”

You don’t even react. You just shut the door again.

“Wait—babe! Come back! This isn’t what it looks like!” His muffled voice seeps through the wood.

“Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like.” You rub your temples. “Mark, why the fuck are you in my closet?”

There’s a long silence, then a hesitant, “…To be close to you?”

You groan.

“Okay—wait—before you get mad,” he tries, “I technically haven’t left. Like, all day. So, technically, I haven’t been following you, I’ve just… always been here.”

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!!!”

He bursts out like a guilty child, tripping over your shoes in the process. “I just like your smell, okay?! It’s comforting!”

You’re pretty sure he’s stolen half your wardrobe at this point.

Then you grab your coat and walk out of your room. You can’t deal with this. "I'm sleeping at a friend's house."

"Okay!" he calls after you. "I'll be right here when you get back!"

— REX SLOAN ⋆

You're at a restaurant, minding your business, when the waiter places a drink in front of you.

"Here's your drink, ma'am," the poor guy says.

Rex lunges across the table, knocking everything over in his path. "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, BUD?!"

The entire restaurant turns to stare as Rex grabs the waiter by the collar.

"Sir, I—"

"DO YOU THINK SHE WANTS YOUR DRINK? YOU THINK SHE WANTS YOU?! YOU TRYNA FLIRT?!" Rex’s hands start to glow, dangerous sparks flying. The table catches fire.

The waiter is pale. "Sir, this is my job—"

"OH, SO YOUR JOB IS TO HIT ON MY GIRL?! I’LL BLOW YOUR NUTS OFF!"

"Rex," you hiss, face buried in your hands. "Put him down. Right. Fucking. Now."

Silence.

Then Rex lets go. The waiter collapses onto the floor, trembling.

Rex turns to you, panting, eyes crazed. Then he smirks, sliding into the seat next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "So anyway, babe, I was thinkin’ about gettin’ a tattoo of your name across my chest."

You stare at the burning table. "I'm leaving."

— RUDOLPH CONNERS ⋆

You wake up to the soft, persistent buzzing of your phone. You squint at the screen.

Unknown Number: Good morning. You should drink some water. Your body temperature was slightly high at 3:42 AM.

Your stomach drops.

You: Who is this???

Unknown Number: You left your window unlocked again. I locked it for you. You’re welcome.

You don’t respond. Instead, you launch out of bed, rip open your curtains—

And stare directly at a hovering drone. It stares back.

It waves at you.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper.

Your phone buzzes again.

Unknown Number: Why did you close your curtains? :(

— EVAN WILKINS ⋆

You freeze as soon as you step into your apartment. Something is… off.

The walls. They’re a different color. Your furniture? Not where you left it. Your wardrobe? Different.

Oh no. Not again.

“Surprise!” His voice is so cheerful, it makes you want to throw something.

You whirl around. There he is, standing in your newly pink-painted living room, arms wide open like he expects a hug.

You stare at him, horrified. “What did you do?”

“I made everything better!” he beams. “I mean, you have terrible taste. No offense.”

“No offense?!” You gesture around wildly. “You redesigned my entire apartment without asking!”

“Yeah, because I love you,” he says, like that explains everything.

You inhale deeply. Do not commit murder. Do not commit murder.

“Also, I made sure the door won’t open until we talk about your feelings,” he adds helpfully.

You scream into a pillow.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

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jazziejax · 10 days ago

Text

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which two twin gangsters return home after years in Chicago, to 2003 Jackson, Mississippi. Only to find that the chubby, brace-faced tomboy from across the street has grown into a woman they can’t ignore.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - drug use, swearing

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - something short because I literally have five other Smoke and Stack fics cooking in my drafts

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 ��𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2,178+

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢

It always started with noise. Summer in Mississippi wasn’t just heat and humidity—it was loud. Between the swatting screen doors, the bugs flying, kids playing double dutch with mismatched ropes, and the rickety hum of box fans, it was hard to hear yourself think. But for young Juicy, the noise was a comfort… until it wasn’t.

Back in ‘95, Juicy was about eleven, braces still fresh, glasses sliding down her nose every five minutes, and dressed in a floral pattered dress that matches her sisters, though hers fit her more boxier than it did on the older girl. But she didn’t care much about appearances, and it didn’t help that her mama always compared her to her older sister, Sinclair, thin and pretty like the girls in those Jet beauty ads or the ones on the perm boxes. “If only you laid off them pork chops,” was her mama’s idea of encouragement. Her daddy didn’t say much at all.

Juicy found her peace elsewhere—mainly across the street.

The Moore twins, Elias and Elijah—known as Smoke and Stack to others—were about six years older, fast-mouthed, sharp-eyed boys sly grins and problems they never spoke too loudly about. Their father was known around the neighborhood for being the kind of man who left bruises instead of blessings, and their mother was long gone. But the Hall’s took to them like family. Martin, Juicy’s older brother, clicked with them right away over cassette tapes and corner store hustles. Sinclair even crushed on Stack for a while, though he never acted on it.

But it was Juicy—a little awkward, big-bodied, and always scribbling in her notebook—who lingered in the background. She wasn’t really friends with the boys, not like her siblings were. But some days, when things were too loud at her house and Mary, her only friend, couldn’t come out, Smoke would let her sit on the porch with them, passing her a freeze cup and tossing her lazy jokes that made her laugh until her gums showed. Or when Stack would let her old onto him as she rode on back of his bike as he made stops around the neighborhood.

Those little moments were enough. They made her feel seen.

And then, they were gone. Moved up to Chicago when she was fifteen, chasing something bigger—money, maybe, or just a way out. Life moved on. And the city was still as loud as ever.

But in 2003, the block got loud again in their return.

They came back in a long black Lincoln, rolling slow like they owned the pavement. Elias drove, toothpick between his teeth, silver chains glinting in the sun as she rubbed down his waves. Elijah was in the passenger seat, shades low on his nose, hair in tight cornrows. They’d filled out—solid, broad-shouldered men now, still dressed in dark clothes with just enough shine to show they had money. Word spread fast.

Smoke and Stack were home.

First stop was the gas station—for fuel and the liquor store next to it, then the old park where half the benches were gone and the other half were tagged up in Sharpie and knife scratches, looking for their homeboy in his usual spot. A few heads turned, so they dapped up old friends, nodded at familiar faces.

But the real reunion happened on Vernon Street.

Martin Hall was leaned up against his Impala, blunt behind his ear, gold ring glinting. He caught sight of the car before it even parked at the house across the street, and when he caught sight of the men in the car, he instantly grinned.

“Nahhh, I know this ain’t who I think it is.” He shouted, arms already wide open.

Stack stepped out first, grinning, and then Smoke followed. The three embraced like no time had passed at all, Martin falling the men up. Loud laughs, back slaps, the kind of reunion that made neighbors peek through blinds.

“Man, what the hell are yall doing back? And ain’t told a nigga?” Marin asked as he leaned backed against his hood, taking the blunt his girlfriend passed him from her place in his serving seat.

“It was quick to us too, man.” Smoke said, shaking his head a bit. “Them Chiraq niggas different, too much shit going on up there.” He said, placing his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, his baggy white tee hanging from underneath a bit.

“Money was good, though.” Stack smirked, moving his gaze away from the woman in the car that was eyeing him with a lustful glint in her, to look at the against the hood.

“I bet.” Martin smirked. “I could only imagine what you niggas got up to up there. Especially to come back as fly as that.” He said, nodding over to the cars in front of the boys old home as he blew away the smoke from the blunt.

“Shit, us?” Stack questioned. “Look at you. The jewelry, new whip. Seems money down here moving smooth.”

“Mmm…it’s aight.” Martin shrugged, causing the twins to chuckle with a shake of their heads.

“You know we gotta celebrate.”Martin said, standing from the car a bit as he handed the blunt to his shorty in the car. “Whole block been a bit dry without y’all. Let me throw something together for tonight.” He suggested. “Plus, I gotta clean some paper anyway.” He shrugged, trying to ease the blow of an unexpected gathering upon the men.

Smoke and Stack exchanged a glance before both men looked back at their old friend and shrugged Martin clapped his hands with a smirk. “Aight.” He nodded. “Tracy, go call yo homegirls and shit, tell ‘em to come through while I get shit situated.” He said to the girl in his drivers seat. Tracy didn’t even say anything, she simply got out the car and made her at into the house, bit before making a bit of a show of pulling down her booty shorts. Stack and Smoke exchanged another look at that, but nothing was said further.

Plans were made fast. A block party. Speakers, coolers, grills were pulled out faster than the men could think. Now they just had to get everything jumpin’.

The men sat around Martin’s car catching up, reminiscing on old scams, and laughing at things they never got caught for. Smoke lit a cigarette while Stack leaned back, tapping his fingers on the dashboard.

That’s when they saw her.

Juicy.

She came walking up the sidewalk with Mary next to her, both of them laughing at something too far to hear. Juicy was still thick, but this time, she wore it like armor. Curves hugged up in a baby pink Juicy Couture set, midriff peeking under the hoodie. Her wedged flip flops clicked against the concrete with purpose. Her acrylics—French tips—glinted when she lifted her lollipop to her lips. Lips lined and glossy, brown skin smooth and glowing, gold hoops in her ears catching sun. Her sunglasses were perched on her head, the blonde highlighted tresses in a bun, looking like it just came out of a fresh roller set. It was only when she got closer that they could see that she still had the tiniest gap when she smiled, but now it looked like part of the charm.

Mary had her own vibe—low-rise jeans, rhinestone tank and a high pony—but no one was looking at her. Not the twins at least.

It was Juicy who had the street paused.

Smoke sat up a little straighter. Stack cocked his head. “Lil’ Juicy?” He mumbled.

And just like that, the heat of Mississippi summer wasn’t the loudest thing on the block anymore.

The heat clung to the air, and the bass from someone’s backyard radio pulsed low in the distance. Juicy walked like she owned the sidewalk, hips swaying in perfect rhythm with the click of her heels. She was curvy in all the right places—thicker than the girls on TV, but built with softness and strength that couldn’t be ignored.

Smoke and Stack hadn’t said a word yet. They’d gone still the second they saw her. Not obviously—nothing as sloppy as ogling—but they noticed everything. The gloss, the tips, the squinting, whenever from the sun or her needing her prescription. They both could remember how they used to slide down her nose every few seconds.

She no longer looked like the quiet girl who used to sit on the porch with a notebook. She looked like a woman now. A whole one.

Martin lifted a hand. “Juice! Come say what’s up.” He called out, waving the girl over.

Juicy raised a brow as she stopped at the curb, Mary lingering just behind her. “You actin’ like I don’t live here.”he caused, causing Martin to smack his lips. “You know what I mean.”

Juicy clocked the twins as soon as she approached. But her eyes didn’t widen, she didn’t blink. She just popped that lollipop out her mouth slow, head tilted, and said—

“Well, well. Look who finally came home.” All soft like.

Smoke stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly. “Ain’t seen you in years, Juicy.” He said, voice a little lower than usual.

Stack nodded. “You done grown all up now.” He said, his eyes subconsciously giving the girl before him a quick once over, one that had him wanting to trace his eyes over her body again.

Juicy didn’t blush—she never did. She just looked between them, slow and deliberate, then popped the lollipop from her mouth and smiled, tiny gap and all. “Y’all look the same.” She said, though they really didn’t. “Maybe taller. Maybe.” She shrugged, not hiding the way she analyzed the men from head to toe, taking in their otherwise plain street wear, which she knew had to still be a decent penny for.

Martin chuckled. “They back for good. Figured I’d throw a little somethin’ tonight. Let the block know.”

Juicy nodded, barely glancing back at the twins. “That’s cute. I’ll see what’s up.” Then to Mary, “Come on.”

She turned without another word, strutting toward the house, and the two men made it their mission to not look at the rhinestones bedazzled on her booty, reading ‘Juicy’ across the span of the area. Mary, however, lingered just a second longer. Her eyes locked on Stack like she was sizing him up for dessert. No shame at all. She flashed a grin that was all teeth and trouble before jogging up the steps behind Juicy.

When they were gone, Martin lit his blunt, shaking his head. “Y’all look like you saw a ghost.” He said as he blew the smoke out. “Was it Mary? Yeah, I know, still freaks me out a bit to see her down here.” He added, not even waiting for an explanation from them.

Smoke leaned against the hood, eyes still on the porch. “Nah.” He muttered, voice tight. “Yeah, you right. Just didn’t expect that.” He said, though he was simply agreeing to save face.

A few minutes later, it seemed as though this party was about to take off as people began to show up, their drinks of chose and blunts in their clutches. This made Martin head inside to grab more beers while the twins stayed posted at the car, quiet now that the noise of the street settled down.

It was silent between them for a bit before Stack spoke up, not even looking at his brother. “Juicy is far from the girl we left them heard back.” Stack said, rubbing the back of his neck, internally questioning himself over the quick flashes of ‘not so pure’ thoughts he had about the girl he grew up with.

“Yeah.” Smoke replied. “She is.”

They didn’t say anything else for a moment, both thinking the same thing—how time had a funny way of flipping the script. How the girl who used to scribble doodles on everything and watch them from the corner of the porch now walked like she didn’t owe anybody her attention.

Smoke remembered the way she used to listen when he talked—really listen—without judgment or noise. How he used to feel stupid for sharing some of his serpent moments with someone so young. How at first he just needed her for an ear, and she levered that, and when he needed some answers, she was quick to help as well. And she had those same eyes. Soft but knowing. That hadn’t changed.

Stack was still thinking about her walk. The way she didn’t give them a second glance, like she’d seen men like them a thousand times. It didn’t bruise his ego—it just made him curious.

“And I peep she’s got a smart mouth on her now.” He finally said, half a smile on his lips.

Smoke nodded, but his gaze didn’t leave the front door. “Yeah.” He muttered, and that’s all he seemed to be able to say, as if she had rendered him speechless.

Stack’s smirked widen, longing his lips as a thought crossed his mind.

“Wonder who she’s lettin’ have it.”

#micheal b jordan sinners #elijah moore #elias moore #smoke and stack x reader #smoke and stack #michealbjordan x reader #michealbjordan fanfic #michael b jordan x reader #micheal b jordan #michaelbjordan #michael b. jordan #michael b jordan #sinnersAU #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #sinners fic #sinners

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digitaldaydreamm · 5 months ago

Text

unspoken claim

rafe cameron x childhood friend!reader

| summary | rafe catches you at the boneyard after you told him you were 'just out with friends'

warnings: rafe being overprotective

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore mixed with the steady thrum of music at the Boneyard. A bonfire crackled in the center, sending sparks flying into the night sky as laughter and chatter mingled in the salty air. You were nursing a plastic cup of something lukewarm and overly sweet, but you didn’t mind.

The Pogues—your newfound friends, courtesy of Sarah—had roped you into this, promising it’d be fun. And, to your surprise, it kind of was. Sarah had dragged you over to introduce you to Pope and Kiara, while JJ stood off to the side, already halfway through his second beer, grinning like he owned the place.

“You ever been to one of these before?” Pope asked, leaning closer to make himself heard over the music.

“Not really,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “Rafe’s not exactly a fan of, well…this.”

“That’s because he’s too busy polishing his golden spoon,” JJ cut in, his grin sharp.

“JJ,” Sarah warned, nudging him with her elbow, though she was smirking.

You laughed, but something tugged at your chest. You hadn’t told Rafe you were here. You’d kept it vague, saying you were “out with friends.” It wasn’t technically a lie, but you knew how he’d react if he knew you were hanging out with Sarah and the Pogues at the Boneyard.

You shook the thought away, focusing instead on Sarah as she dragged you toward the bonfire. “Come on! You need to meet John B!”

As the night wore on, you started to relax. The Pogues were easygoing, their teasing and banter pulling you into their dynamic. But the back of your mind still tickled with unease, especially when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Rafe: Where are you?

You hesitated, glancing around. Sarah and Kiara were laughing about something JJ had said, and Pope was busy poking at the fire with a stick. You typed back quickly:

You: Out with some friends. Why?

The reply came almost instantly.

Rafe: Which friends?

You frowned, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. The familiar tightness in your chest returned, and you tucked your phone away, ignoring the text.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked, noticing your shift in demeanor.

“Yeah, fine,” you lied, forcing a smile.

The music seemed louder now, the air thicker. You tried to shake off the feeling, but another buzz in your pocket made it impossible to ignore.

Rafe: You’re at the Boneyard, aren’t you?

Your stomach dropped. Of course, he’d check the location app.

You: It’s not a big deal. I’m fine.

Rafe: Who invited you?

You stared at the screen, your fingers frozen. Another buzz came through before you could think of a reply.

Rafe: I’m coming.

Your heart raced. You knew that tone, even through text. Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you glanced around nervously, half-hoping he’d change his mind.

It wasn’t long before you heard it—the unmistakable growl of Rafe’s truck. The rumble of the engine carried over the sound of the party, the deep vibration cutting through the night like a warning. You swallowed hard, watching as the black pickup rounded the curve, its headlights sweeping across the sand and scattering a group of people loitering near the edge of the party.

Sarah noticed too, her eyes narrowing. “Is that—?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

The truck came to a halt, gravel crunching beneath its massive tires. The engine idled for a moment before shutting off, and then the door swung open. Rafe stepped out, his figure illuminated by the headlights. He didn’t need to say a word; the way he walked, shoulders squared and jaw tight, said everything.

“Great,” Sarah muttered under her breath. “Your guard dog’s here.”

You shot her a look, but she wasn’t wrong.

Rafe’s gaze scanned the crowd before locking onto you. His lips pressed into a thin line as he strode toward you, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed in his wake.

“Rafe,” you started, stepping forward to meet him halfway.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise around you.

“I’m just hanging out,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s not a big deal."

“Not a big deal?” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were coming here. With them.”

His eyes flicked toward the Pogues, who were watching the exchange from a safe distance. JJ looked like he was enjoying the show, but Sarah was visibly annoyed.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” you said, crossing your arms.

“It matters,” he shot back, his voice dropping lower. He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating. “You didn’t even tell me where you were going.”

“I told you I was with friends!”

“And you think that’s enough?” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You think I’m just gonna sit back and be okay with this?”

“Rafe—”

“No,” he cut you off, his blue eyes piercing into yours. “It isn’t up for debate.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. His words left no room for argument, and deep down, you knew you weren’t going to win this.

“Let’s go,” he said, his tone softer now but no less commanding.

You glanced back at the Pogues, who were watching from the bonfire. Sarah looked like she wanted to say something, but she held back.

Rafe’s hand found your wrist, and you let him lead you toward his truck. The ride home was silent, tension thick in the air. You didn’t even know what to say.

But when you glanced at him, his jaw tight and his grip firm on the wheel, a small part of you felt safe.

The truck rumbled down the empty road, its interior dimly lit by the dashboard lights. You stared out the window, watching the trees blur into dark shapes as the tension between you and Rafe pressed down like a heavy weight.

His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles pale against the leather, and his jaw was set, ticking every so often when he clenched his teeth. He hadn’t said a word since leaving the Boneyard, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to break the silence or let it stretch out indefinitely.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you finally said, your voice soft but steady.

Rafe’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “Didn’t have to do what?”

“Show up like that. Make it a whole…thing.”

He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I did. You think I’m gonna let you hang around there with them?”

“They’re my friends,” you argued, turning to look at him.

“You just met them,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the low hum of the truck.

You blinked, startled by the intensity in his tone. He glanced at you briefly, his expression softening just enough to make your chest tighten.

“Look,” he sighed, his voice calmer now. “I’m not just gonna sit back while you put yourself in situations where I can’t be there to make sure you’re okay.”

You frowned. “Rafe, I wasn’t in any danger.”

“You don’t get it,” he said, gripping the wheel tighter. “You don’t see who people really are. You’re too…trusting. You don’t know what could’ve happened if I wasn’t there.”

You didn’t respond, unsure how to process his words. Part of you wanted to push back, to defend yourself, but the other part—the one that always felt safest when Rafe was around—couldn’t ignore the sincerity in his voice.

The truck slowed as he turned onto the gravel driveway leading to Tannyhill. The familiar crunch of tires against stone filled the silence, and the sprawling house came into view, its windows glowing faintly in the darkness.

Rafe shifted the truck into park and turned off the engine, but he didn’t move to get out. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair as he finally looked at you.

“You piss me off, you know that?” he said, but there was no real anger in his voice.

You bit back a smile, crossing your arms. “I’m aware.”

He shook his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. For a moment, the tension eased, and the bickering dynamic you were so used to surfaced.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he muttered. “Always gotta test my patience.”

“And you can’t help acting like a guard dog,” you shot back, your voice light but teasing.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before his expression turned serious again. “But seriously. Don’t ever do that again. If you’re going somewhere, you tell me. And if you’re with them”—his jaw tightened briefly—“I need to know.”

“Rafe—”

“Promise me,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind.

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. “Fine. I promise.”

“Good,” he said, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

He reached over and opened the passenger door for you, but before you could climb out, he added, “And next time? Don’t make me chase you down.”

You rolled your eyes, hopping out of the truck. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so reckless,” he called after you as you walked toward the front door, not even bothering to wait for him as Tannyhill was practically your second home.

But there was no heat behind his words, only the lingering traces of a smile.

#rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x childhood friend!reader #outerbanks rafe #outer banks #drew starkey #obx pogues #obx kooks #unspoken claim

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soaps-mohawk · 1 year ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 15: Bonnie

Summary: Your heat is over and your pack has moved on with their lives, settling back into the familiar routine. Except, some things have begun to change, and you're not entirely sure if its for the better.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7456 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, oral, handjobs, overstimulation, P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hair pulling, switch Johnny, Johnny's lingerie kink, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, mention of nightmares, brief talk about killing and violence, insomnia, fluff, and of course a bit of angst

A/N: This chapter was an absolute bitch to write. I'm not kidding this was a nightmare. I'm happy with the changes I've made though, and how things are progressing. We've made a little bit of a time jump here, but not much. I think I'm getting sick so, posting the chapter before I inevitably pass out again. Oh, and Happy Easter everyone that celebrates.

Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Your eyes fly open as the alarm blares. They burn as you squint against the bright phone light. An arm reaches over you, the warm skin sliding against your back as he fumbles to turn off the offending noise.

You let out a quiet groan as you catch the numbers dictating the time on the screen before the phone is placed back on the nightstand. “‘S too early.” You grumble, rubbing at your crusty eyes.

“Go back to sleep.” John murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he shifts, climbing over you to get out of the bed. He tucks the blankets back around you before slipping into the bathroom.

You won't go back to sleep. The last time you'd glanced at the time on your phone had been two hours ago, at 2 A.M. You’ve been awake most of the night, as you have been the last couple nights. You haven't been sleeping well. It was like your heat opened a floodgate and now every time you close your eyes, you're transported back into the past, back when you were a child. Back when things weren't fine.

You've started trying to avoid sleep, waking constantly during the night from nightmares or from your brain’s own fear of them starting back up. It’s only been a week since your heat ended, and yet you feel no more rested than you did coming out of it. Nothing you’ve tried has worked, not even staying awake until you inevitably pass out prevents your subconscious mind from pulling up the horrible memories of your past.

Even sleeping next to your alpha hasn’t provided any comfort for your mind. His presence isn’t enough to quell the fear in your mind that the nightmares might come back, that the memories might surface.

Even he can’t protect you from this.

You close your eyes as the bathroom door opens again, pretending to sleep as John dresses for his morning workout. He’s quiet, near silent as he moves about the room. It’s almost terrifying how quiet they can be. Though, you suppose, if your survival depends on it, it’s a skill you’d spend plenty of time honing.

John grabs his phone from the nightstand, running a gentle hand over your head before he leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You lay there for a few minutes, trying not to let the guilt eat you alive. You should tell them you’re struggling to sleep, that your mind is plaguing you with memories from your past, but you’re afraid of what they might think of you. You’re not the perfect omega, you’re not as whole as you might seem.

You’re held together with duct tape on the inside. They already have enough to worry about now, they don’t need the weight of your misery thrown on top of the loads they all carry.

You let out a long breath, turning over in John’s bed. You press your face into the pillow, inhaling the imprint of his scent on the fabric. It’s still warm where he was laying, and you shuffle over into that spot, letting your body go lax as you imagine him still there with you, arms still wrapped around your body. You want to bury yourself in his arms, press against his chest until you sink into him and become one.

Only then, perhaps you can feel safe enough to sleep.

You press your face further into the pillow, every inhale filled with John’s scent. It lulls you into a daze, the hypnagogic stage between sleep and wakefulness.

You jolt as a hand touches your arm, calluses smoothing over the bare skin. You blink your eyes open, letting out a quiet groan. It’s light outside now, the room bathed in white light instead of the yellow tinge of the nightlight John had bought for his room for you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” John says, gently squeezing your arm. He’s already dressed for the day, hair still damp from the shower. You hadn’t even noticed he’d returned.

You roll over, rubbing your eyes. “‘S fine. Didn’t even know I was asleep. Breakfast time?”

John hums, leaning over you. “Almost. You’ve got time to get ready.”

You blink up at him blearily, your mind still trying to wake up completely after your short nap. You stare up into his eyes, getting lost in their blue depths. You feel like you could swim in them, his deep earthy scent drawing forward memories of camping and swimming in the lake. Memories you could pretend were happy, memories not tainted by fear and grief.

“Christ,” He breathes, pressing his lips to yours. “So fucking beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, your lips moving against his as you kiss. You trail a hand up his arm, sliding it to his back. His shirt is soft, thin enough that you can feel the muscles in his back as you smooth your hand across his shoulder blades.

“Wish I could stay here all day.” He murmurs, his face pressing into your throat. You tilt your head for him, a quiet groan rumbling through his chest at your sign of submission. He sighs, pressing his nose against your scent gland for a moment before he straightens back up. “Got a job to do.”

You let out a groan as you stretch, arching your back. “Fuck your job.”

“I’d much rather be fucking you.” He says, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip before he stands up, grabbing the shirt you’d worn to slip into his room last night off the floor. It’s one of his, one you’d stolen from his laundry hamper while he was in the shower. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that.”

You grin, pushing the sheets down before sitting up on the edge of the bed. You rub your eyes tiredly, stretching again before pulling on his shirt, slipping your slippers on. You pad back to your room, changing into more appropriate clothes for breakfast. You’ll be left to your own devices again afterward as the guys return to their normal training schedule. You won’t be napping this time, though, you fear. Instead you’ll be looking for ways to keep yourself awake.

You and John walk hand in hand to the mess. It’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it, and you find you’ve grown to miss it a bit. You don’t miss the stares, the looks that pass over you and your entwined hands as John leads you to the line to get food. It’s like they know, like they all somehow witnessed what had transpired over the last couple weeks, like they had all been spectators to it.

John makes your tray for you again, carrying it to the table where the others are already seated. You take your normal spot next to Kyle, both him and John sitting closer to you than before. Perhaps they were picking up on your nervous energy, but even Johnny and Ghost seemed to be sitting closer. You cast a glance between them before digging into your tray. Something had transpired, but you’re not quite sure what.

You might never get to know.

It’s quiet as you eat, the coffee bitter and watery, but you don’t care. You’ll suffer anything that might give you a boost of energy to make it to lunch without falling asleep.

Johnny walks you back to the barracks after breakfast is over, his arm around your waist as you take your time crossing the courtyard. He’s oddly quiet compared to how energetic he usually is this early in the morning. Something must have happened to make him silent.

“Johnny?” You ask after a group of soldiers jog past behind you.

He hums, looking down at you. His eyes are still bright, but his brows are slightly furrowed.

“Is everything alright?” You ask carefully, not wanting to risk pushing any buttons.

“Aye.” He answers after letting out a sigh. “Jus’ an incident in the gym this mornin’. Nothing ye need tae worry about.”

You raise your brows at him, silently conveying your desire for more information, if he can give you any.

“Just some alphas talkin’ shite, like they do. Callin’ ye the 141’s whore. Askin’ if we all take turns or if ye let us all go at once.” He says, his tone practically seething as he leads you into the barracks. “Simon reminded them of their place.”

You can only imagine how that went.

Despite their obvious tension at the jabs made at you by the other alphas, you don't feel as angry as you probably should. Being called a whore was a bit demeaning, but part of what was said wasn't entirely wrong. Perhaps it's just some leftover hormones surging from your heat, or maybe being claimed has shifted your feelings towards your packmates, but the idea of being shared by them has warmth spreading through you. The mental images piecing together in your mind of taking them all at once would probably make the alphas that made that jab at you blush furiously.

“Johnny?” You ask, turning to him when you reach your door.

“Aye?” He stares down at you, his blue eyes soft as they gaze down into your own.

“I, uh, I wouldn’t mind if at least part of what they said was true...” You sink your teeth into your lip. “You...uh...you’ve been waiting for a while...for your turn.”

He gulps, shifting slightly on his feet. You can’t tell if he’s nervous or excited or something in between.

“Well, I’ve been officially cleared to partake in more...strenuous activities..”

“Christ.” He breathes, crowding you against the door. For a moment you’re worried he might just do it right here, right now, but instead he leans in, close enough you can smell the coffee he had with his breakfast. “I’d love that, kitten.” He bites his own lip as he stares down at yours. “Let me know, and I’ll be ready for you.” He leans down, closing the short distance between you as he kisses you.

You lean into him, kissing him back. It feels like the first time you kissed him, except you can feel the hunger, the restraint behind this kiss. You can feel how much he’s been holding back, how long he’s waited to finally have this moment. To think of anyone desiring you in such a way makes your head spin. He wants you for you, not what you can do for him, not what you can give to him. Not even just for what’s between your legs, even if that’s what you’re going to do.

He wants to be with you because you’re you. He doesn’t have to, he could choose not to, but he does.

He pulls away, staring down at you. His eyes are darker now, speaking promises of what’s to come. “When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”

“You're tired.”

You blink, your gaze snapping to his face. You had been drifting thoughtlessly, quite enamored with a single spot on the floor. You're not sure how long he let you stand there, empty-headed and practically dozing upright.

You rub your eyes, trying to force your brain back to awareness. “It's early.” You give the excuse, toeing off your shoes. “Been a while since we've done this.”

“You're going to have to work extra hard to gain it all back.” Ghost says, pulling off his sweatshirt.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to his arms, the strength in them, the tattoos on his skin. You bite back the desire to move closer, to get just a glimpse at one close up. You want to sit and trace them, hear the story of every single one. You want to push his sleeve up, watch the way his muscles bulge and flex, see how far his tattoo goes up his arm.

You snap yourself out of your thoughts, moving onto the mat before you do something embarrassing like starting to drool. You watch him as he stands at the edge of the mat, brown eyes taking you in as you stand there. Something tickles in the back of your mind, a hint of fear, the sense of sudden danger prevalent. What would you do if he suddenly ran at you? Try to dodge and make it to the door? Where would you go? The med center again?

“Easy.” He grumbles, sensing your obvious tension.

Your gaze snaps back to him, his posture relaxed as he stays still. “I'm putting a lot of trust in you.”

“I know.” He says, standing almost as still as a statue. You wonder how he can possibly be so still, but you suppose it's something he learned to do. “I should never have broken that trust in the first place.”

Your eyes widen, brows lifting as you stare at him. You didn't expect such a straightforward apology from him. You haven't really gotten one, until now. You hesitate as you stand there in silence, Ghost obviously waiting for your response.

“I don't know if I can forgive you.” You finally say.

“You shouldn't.” He shrugs, his gaze shifting to the wall behind you. “Even if you weren't really in danger, it was still a dick move.”

Your eyebrows raise even higher. “An apology and admitting you were a dick? Should I be worried?”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Consider it an offering of amicability, for Johnny. I know you two are getting close, so inevitably we're going to find ourselves around each other more often than we have previously.”

“Well, I suppose I could accept that.” You say, shifting on your feet. “I don't think you could convince Johnny otherwise.”

“Hardly. He wouldn't listen anyway.” He finally moves, shifting on his feet. “You gonna put your hackles down so I can approach?”

You take a deep breath, relaxing the tension in your body. You don't really have a reason to fear him, despite what he did. He hasn't given you a reason to fear him since then, and he's even gone so far as to apologize in his own way. John wouldn't have allowed this to start again if he didn't trust Ghost not to do something that might put you in danger.

John trusts him, so you should be able to as well.

Ghost slowly approaches, your eyes watching him carefully until he's directly in front of you. You stare up at him, holding his gaze. You wish you could see the rest of his face on the off chance it might give you a hint at what he's thinking and feeling. You wonder if that's partially why he wears the mask.

Ghost holds out his hand and you place your own in his. It's so much bigger than yours, his long fingers engulfing your wrist as he wraps your hand. You could probably do it yourself by this point, but you like making him do it. You like the way his hands hold yours, the roughness of his skin against your own.

He starts out reviewing things you already know. Punches, kicks, dodging. It doesn't take long for you to get back into the groove of things, moving like it hasn't been nearly a month since your last training session. You notice the fatigue faster than you had during your last session, but you expected that after almost a month, paired with your heat two weeks ago.

“Now, punching and kicking will only get you so far in a fight.” He says, giving you a moment to breathe. “Almost all fights are going to end up on the ground. Even if your goal is disarming enough to escape, the chances of you and your opponent ending up on the ground is highly likely.”

He swipes your feet out from under you before you can even blink, nearly knocking the wind from you as you land on the mat on your back. He’s on you quickly, dropping to his hands and knees over you. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him above you, his hulking form seeming even larger from this angle. Your mind begins to run wild, imagining all the things that could happen in this position.

“Focus.” He grumbles, arms flexing as he presses his hands into the mat where they rest on either side of your head. “You don’t want to be in this position in a fight. You’re too vulnerable.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. You are vulnerable like this. Even with him, someone who doesn’t want to hurt you, it would be so easy. Your head begins to turn, your gaze leaving his as instinct begins to take over.

“No.” He snaps, gripping your chin to turn your head back so he’s looking in your eyes. “You do that in a fight, you’re not going to see the other side.”

You gulp, trying to ignore the warmth of his fingers on your face, the firmness of his grip as he keeps you from showing submission to him. That’s not why you’re here. He’s right. If you do that in a fight, it’ll be over before you even have a chance to run.

“Your legs are far stronger than your arms. Use them to your advantage.” He says, showing you how to get him into the right position to flip him.

You know he’s helping you as you flip him onto his back. If he really was fighting you, you’re not sure you could have done it, even if you managed to land enough of a hit to disarm him. You wind up on top of him, sitting on his stomach. The position doesn’t help your racing thoughts, and you pray you can keep enough control over yourself so you don’t make it obvious.

“Use your legs to pin my hands.” He directs you. You shift your knees slightly, trapping his hands against the mat. “Good.” He says, laying still under you. “You can’t hold a bigger opponent down here for long, but that’s not the point. This gives you a moment of opportunity to go for the face or the neck. Stun them and that gives you a headstart. If you have a weapon available, then you have one less person to worry about chasing you.”

You gulp at his words. It hadn’t even crossed your mind during your training. He had said it so simply, so easily. You suppose it is to him, after years of doing it, after countless moments where it’s his life or theirs. Is that what he tells himself? Is that how he rationalizes it? Is there so much blood on his hands now that killing is as easy as breathing?

You wonder how they all rationalize it. They all have blood on their hands, they all have killed, and will kill again. Every time they leave and come back, it’s with more blood, more nameless faces on the list of lives they've taken, all in the name of the greater good.

Is violence and death really the path to the greater good?

“What?” He asks, sensing your inner turmoil.

You sit back on his stomach, your body rising and falling with his even breaths. “I don’t know if I could do it.”

He tugs his hands from beneath your knees easily, resting them on the mat next to your legs. You can feel his fingers twitch as the blood rushes back into them. “You might not have much of a choice.” He says, holding your gaze. There’s a softness in his gaze you have never seen before. “Sometimes it’s the only choice. If they’re attacking you, they’re better off dead. Even if their goal is to take you alive, the things they’ll do to you.” He shakes his head.

He’s speaking from experience. You know he’s seen things, witnessed the brutality omegas are subjected to at the hands of the worst kinds of alphas and betas. He’s watched omegas die in front of him while he’s sat helpless.

His hand lifts, cupping the back of your head to pull you down closer to his face. You catch yourself with your hands on either side of his head, fighting the urge to tense your shoulders. His hand doesn’t move from the back of your head, his fingers not even twitching as he holds you steady.

“If they’re willing to do it to you, how many others have been on the receiving end? If you’re not willing to be the last, how many others will come after you?” He says, his gaze intense as he stares at you. “I hope you never have to, but you always have to prepare for the worst.”

He holds you there for a breath, staring up into your eyes before he releases you, flipping you off of him and onto your back on the mat. He pushes himself up to stand, staring down at you as you lay there, catching your breath and thinking over the last few moments that transpired.

“Come on. It’s almost time for breakfast.”

It’s quiet in the rec room. The TV is off for once, only the hum of electricity and the occasional turning of a page the only sound breaking the silence. You and Ghost are the only two in the rec room, both of you relaxing silently as you read. He’s in the chair as usual, and you’re stretched out on the couch.

You’re only halfway paying attention to your book, still thinking over your conversation with Johnny earlier, and what transpired in the gym during your training session yesterday. You know how much Johnny wants to be with you, and you're more than willing to go that far with him. You like Johnny, more than just as a packmate. It's hard not to fall for him with his confidence and his playful demeanor. You know he's been desperate to take things to the next level too.

All he's waiting on is you saying the word.

He will never force you into it. He'll impatiently wait for you to go to him, to tell him that you want it. All jokes and teasing aside, you know he'd never make you feel like you were being forced into something.

The thought makes you want to cry.

“Pull his hair.” Ghost’s voice cuts through the silence, nearly making you jump.

You lower your book so you can see him, eyebrows raising in surprise at his words. “What?”

“When you finally fuck Johnny, grab him by the mohawk. He likes it.” Ghost says, not even looking up from his own book.

You stare at him wide-eyed, wondering for a moment if he can read minds, or if you’re just not quite as subtle as you think you’re being.

“I'll, uh, keep that in mind.” You say, lifting your book again to hide your blushing face.

The room descends into silence once more, the two of you continuing to read as if nothing had happened, as if that conversation hadn’t transpired. You wish it felt that way in your mind, though. The mental images Ghost’s words have drawn up drowning out the words on the pages that you’re trying to read. You’re trying not to get worked up further, but you can’t help it. After your training session and the thoughts that had come to mind with Ghost, and now these new images of Johnny, you’re sure your scent has begun to sweeten with arousal.

You need to rectify this, and fast.

You knock on the door, shifting nervously on your feet. Your hands have disappeared in your sleeves, the weight of your phone in your pocket the only thing keeping you from floating to the ceiling and dissipating into the air from the anxiety.

Your stomach nearly drops from your body as the door swings open, Gaz standing there in his full glory.

“Everything alright?” He asks, staring down at you with those big brown eyes. “You look nervous.”

You swallow the nerves, nodding in response. “Yeah, I just...wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

He steps away from the door, brows still pinched in worry and confusion as he motions for you to enter. You brush past him as you step into his room, taking a look around. You haven't been in his room before. It's slightly smaller than yours and John's, and it doesn't have a private bathroom. There's artwork up on the walls, and a couple of plants on his desk, along with a few personal belongings. It's neat and tidy, not that you expected anything less.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks, turning to face you after closing the door.

You take a deep breath, calming the nervous twist in your stomach. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s a natural thing to bring up to packmates. You blame it on the fatigue from your lack of sleep putting you on edge.

“I wanted to ask you something.” You start, staring into his big brown eyes. They’re so beautiful, so expressive as they stare down at you. “Johnny and I...we’re going to...sleep together soon and...I just wanted to make sure that was okay? In case maybe you wanted to go first?”

Kyle’s lips slowly lift up into a smile as you stare at him nervously, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “He’s been an absolute tosser since before your heat, and he’d only become utterly unbearable if he didn’t get to go first.” He steps up closer to you, grinning down at you. “For the sake of everyone’s sanity, I don’t mind being patient. Besides,” He leans down, his breath fanning your ear. “I at least know what you look like naked, so I can occupy myself while I wait.”

Your face burns with warmth at his words, a shiver running down your spine. He’s not wrong. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, lost to your heat, naked and stuffed with John’s knot. Your brain flashes back to the start of your heat, the feel of his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. You swallow thickly, meeting his gaze as he pulls back.

“Enjoy your time with Johnny, love.” He slips his hand into yours, lifting it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re ready.”

You feel a bit out of breath as you leave Kyle’s room, and you’re sure your scent has sweetened with arousal and excitement. You might have been tempted to just jump Kyle’s bones right now, had it not been for your desire for Johnny, and your commitment to letting him be first again. You know Kyle’s right. You’d never hear the end of it if Johnny didn’t get the chance to be next in line.

Now you just have to find him and tell him the good news.

“Ye look nervous. Are ye nervous?”

“I mean, this is a big step...” You say, wrapping your arms around Johnny’s neck as he shifts you into his lap. You try not to think about how strong he is, how easily he moves you.

“Ye don’t have tae do this, if ye don’ want to.” He says, looking down into your eyes.

“It’s not that...” You say, shifting in his lap. “It’s more...there’s no going back after this.”

He wraps his arms tighter around you. “If I didnae want it, I wouldnae offer. Yer a fucking stunnin’ omega, kitten. Would be crazy not tae want ye.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, your gaze dropping from the intensity of his own. His stubble tickles your fingers as you trace the line of his jaw, working your way towards his lips. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip as your fingers trace the jagged scar on his chin.

“Just...go easy on me? At least this first time?” You say, tracing his lips with your fingers.

“‘Course, kitten.” He says, pressing a kiss to your fingertips. “Wouldnae want to scare ye away.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the implications of his words, your stomach fluttering with excitement and a hint of fear at what he could possibly be alluding to. His hand lifts, gently grasping your chin, tilting your face slightly. He closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours.

“Don’ worry.” He murmurs against your lips. “Take good care of ye.”

You hum against his lips, tasting the chocolate he’d been snacking on when you sought him out as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hand leaves your chin, sliding down your throat to rest right at the base of your throat, fingers splayed across your clavicle. His thumb rests right on the edge of your mating mark, the pressure making you shiver.

Johnny pulls you tighter against his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck. He moans against your lips as you shift against him, the bulge in his pants pressing against your ass. It’s not the first time you’ve felt it, but this time it’s different. This time you’re going to do something about it.

“Fucking christ, take ye right here on this couch, if I’m not careful.” Johnny groans, nipping at your bottom lip.

“Then best take me to bed, Sergeant.” You say, pulling back slightly to give him what you hope is a sultry look.

The groan that’s pulled from his lips is downright salacious, something flashing in his eyes as you call him by his rank. He curses, tightening his hold around you before he stands, maneuvering you so you’re tossed over his shoulder. You let out a squeak of surprise that’s quickly replaced by giggles as he packs you down the hall to his room.

He sets you on your feet once you're inside, closing the door. You look around his room, surprised to see it full of art supplies with drawings and paintings all over the walls. You stare open mouthed, taking it all in. It's messier than John and Kyle's rooms, though there's still a sense of order to it. A chaotic order, but you suppose that explains Johnny perfectly.

“You draw?” You say, studying the art on the walls.

“Aye,” Johnny says, coming up behind you. “In my free time.”

“I didn't know that.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “They're beautiful.”

“Thank ye, kitten.” He wraps his arms around you from behind, reminding you of why you came in here in the first place. “Not quite as beautiful as you.”

Your face warms at his compliment and you tilt your head back, staring up at him. “You're such a charmer.”

“Try my best.” He grins, leaning down and kissing your forehead. “Promise I'll show ye my drawings later.”

You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck. “I know. You're desperate.”

“Been waitin’ weeks for this, kitten.” He groans, grinding against you.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You tighten your grip around his neck, jumping into his arms. He manages to catch you, stumbling half a step back as his hands grip your thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, lifting yourself so you’re face to face with him.

“Christ.” He groans against your lips, walking forward until he reaches his bed.

He drops you on your back, your body bouncing on the mattress as he settles on his knees over you. His eyes have darkened as he stares down at you, your stomach twisting in excitement. Warmth has started to pool between your legs, your scent sweetening with arousal.

Johnny’s hands are rough as they slip under your shirt, tugging it up over your head. He groans, eyes fluttering as he realizes you’re without a bra underneath. He curses quietly, something you can’t quite understand as his hands immediately close around your breasts. Your lips part as he squeezes the flesh in his hands, leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth. You gasp at the sensation as his lips close around the sensitive bud, suckling at it like he’s a man starved.

Well, you suppose he is.

He has been waiting for quite a while for this opportunity. Something about it makes your brain tingle, arousal pooling in your stomach at the thought of someone desiring you that much.

It’s not just him, though. Three of the four members of your pack have expressed their desire for you in such a way. The thought makes your head spin. You’re just a simple omega, and yet, here they are going half crazy over you.

Johnny releases your nipple with a pop, shifting so he can give the same attention to the other one. Arousal continues to pool between your legs, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. You drag your fingernails across the back of his neck, a shiver wracking through his body, his hips grinding down against your thigh.

“Fuck,” He gasps, releasing your nipple to stare up at you.

You repeat the motion, dragging your fingers slower. His eyes roll back, hips grinding harder against your thigh. He’s so sensitive, you think, pushing your thigh up against him. He lets out what can only be described as almost a whine, rutting his hips against your leg.

“Fuck,” He curses again, pushing himself back up onto his knees. “Tonight is about you, kitten.” He takes a deep breath before slipping his fingers under the waistband of your pants, tugging them down quickly and tossing them on the floor next to your shirt.

He sinks his teeth into his lip as he stares down at your panties, one of the pairs he got you on your shopping trip before your date with John. You had changed into them specifically for Johnny, remembering how excited he’d looked when he bought you five pairs of the lacy garments. He groans quietly as he runs his fingers over your lace covered skin, slowly lowering his fingers between your thighs. He glances up at you, meeting his gaze and you give him a nod before his fingers dip lower, trailing the wet spot on the lacy fabric.

You part your legs more for him as he rubs you through your panties, quiet moans leaving your lips at the feeling of the friction from the fabric. His eyes are still on you, glued to your face as the pleasure begins to build just from his touch. You buck your hips against his hand, searching out more. More pleasure, more of his touch, more of him.

“Look at ye, needy little thing.” He groans, his thumb dragging up your slit until he finds your clit, slowly circling it through the fabric. “Barely touched ye an’ yer cunt’s already soakin’ yer skids. Fucking sweet little thing, so needy for me, aren’t ye?”

You push yourself up onto your elbows, staring down at him. “Are you going to sit there and run your mouth all night, or are you going to fuck me?”

He grins wickedly at you. “I’m just gettin’ started, kitten.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee before trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His thumb continues to stroke you through your panties, applying more and more pressure as he gets closer and closer to your center. He whispers out a curse as he shoves your panties to the side, revealing your glistening folds to him. He leans forward, warm breath fanning your slit before he closes his mouth around you.

You gasp at the sensation, dropping back onto your back on the bed as he drags his tongue through your folds, flicking it across your clit before he closes his lips around the sensitive bud, suckling at it like he did your nipples earlier. Pleasure shoots through you as he eats you like a man starved, slurping away at your pussy obscenely.

“Fuck, Johnny!” You gasp, legs trying to close around his head, but he holds your inner thighs, keeping them spread.

You’re not going to last very long, not with him alternating between sucking at your clit and swirling his tongue around it like that. He’s done this before, and you can’t help the momentary spike of jealousy at the thought of him between any other omega’s thighs now that he has you.

“Gonna cum!” You whine, hips bucking against his face.

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess all over my face?” He groans.

You curse, your back arching as he continues to work you up, hands fisting his sheets.

“That’s it.” He groans against your clit, dragging his teeth over the sensitive bud. “Be a good omega for me.”

You cum with a cry, soaking his chin as he continues to tease you. He laps at your juices, not slowing any as he works you through your orgasm, even as you begin to shake with overstimulation.

“I-I can’t.” You gasp, the burning feeling starting to pulse through you as he continues to suck at your clit. It’s quickly becoming too much, the feeling overwhelming you.

Ghost’s words flash through your mind at that moment, his suggestion yesterday while you both spent time in the rec room reading. You reach down, sinking your fingers into Johnny’s mohawk, gripping the short strands. He lets out a groan as you tug, pulling his face from your pussy finally. His chin is glistening with your release, his tongue darting out to lick your juices from his lips.

He follows as you tug upwards, drawing him away from your pussy. He crawls up your body until you’re almost face to face, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“I said that’s enough.” You say, slightly breathless from your orgasm, but you put as much authority in your tone as you can manage.

“Yes ma’am.” He practically whines, the muscles in his arms flexing as he sinks his own fingers into the sheets around you.

The sudden shift in control has something buzzing in your brain, the back of your neck tingling. You’re an omega. You’re not supposed to be in control, and yet, here Johnny is, practically folding in front of you. A thrill shoots through your veins at the thought of what you could make him do, what lengths he’d go to for you simply because you have him in this position.

“Take your clothes off.” You say, releasing his mohawk.

He sits back without complaint, tugging his shirt over his head. You take him in, the hard lines of his muscles, the dark hair on his chest, the line disappearing under the waistband of his pants. You lick your lips as he undoes the button on his pants, undoing the zipper before tugging them down with his boxers.

His cock is hard and practically standing at attention as he kicks his pants off. He’s slightly smaller than John, but not by much. Your pussy clenches at the thought of him inside you, but you’re not ready for that quite yet. You guide Johnny back up to your face, pressing your lips against his. You can taste yourself on him, making him groan as you lick into his mouth.

You guide him onto his back, trading places with him. He settles beneath you, his hands lifting to your hips, but you push them back as you pull away. You smirk down at him for a moment before you move, changing your position so you’re facing away from him. You trap his hands against the bed with your legs like Ghost showed you, sitting yourself on his taut stomach. He has a clear view of your ass still sporting your lacy panties, your wet folds pressed against his skin.

“Simon show ye that one?” He asks, flexing his hands under you. He could easily overpower you and free himself, but he doesn’t.

“Uh huh.” You say, wrapping your hand around his cock.

“Hells bells, what are you two gettin’ into during trainin’?” He groans, obviously starting to picture the lewd things you and Ghost might be doing. You wonder how he’d react to seeing you on top of Ghost like you were yesterday.

“He’s just teaching me how to defend myself.” You say, slowly pumping his cock. “I’m finding there’s not much of a difference between fucking and fighting.”

Johnny lets out another groan, but you’re not sure if it’s because of your words, or your hand on his cock. You continue to pump his length, feeling the softness of him in your hand, squeezing gently to feel the vein running along the bottom side. Johnny lets out a choked groan, hands twitching again under your legs.

“Fuck, I cannae last much longer.” He gasps desperately, his length twitching in your hand.

Pearly white beads of precum have begun to slip from his tip, and you can’t help but lean down and drag your tongue across his head, gathering some in your mouth. He lets out a whine that rivals ones of your own, his hips bucking as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm.

“Please, kitten, let me cum inside ye.” He begs, pulling his hands free from underneath you so he can grip your hips.

You pull away from his cock, sitting up on his stomach. He’s panting, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. You shift yourself again, turning back around to face him. His eyes are hooded as he stares at you, pupils blown with lust. His lips are parted as he pants, sweat beading on his forehead from the strain of holding himself back. You push yourself back until you’re hovering over his cock, pulling your panties to the side with one hand, grabbing his length with the other.

You groan as you sink down onto him, bracing yourself with a hand on his stomach as he stretches you open. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips as you work yourself down his length.

“Fuck,” You breathe, pressing your hands against his abs as you sink down completely onto his cock, your hips flush with his.

“So fucking tight and warm,” He groans, his grip near bruising around your hips. “Fucking feel fantastic, kitten.”

You slowly begin rocking your hips, using your hands on his stomach for leverage. Your toes are curling already from this angle, the tip of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you with every rock of your hips. Small whines and whimpers leave your lips as you fuck yourself on his cock, squeezing your legs around his hips. They’re shaking already, and you know you won’t last long in this position.

Johnny seems to notice that as well, his grip on your hips tightening as he starts to guide your movements. You’re starting to sweat from the effort, your thighs burning, but it feels too good to stop. You’re getting close again, the stretch of him inside you paired with the high of having such control over him just a few moments ago driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Johnny pushes himself up as your movements begin to slow, wrapping his arms around you to shift you in his lap, laying you down on the bed facing the footboard as he slots himself over you. He takes over, thrusting into you, setting a frantic pace. Your head falls back as he pounds into you, your back arching as he folds his body over yours, pressing his face into your neck.

“Gonna cum for me? Need tae feel ye squeezing ‘round my cock.” He grunts, nipping at the skin of your throat.

You let out a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “Just like that.” You pant, squeezing your legs around his hips. “Don’t stop!”

“Yes, ma’am.” He groans, continuing to rut into you like your pussy is the only thing that can save his life.

You practically see stars as you cum, squeezing around his cock as pleasure jolts through your body like electricity. Your hips buck against his, grinding together like some sort of forbidden dance as he’s forced into his own orgasm by your walls squeezing around him. His hips stutter before he stills, warmth spurting into you as he cums. You hold him there, his body trembling with yours as he groans into your throat.

“Fucking hell.” He moans, starting to shallowly thrust into you. He’s still hard, his cock dragging through your sensitive walls as he continues to fuck you despite having just orgasmed. “Never gonnae tire of this sweet cunt.”

He probably won’t, you think as he continues to slowly thrust into you again.

You’re in for a long night.

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@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

#call of duty #call of duty fic #x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse #john price x reader #captain price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gax x reader

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victoriaflyscreens · 2 years ago

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What Are Popular Mesh Materials Used In Door Screens In Melbourne?

Discover the popular mesh materials employed in door screens across Melbourne. Explore the diverse options commonly utilized in the city, including durable stainless steel mesh known for its strength and resistance to corrosion. Consider versatile aluminum mesh, renowned for its lightweight nature and suitability for various door types. Additionally, explore fiberglass mesh, prized for its affordability and effective insect protection. Enhance your knowledge of mesh materials used in door screens, providing optimal choices for Melbourne residents.

#fitted fly screens Melbourne #sliding screens Melbourne #door screen Melbourne

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liseytopia · 4 months ago

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NEXT TO YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆

SYNOPSIS — with billie finally back from tour, you find yourself not wanting to leave her side ever again.

PAIRING — billie eilish x fem!reader

CONTAINS — mostly fluff. homesick billie n lovesick reader <3

WARNINGS — none wow this is maturity

DEAR READER — merry christmas @r7leee :3 this one is for u babe!! keep the fic exchanges going this is sm fun

WORD COUNT — 0.7k, short and sweet :3

the first few weeks with billie gone were tolerable. before she went on tour for her chart-topping album 'hit me hard and soft', she mentioned to you that it would be a long time. begrudgingly, you replied that you could survive without her.

but on the last week she'd been gone, you were starting to second guess yourself.

it was the day she was flying back into los angeles and you swore you were pacing the rooms of your apartment, checking your phone at least every two minutes, waiting presumably for hours for a text from your girlfriend to say that her flight landed.

you tried everything to pass time—watched your favorite movies, did some baking, deep cleaned the entire apartment and even made a few new playlists, but nothing was taking your mind off of her and it seemed like no matter what you did, time was only extending.

while you were on your phone, scrolling away on the couch, you saw a notification pop down from the top of your screen. it was a text from billie. you clicked on it immediately, surprising even yourself with your quick reaction timing.

plane just landed :) can't wait to see you, darling

you replied back, omw right now, i miss you

you shot up instantly from the couch and ran to your front door, sliding on your shoes in a perfunctory manner and making a beeline to your car. the drive to the airport was around half an hour but you were anxious the entire time, not to mention excited. you hadn't seen billie in what felt like forever, and you couldn't wait to be in her arms again.

you messaged again when you parked the car, and she told you what section was in. you waited impatiently for her to come down the walkway and meet you. your leg was bouncing uncontrollably as you gazed down that hallway. she would be walk down there any minute.

after what seemed like lightyears worth of time, you glanced up from your phone that you became once again preoccupied with, and saw billie's figure walking your way in the distance.

your phone was long forgotten, along with your earbuds and whatever other belongings you brought with you, because you were up instantly and running down the building to billie. your legs sprinted her way, and billie's suitcases and bags were additionally left behind as she ran straight to you.

your bodies collided in a tight hug, your arms up around her neck and hers around your abdomen. you couldn't help but tear up into her shoulder as you held each other.

"billie, it's been so long.." you whisper-sobbed against her hoodie fabric. the scent embedded into it was what you longed for and missed all this time, it felt so surreal to have it again.

she giggled against you, though it still sounded like she was going to break into tears. "i told you it would be, babe," she teased.

"oh, shut up.."

billie's grip on you only tightened. she never admitted it, but she missed you just as much as you missed her, if not more.

she suddenly pulled away from you and when you lifted your head from her shoulder—your face coated in tears—she pressed a long, deep kiss into your lips. that action alone was enough to convey all her longing and love for you, even just as a reminder.

once billie decided she was done, she cupped both of your cheeks with her hands and rubbed some of the tears away from your eyes with her thumbs. "aww, my love.." she mumbled as her own eyes teared up more. she began to pepper small kisses all over your face, not even caring if anyone was watching the show of pda. she kissed your tears away gently, as if dedicating her love to each kiss.

your hands took her own face and brought her lips back to yours. the kiss was short but deep, filled with all your passion for her.

"wanna be next to you forever, baby," you mumbled against her lips, your thumbs subconsciously rubbing her face.

"i guess i could do with that," she replied, teasingly acting like she didn't want to.

you giggled and kissed her one last time for the time being. "you're such an idiot."

if u enjoyed, please feel free to like, reblog, or leave a comment! only kind comments and actual constructive criticism will be tolerated <3

check out my masterlist for more!

#⤷ thinking about.. ✶⋆.°#BILLIE EILISH #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #fluff

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kabr0ztrousers · 2 months ago

Note

Can you do a part 2 to the Concerning Portal?

I love your work ♥️

Kabr0z Writes episode 72: Concerning Portals part 2

Also entitled: Job Interview

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Find episode 8: Concerning Portals here!

CWs: Dubcon; interspecies; public sex; portals; creampie; tentacles; oral sex; Noncon;

A/N: The biggest question is why, after being railed and free-used by an indeterminate number of massive flared cocks, why would she put on the panties again?

I was gonna have the reader be in a job interview and gradually losing control, but that's a heap of dialogue that doesn't super work in second person

#########################################

A good pair of knickers is hard to find. So when you get a pair that really, properly fits, you aren't going to ge trid of them because you were wearing them that time a mysterious portal decided to open itself in your pants. Besides, your job interview is this afternoon, and you need your lucky undies on your side today of all days.

You took the train. Hopefully you're able to land the job, then you'll be making enough to actually get a driving license. As it was, you spent far too much on a train ticket into the city and still didn't manage to get a seat, holding on to one of the bars rising from floor to ceiling to brace against the movement of the carriage. Your phone buzzed, an email came through from the hiring manager. You hadn't heard of the company, Creadle and Crabnuts Innovations, but when they reached out to you offering twice your salary for the same job, you'd be a fool to not hear them out at least. The email was just a confirmation of the appointment, with a link to an interview package to leaf through. Not what you'd call standard, but you had half an hour to kill before your station. At least the train was non-stop, so it's not getting any busier.

Your thumb brushed the touchscreen, following the link. You were expecting some cheesy corporate webpage or maybe some generic grounding exercises. Instead, the link just contained a picture of your front door, a hand pushing a familiar package through the letterbox, and the words "Welcome to your interview"

The gusset of your knickers heated up. You flashed back to the bus, craning your neck to see where the bathroom was on your carriage. The indicator confirmed your fear: occupied. A screen showed all the bathrooms on the train, each one occupied in turn. Something wet slid across your cunt.

You started to move, pushing your way past commuters jammed in the aisle of the carriage, none of them giving you space to move. The wet thing was sliding across you, probing your holes for purchase. You reached the front of the carriage, hammering the "open" button on the door that would get you to the front alcove, and relative privacy.

It didn't respond. A thin tendril probed your clitoral hood, pushing under it to nestle next to the fleshy nub of your clit. It was cold, the low temperature sending an aching needle through your abdomen. It moved, slightly at first, then with growing speed and vigour. The tendril fucked the fold of skin over your most sensitive place. Aggressively thrusts and rubbing. Cold slime oozed. The consistency of vaseline. It slopped around your cunt. Another tendril joined. This went for your pussy. A third for your asshole. Cold lube covered you. Your legs hurt. You couldn't stand. An armrest stopped your fall. Clinging on with both hands. Doubled over.

Your face was in a man's lap. You panted there. The man looked down at you, clinging to his armrest, panting and whining. Your back arching and your ass held up. He looked around before opening his fly. He fumbled out his cock, thick and uncircumcised.

A tendril invaded your ass. You gasped as it slipped inside, pushing you forward an inch. The man in the seat took that as an approval. His fingers clutched the back of your hair, maneuvering you around to kneel, legs under the seat in front. The man next to him dozed against the window, dead to the world. His cock rubbed over your face as the third tendril rubbed your pussy, aiming for the last unviolated hole.

A sucker planted itself on your clit, pulling on it as the first one still tried to find an opening in the skin at the top of your vulva. You moaned, a wave of pleasure joining a sharp pain as your unprepared body was subjected to such attention.

The cock went straight to your throat. The tip of his foreskin tickled your tonsils as your throat tightened against him, trying to gag. His fist tightened, gripping your hair close to the scalp as his hips gyrated into your face. Hand and hips, working in perfect tandem to fuck your face while three tentacles abused your cunt.

It was just too much. Your hips rolled as muffled moans flowed from you. Your hands moved unbidden, one clutching the man's unshaven balls, rolling them between your fingers as the other wrapped around the base of his cock, jacking him off into your mouth. The muscles in your lower abdomen flexed and worked as one, milking the tentacles inside you. You felt them spill their cold payload into you, spraying and squirting even as you tried in vain to hump and grind against them.

The two in your holes withdrew, the third was leaking that cold fluid over your clit and down your legs. Another two took the well-prepared place of them as the man groaned and held you down, spurting his spunk down your throat.

Your heart sank, he finished so deep in your throat you didn't even get to taste it. You pulled his cock out of your mouth and started licking it, paying special attention to the head. A few drops of precious cum still seeped out, bitter and metallic.

The best thing you've ever tasted.

The new tentacles went deeper. You could feel the one in your ass worming its way through you, distending your belly as it found its way up you.

Your hand left the man's cock, slipping down tot under your panties. The tentacles were coming from who-knows where, but that's not what you cared about.

Your questing fingers found the tentacle on your clit, rubbing at it, feeling it squeezing out the cold cum as it pulsed and shook on you. Two more orgasms washed over you as the tentacle outperformed any vibrator you'd ever used, sucking and shaking, making you squeak and squirm, voice muffled by the spent cock in your mouth.

You felt the train slowing. The tentacles receded and the portal closed. You gave the man a small kiss on the cheek as you made for the door.

You got off, and collapsed into a chair on the platform. Your phone buzzed again.

"Congratulations on passing your interview with Creadle and Crabnuts Innovations. We will be in touch."

What kind of job did you just get?

#########################################

Does it show when I'm writing about something that's 1000% my kink? Does it suck that portal fucking isn't really a thing that can ever exist?

Both of the answers to these questions are "yes"

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werribeeblindsau · 8 months ago

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Enhance Your Home with Fly Screens for Doors by Werribee Blinds

When it comes to home comfort and protection, fly screens for doors are an essential yet often overlooked addition. They offer a practical solution to keep insects out while allowing fresh air to flow through your living spaces. If you’re considering upgrading your home’s functionality and style, look no further than Werribee Blinds for high-quality fly screens designed to meet your needs. This blog post will explore the benefits of fly screens for doors and why Werribee Blinds is your go-to source for these essential home accessories.

The Importance of Fly Screens for Doors

Fly screens, also known as insect screens or mesh screens, are designed to fit over doors to prevent insects from entering your home while still allowing ventilation. They come with numerous benefits, making them a valuable addition to any home. Here’s why investing in fly screens for doors is a wise choice:

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Improved Ventilation: With fly screens in place, you can keep doors open to let in fresh air without worrying about insects. This improved ventilation can help maintain a comfortable indoor climate and reduce the need for air conditioning.

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Why Choose Werribee Blinds for Fly Screens?

When it comes to fly screens for doors, Werribee Blinds stands out as a leading provider with a reputation for quality and reliability. Here’s why their fly screens are the best choice for your home:

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Expert Advice: The knowledgeable team at Werribee Blinds can provide expert advice on choosing the right fly screens for your home. They can guide you through the selection process and answer any questions you may have about installation and maintenance.

Types of Fly Screens for Doors

Werribee Blinds offers a variety of fly screens for doors, each designed to meet different needs and preferences. Here are some common types:

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Magnetic Fly Screens: Magnetic screens use magnets to create a seal around the door frame. They are easy to install and remove, making them a popular choice for rental properties or temporary setups.

Retractable Fly Screens: Retractable screens can be rolled up or down as needed. They are a versatile option that can be neatly tucked away when not in use.

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Installation and Maintenance Tips

To ensure your fly screens from Werribee Blinds function effectively and last for years, follow these installation and maintenance tips:

Proper Installation: Follow the installation instructions provided by Werribee Blinds or hire their professional team to ensure a perfect fit and secure attachment.

Regular Cleaning: Clean your fly screens regularly to prevent dirt and debris from building up. Use a soft cloth or brush and a mild detergent to keep the mesh looking new.

Check for Damage: Periodically inspect your screens for any signs of wear or damage. Prompt repairs can prevent further issues and ensure continued protection.

Keep Doors Clean: Ensure that the area around your doors is clean and free from obstructions. This helps maintain the effectiveness of the fly screens and prevents damage.

Conclusion

Fly screens for doors are a practical and beneficial addition to any home, providing insect protection, improved ventilation, and enhanced comfort. Werribee Blinds offers a range of high-quality fly screens tailored to fit your needs and style preferences. With their commitment to quality, custom solutions, and expert advice, Werribee Blinds is the ideal choice for your fly screen needs. Upgrade your home today and enjoy the benefits of a pest-free, comfortable living environment.

Click Here For More Information : https://werribeeblinds.com.au/flyscreens/

Phone Number: 399742355

Fax Number: 399742366

Email : [email protected]

Address : Unit 13 33-39 Railway Ave Werribee, Victoria 3030

#Fly Screen For Doors #Fly Screen Sliding Door #Flyscreens

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sunrizef1 · 10 months ago

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Lost in Japan

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Warnings: None, cursing

Authors Note: I was almost done with a max fic and this song overtook my mind until I finished this. Also trust, I will be using bear as a nickname for Oscar in every fic from now on.

Summary: Lost in Japan by Shawn Mendes

Word Count: 5.1k (this was supposed to be short)

Oscar was bored. Lando was off celebrating a successful weekend somewhere out in the city of Shanghai while Oscar was sat alone in his hotel room waiting for the flight McLaren has organized to get him back to England. He hadn’t won. He hadn’t even gotten a podium. So there wasn’t much for him to be exactly thrilled about. So instead, he was just scrolling through his phone, checking various social media apps before he finally landed on Instagram.

He clicked on the first Instagram story at the top of his page, which happened to be Lando’s. He ignored the pictures of him celebrating at some party, tapping through the various shots of him getting more and more inebriated. He was with Max and Charles at the party so Oscar wasn’t too concerned. He clicks through a few more people stories before landing on a specific one that makes him slow down.

Oscar stares at his phone screen, eyes glazing over your Instagram story. He’s clicking through passively, pausing as he gets to one of you at dinner the night before. He lets it play out but quickly clicks back when he notices the Tokyo, Japan tag that you’ve placed near the top of the screen.

As Oscar stares at the picture, trying to take in every detail, he’s struck by an idea. He clicks out of the app, opens up his messages and navigates to your contact, already standing up from his hotel room bed to grab his already packed suitcase.

It didn’t look like he’d be using that plane ticket back to England after all. He clicks the call button under your name, holding the phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he grabs his things, exiting the room after he slides his backpack on.

The phone rings for a bit too long, making Oscar slightly worried that you wouldn’t pick up but it does eventually connect and Oscar is met with the sound of your voice filtering through the phone speaker. The door shuts with a soft click behind the Aussie as he steps into the hallway.

“Hello, Oscar,” you hum through the phone. Oscar can practically hear the smirk on your lips even through the low quality iPhone speaker.

Oscar huffs a laugh at your tone, dragging his suitcase behind him as he walks down the hall, “Hi, y/n.”

"What can I do for you?” you ask and Oscar can hear shuffling from your end of the call. As the words leave your lips, he reaches the elevator, tapping the button on the wall to call it to his floor.

“Do you have plans tonight?” Oscar reaches the point quickly, trapping the phone back between his shoulder and ear as the elevator opens and he steps in, tapping the lobby button.

You pause for a second, proccessing the question and contemplating your answer, “Besides falling asleep in a few hours? Nope.”

Oscar hums, pulling the phone into his hands and typing impatiently into google as you speak. He finds the soonest, and nicest, flight to Japan he could, purchasing the ticket without a second thought.

“Why?”

Oscar freezes for a moment, looking up from the ticket he'd just bought to narrow his eyes at the elevator door, “I saw you're in Japan-”

“Oh, so you're stalking me now?” Oscar rolls his eyes as you laugh through your question, painting the image of your grinning face in the Aussies mind.

“Shut up, no, anyway-,” Oscar sighs, dragging his suitcase out of the elevator as it reaches the lobby, “Im in Shanghai, I thought I'd fly over to see you.”

Your silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Oscar even checks to make sure the call is still connected due to how quiet you were. Taking your lack of response as a bad sign, Oscar starts to ramble, hoping to do a bit of damage control, “Just because I'm only a couple hundred miles away and the race is over and I'm bored. Its just been so long since we were so close, especially during the season and I miss y-”

“When does your flight leave?”

Oscar, who’d frozen on the sidewalk outside the hotel, unfreezes to gesture for a taxi. It was only a five-minute drive to the airport from the place Mclaren had been staying so he hoped this wouldn't take too long. He mutes for a moment to tell the driver to take him to the airport. The driver nods, pulling away from the curb.

“Uhhhh-” Oscar navigates through his phone to check his flight details as he sits back in his seat, “Half an hour?”

“Ooh, you better hurry then,” You hum, a playful tone laced through your words, “Dont want to miss it.”

Oscar laughs happily, just glad to hear you joking along. He does find some reality in your words though, doing the math to see if he even had enough time to make his flight. He was honestly running on hopes and prayers at this point.

“What made you suddenly so inclined to fly to Japan on a random Sunday?” Your voice pulls Oscar out of his thoughts and he pauses, smiling abashedly as the answer comes to his head.

“Just can't get you off my mind.”

Oscar can’t see you. But if he could, he'd see a warm smile carved onto your face due to the warmth his statement had caused.

“I don't know Osc, I'm actually pretty tired. Might just head to bed,” Oscar rolls his eyes as you try and stifle your giggle.

“Do I need to convince you to stay awake, then?”

You huff a laugh, humming in affirmation, “I’d love to hear it.”

“Well,” Oscar starts, racking his mind for some suggestions of what to say to get you to agree to this, “You don't miss me?”

“I never said that,” You reply quickly. Oscar raises an eyebrow, head falling back against the seat as he trys not to groan.

“So you do miss me?”

You hum quietly, the sound almost too low for Oscar to hear it through the phone, “Maybe a little bit.”

The Aussie chuckles, “I thought so.”

“Can you blame me? It's been a while. I miss my favourite koala bear,” Oscar gets the sense that the words were meant to come out teasing but he can't help but notice how genuine they sound. He laughs nonetheless.

He's about to respond when the cab comes to a sudden stop and he looks out the window to see the airport in front of him.

“Shit, I'm here.”

Oscar swings his backpack onto his shoulders, rifling through a pocket to find enough cash to hand to the driver, not really considering an exact amount and, instead, just asking the driver if that was enough. When the driver tries to hand change back, Oscar leans away, grasping the door handle to swing the door open to get out. He grabs his suitcase as well, leaning down to shout back into the car.

“Keep the change, thanks mate!” Oscar shuts the door, dragging his suitcase behind him as the cab drives away.

“Such a gentleman, I take it you're at the airport now?” you tease him, a genuine questioning tilt laced in your words.

Oscar nods before remembering you can't see him, “Yeah, just got out of the car.”

Oscar rushes through the large door, holding it open for an older woman to walk through before he steps in past her. He glances around the room, trying to find airport security so he could get to his gate.

“You gonna make your flight?” you seem to be finding a lot of amusement in his frantic rushing.

Oscar huffs, pinning his phone between his cheek and shoulder to check his watch. He still had about twenty-five minutes to get to his plane.

“Twenty minutes,” he responds, walking quickly down the hall when he spots a sign directing him that way.

“Ooh! Ah, I have faith in you. If you're anywhere near as fast as you are on the track I'm sure you'll be fine.”

Oscars eyes trail over the hall, locking onto the security gates and causing him to walk a little quicker, “You watch the race today?”

You don't respond for a few minutes but when you do, your voice is a lot more calm than it had been a few moments before, “Mhm. You did good Os.”

Oscar lets out a sigh, shaking his head as a grin fights its way into his lips, “Thanks, I'm glad you think so.”

Oscar steps into the security line, grateful for the fact that there are only a few people in front of him. He ignores the weird glance the old lady in front of him sends his way as he rushes to a stop behind her, replying with a tight smile.

“Its not just me, Osc,” you reply, sensing his disdain for the days race through the phone, “Everyone thinks you did well.”

Oscar hums, stepping up a few steps as a couple of people pass through, leaving just the old lady in front of him. As he reaches the bag scanners, he pins his phone on his shoulder again to lift his bag up onto the conveyor belt, tossing his bag down beside it.

“One second,” Oscar responds, muting his phone to drop it into a bowl along with his airpods, sending them through along with his bags.

After he's put all his things on the belt, he steps away, walking through the metal detector when the agent signals for him to go.

It takes a few moments for the agents to check his bags but when they come through he pulls the suitcase off and sets it beside him, turning back to slide his backpack over his shoulders. He slides his AirPods into his hoodie pocket and picks up his phone, unmuting the call before walking away, his suitcase in tow.

“Im back,” Oscar clicks away from the call for a few seconds to check his flight details before putting the phone back to his ear.

“Did I just get sent through a security scanner?” you sound amused and Oscar can practically see your smirk just from the tone of your voice.

“Didnt want to hang up,” he grumbles, searching the signs above him for his gate, walking quickly when he spots it. A clock on the wall indicates that he's still got 15 minutes to get to his flight. He thinks about it for a few moments, quickly realizing that it was 15 minutes until scheduled takeoff and boarding would actually end in five minutes.

“Im honored-”

“Fuck!” Oscar cuts you off, too busy now sprinting down the airport corridor to think about that fact, “Shit! I'm gonna miss it!”

You don't respond for a few seconds but you eventually do, a loud laugh echoing from your throat as you take in his situation.

“Oh my god, are you late for boarding? Osc!” you laugh, the image of the driver sprinting down the hall engrained in your head.

He doesn't reply, the phone now down near his hip as he runs to his gate. The run feels like an hour but, in reality, was only actually a few minutes, the clocks on the walls ticking down as if mocking the Aussies poor planning.

He finds some kind of respite, though, as he finally gets to the gate, slowing down as he steps up to the gate agent. The lady seems surprised to see him run up but she doesn't turn away, instead glancing him up and down with a concerned look before responding.

“Hi! Do you have your ticket?” the woman is surprisingly kind about the question, especially considering she had been preparing to leave as he'd rocked up.

Oscar nods, still trying to catch his breath. He pulls his phone open to navigate to the ticket, facing the QR code forward for the agent to scan. She does so before nodding politely and leading him down the path toward the plane.

Oscar lets out a sight of relief and lifts the phone back up to his face, “I made it.”

Your laugh has calmed down but you snort at his almost war-torn sounding voice, his strife obvious due to his lack of breath, “Congrats, man.”

He gets lead onto the plane, thanking the woman who'd brought him and smiling at the flight attendants as he walks a few steps past them. He finds his seat, dropping his phone onto it to lift his phone and stow it away in the overhead bin. He grabs his phone and sits down, relaxing into the seat after setting his backpack on the ground.

“I’ll be in Japan in a few hours,” He says, running hand over his face, “See you there, yeah?”

You hum, “See you there, bear.”

Oscar ignores the nickname, pretending it didn't make him smile, “Im gonna hang up now, promise you won't be asleep when I land?”

You laugh, “I promise, Oscar. I'll even go get a red bull for some extra energ-”

“Yeah, nope. Goodbye.” Oscar interrupts before you can endorse the rival team.

“Bye koala bear,” you respond and the phone clicks softly as you hang up. Oscar sets the phone down to pull his airpods out of his pocket, connecting them in order to watch some movie for the flight.

The flights only a few hours long but it feels a lot longer than that to Oscar. It's a haze of random Netflix shows and bagged pretzels, the monotony of the flight boring Oscar out of his mind.

He's relieved when the plane touches down, his proximity to the front of the plane allowing him to stand up and grab his things fairly quickly. Its about 9 pm local time, the sky outside not shedding any light through the plane windows.

Oscar walks out into the airport, grateful to be off the cramped plane and finally move his legs again. He stops at one of the few shops still open to buy an overpriced bottle of water, pausing as he spots a bag of those haribo peach rings you like so much. He doesn't think much as he grabs the bag, throwing it onto the counter beside his bottle and offering the cashier a polite smile.

After paying, he grabs the bottle and the bag, grasping them in the same hand as he pulls his suitcase along with the other one.

He strolls through the airport, trying to rid himself of the fatigue from the race and the plane ride. The only thing keeping him from falling asleep was the thought of seeing you again.

Speaking of you, Oscar doesn't realize he has no idea where you were staying or where you were until he's stepped out of the airport doors, standing on the sidewalk with his suitcase sat next to him. He tries to recall if you'd told him anything about your Japan trip or even if he'd seen anything on your story but he comes up empty.

He clicks on your contact, pressing the phone to his ear as the call rings. He frowns as you decline, confused as to why you'd hang up.

He's just about to walk back inside to wait when a car horn honks, causing Oscar to look up in front of him.

His eyes widen as they lock onto an orange Mclaren 570s Coupe, the car shining beautifully under the street lights. As he stands and admires the car ahead of him, the window closest to him rolls down and he sees your head duck down to lock eyes with him.

“You getting in?”

He laughs incredulously, opening the passenger side door and carefully sliding his suitcase into the small storage space behind the seats.

He sets his backpack on the floor below him, flopping back into the sear and sliding his seatbelt on. He sets his water down and tosses the bag of peach rings into your lap, “Nice car.”

“Thanks,” you reply brightly, eyes widening as you observe the bag of candy before moving it into your hoodie pocket, “Thought id go all out with the rental for the few days I'm here.”

Oscar hums, glancing around the nice car, coincidentally a Papaya McLaren. He refused the urge to ask you if you'd been thinking of him when you'd picked the vehicle.

After you make sure his seatbelts on, you pull away from the airport terminal and navigate onto the main road, pressing play on your playlist to let music filter quietly through the speakers.

The car glides smoothly down the streets of Tokyo, bright lights reflecting off the sides of your face. Oscar looks your way, completely aware that your attention was locked on the road, giving him the free pass to admire you.

Your eyes dart around the road in front of you, neon lights reflected in your irises. Your teeth dig at your lower lip, chewing lightly as turn the car. You’ve got one hand on the wheel, the other one moving around between the center console and the fraying edge of your shorts. You're wearing a quadrant hoodie and Oscar can't tell if its his or if you both just owned the same hoodie. The fit didn't help, he knew you bought your hoodies oversized anyway.

You glance over as you come to a stop at a red light, grinning when you see his eyes on you.

“What?” You ask, laughing slightly as you lean back from the wheel, splitting your attention between the road and Oscars face.

Oscar shakes his head with a small smile, his own attention turning out the window as you drive through the green light.

“Have you eaten?”

Oscar shakes his head, “Nah.”

You nod, taking the next turn to pull into a parking lot, stopping the car after you find a spot. You step out and Oscar takes this as his cue to get out as well, shutting the car door gently behind him.

When Oscar gets around the car, he finds you leaning against the edge, your feet crossed as you wait for him. He steps to your side and you push off the car, the familiar beep of it locking ringing out as you walk away.

As you both walk toward the restaurant, you step into Oscar's side and he’s quick to swing an arm over your shoulder. You wrap an arm around his torso, reaching the other up to tangle your fingers with his.

He's only slightly disappointed when you have to drop his hand in order to open the door. But you keep your hand against his ribs and he keeps his arm around your shoulders, not ready to let you go yet.

The second his feet pass the threshold of the building, he's hit with some of the most delicious scents he'd smelled in his life. This late at night there isn't much action apart from a few stragglers who Oscar assumes had just gotten off work and needed a bite to eat.

An older man swings around the corner from the kitchen, faint food stains gracing his otherwise white apron. He has a huge grin on his face and it only increases when he sees you. He pushes his glasses up on his nose, wiping off the steam that had accumulated on the lenses.

“Ah! You're back again!” The man calls out to the pair of you. Although his words do make Oscar assume the man was mostly talking to you, “And you brought your boyfriend!”

You don't correct the man and after seeing the grin on your face, Oscar doesn't either.

“Yeah, he just got in from Shanghai. Haven't had dinner yet.”

“Go, go,” the man smiles, pointing toward the dining room, “Sit where you want, ill get to you in a second.”

The man waves you both toward the tables and you step out of Oscar’s grasp. He doesn't have to be disappointed for long as you wrap your hand in his to lead him through the restaurant, stopping at a booth before sliding in. Oscar slides in the seat opposite of you, his legs knocking against yours under the table.

Quickly, the man, who Oscar now assumes is the owner, comes over to the table, setting down two glasses of water and a pair of menus in front of the both of you.

“You know what you want?” The man grins as he gestures toward you, seemingly familiar to you. Oscar takes a sip of his water, letting the coop liquid run down his throat.

You nod happily, “Yeah, I think so.”

The man pulls out a small notebook to write down whatever you say and you continue by saying a few different dishes, the only one Oscar having had before being sushi. He doesn't say anything, knowing that you knew more about this place and the menu than he did.

After you're done ordering, the man walks away and strolls into the kitchen, handing the order to the woman behind the counter before placing a small kiss on her cheek.

Oscar looks back to you, a small smile on his face after seeing the couple who seemed to be running the restaurant themselves, “You’ve been here before, then?”

You nod, leaning over to take a sip from your glass, “Yeah, came here yesterday for lunch.”

Oscar hums, glancing out of the booth to look around the room. Paintings and neon signs decorate the walls and what seems to be photographs taken in the restaurant all line the wall by the entrance. Oscar can vaguely see that the photos of are different people posing, all with happy looks on their faces. He huffs a breathy laugh when he sees one of you with your friends.

The time spent waiting for your food is filled with casual conversation, Oscar asking a lot of questions about how your Tokyo trip had been so far.

You don't ask about the race. There's some kind of unspoken understanding that Oscar had run to Japan to get away from racing for once. Here, with you, Oscar wasn't Mclaren racing driver, Oscar Piastri, he was just Oscar. Or “Bear”, as you called him. A nickname that you seemed unable to let go of. Oscar pretended to be annoyed every time you said it but he couldn't deny the smile that formed every time he heard the Australia-themed moniker.

“Bear?” There it is. Oscar looks up with a raised eyebrow, deducing that you'd asked a question he hadn't answered.

“I asked if you're staying with me tonight.”

Oscar snorts before smirking, shaking his head as he locks eyes with you, “Yeah, wouldn't dream of being anywhere else.”

You blush, looking down toward the table, past meals having left vague food stains on the wood.

Before you can respond, the man returns, plates and bowls balancing in his hands. You look up politely, smiling as the man starts to place the food on the table, “Thank you so much.”

The man grins as he places down the last plate, “Of course. Enjoy.”

He walks away and you turn toward Oscar who stares vaguely at the food in front of him, “Dig in.”

You make a move for your chopsticks, looking over the food before taking a bite of whatever is immediately in front of you. Oscar glances around, not sure where to start.

Noticing his hesitancy, you pick up a piece of what you'd been eating and bring it up toward his lips, pulling back after Oscar bites into it.

“What is this?” Oscar asks as he chews, covering his mouth as he speaks. Whatever it is, it's pretty good, having a light and slightly sweet flavour. Its also a bit more rubbery than chicken, but its pretty good nonetheless.

You swallow your own bite, having scooped up some rice along with it, “Unagi. Grilled eel.”

The only indication of Oscar's surprise is his widened eyes but after a few seconds, he reaches over to take another bite, humming as he chews on the eel. You smile, moving on to grab some kind of skewer.

You slowly move through the foods, explaining each one to Oscar as he tries them.

They're all good but Oscar's favourite is the yakitori, the skewers of grilled chicken. By the time you've finished the food on the table, Oscar is about ready to pass out.

So you pay as soon as you can, Oscar grumbling about his inability to pay for the meal, lacking the proper currency. He does Venmo you when you put your phone down, though.

The owner makes playful conversation with you, thanking you for coming around and telling you you're welcome back anytime. Oscar just stands with his head on top of yours, trying not to fall asleep.

You're about to leave when the man calls you back and you turn around to see him holding a camera in his hands, “For the wall? Need to remember the happy couple.”

You laugh, glancing around to see the many many photos of various friend groups on the wall behind you, turning back around with a soft look as you nod. You lean into Oscar who wraps an arm around you, tilting his head toward you. You tangle your hand with the one on your shoulder, holding up a peace sign with your other one.

The familiar click of a camera sounds and the man smiles warmly, waving you both out the door, “Have a great time! Thank you for coming!”

You wave goodbye, stepping out of the restaurant and pulling out your keys to unlock the car. Oscar untangles from you to walk to the passenger's side and step in. You drop in as well, setting your phone down in the centre console. Oscar is staring out the window when he feels something drop in his lap and he glances down to see the bag of peach rings he'd bought you.

“Can you open that?” You ask, starting the car and putting it in reverse. You glance over your shoulder as you pull backward, one arm behind Oscars seat and the other on the wheel.

Oscar, at risk of getting caught staring, turns his attention to the candy, ripping the edge and grabbing a few pieces to throw in his mouth.

Once you've got onto the main road, you hold out a hand and Oscar drops a couple pieces which you proceed to eat.

The drive is quiet, the both of you feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to you. You eventually pull up to the hotel, stopping the car and stepping out. Not before grabbing more candy from Oscar, though.

Oscar leans over to grab his suitcase, stepping out of the car and sliding his backpack on. He grabs his water bottle from the airport, stuffing it into the bottle compartment on the side of the bag. He looks up and starts walking, stepping by your side as you enter the hotel. You stroll through the lobby, leading both of you to the elevator.

As the elevator starts moving up, you both lean against the wall, letting the quiet music be the only sound beside a couple yawns.

The elevator dings as it passes each floor. Oscar watches as you dig your key card out of your pocket, running your fingers along the edge absently.

The doors slide open, leading you to walk out, Oscar in tow. You drift down the hall, humming along to whatever song was playing in your head. Oscar vaguely recognizes it as Taylor Swift.

When you reach your room, you scan your card and push the door open, holding it to let Oscar pass through.

He does, pushing his suitcase next to the far side of the bed. He can hear you setting your things down, the familiar clink of keys on glass ringing out in the otherwise quiet room.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he says lowly, sliding past you and into the attached bathroom. He can hear you hum in affirmation just before he shuts the door.

When he emerges, you're sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off your shoes before tossing them on the floor. You’ve taken off your hoodie (or Oscars) and its not lain over the chair across the room.

You glance up, smiling as you see the Aussie walk out, “Hi.”

Oscar huffs amusedly, sliding off his own shoes as he walks toward you, “Hi.”

You hum, looking up as he walks closer to you before leaning slightly to angle his face toward yours. You both pause for a few moments, waiting to see who'd break the stand-off first.

It ends up being you, as you pull his face down towards yours, your kiss almost searing. The kiss feels like it lasts a lifetime and Oscar almost wishes it could. He does pull away, though, just to move you away from the edge of the bed, smiling when he hears your laugh ring out after he's practically tossed you onto the mattress.

He moves up as well and before he can even get his bearings, you're pulling him back down again, hands in his hair and your lips on his.

The next morning, Oscars awoken by the sound of your quiet laugh. He rolls over with a tired groan, wrapping his other arm around your torso.

“What are you laughing at?” he grumbles, tiredness clear in his voice.

You turn to face him, looking impossibly beautiful for having just woken up. You hold your phone toward him and Oscar glances down at the screen before looking back up at your face with a questioning glance.

“Lando sent me a video this morning,” you start, closing your phone and tossing it aside to grasp his tired face between your hands, “Its quite funny.”

“What was it?” Oscar mumbles, leaning to press a small kiss on your forehead.

You lean back, looking him in the eyes and seemingly trying to hide your smirk, “It's a video of his teammate sprinting through the Shanghai airport.”

Oscar groans, trying to ignore your warm laugh, “Fuck.”

He's not really mad, not when the video was the source of your happiness right now.

There were a lot worse sights to wake up to than your happy face beside him.

——————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fanfiction

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peachsayshi · 11 months ago

Note

i think it’d be so cute if sukuna is napping and his son comes to put flowers in his hair 🥹

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: fluff; domestic - wc: 704

"Rai?"

You glance from room to room, your worry pinching between your brows. The two of you had just come back from the garden and while you were distracted speaking to your ladies in waiting, your son decided to scamper off with his little basket of treasures somewhere else within the palace. It takes you a few minutes until his possible whereabouts click in your head, so you turn on your heel and head towards the opposite direction.

The screen door is open, revealing the cursed king's quarters. Sukuna was fast asleep, taking his usual mid-afternoon nap. Rai is standing by his side, one hand holding his basket while the other slowly rummages through the delicate flowers inside.

Your son places a yellow flower between the blades of his father's pink hair, having already curated a small field while you've been searching for him this whole time.

Rai scrunches his nose thoughtfully, a unique little trait he does when thinking which Sukuna recently pointed out to you. He rummages through the petals and leaves, until finally pulling out a purple bloom that suited his eye. The stem is longer and thicker than the others, but you hold back a laugh watching your son directly stab the end atop the crown of his father's head.

Sukuna grimaces.

Rai huffs out a breath of disappointment, mirroring his father's disgruntled expression as he tries to plunge the flower into the roots of his scalp once again.

Sukuna groans lightly, bringing one arm to lightly wave over his head, assuming it might just be a pesky fly.

Rai pulls the flower close to his face, staring at it thoughtfully before raising his brow as an idea passes through.

He then, smartly, slides the stem through the crack behind Sukuna's ear, effectively waking up your beast from his slumber.

Sukuna's eyes flutter open, one hand reaching to swipe away his son's tiny palm but the second he feels the warmth of his skin his whole body relaxes.

"What are you doing, pest?" he murmurs, the scratch in his voice a sign of his exhaustion.

"We got flowers!" your son squeaks, the basket slipping from his hand as Sukuna scoops him up from the ground.

He stands upright - his height daunting, and your child almost a comical figure clutched against his muscular frame.

Rai brings two hands to his cheeks, "You look nice, papa!"

"I was sleeping," he pouts with frustration, noticing your presence when he tilts his head to face you.

His shoulders relax, his body angling your way as he approaches you. He shakes his hair out halfway through, a rain of flowers cascading into a trail behind his feet.

Rai whips his head furiously. "Papa, the flowers!" he exclaims, wriggling slightly to release himself.

Sukuna sighs as he crouches onto the floor, allowing Rai to gather up the flowers that fell.

"Wait, I'll put 'em back on..." his son insists.

Sukuna rolls his eyes before gazing up at you helplessly from underneath his lashes, remaining kneeled to stay on his son's level.

"Just toss it away-" he curly replies.

Rai pauses and looks down at the flowers in his hands. A few seconds register for him to comprehend his father's command, but he misunderstood the snide comment and instead through the flowers above his head like they were strings of confetti.

Sukuna facepalms, and you chuckle.

Rai giggles at both your reactions, and picks up the bruising petals and wilting stems from the ground.

Despite his withdrawn reactions, Sukuna's body responds with devotion. He makes room for his son to slot himself back into his frame, and naturally tilts his head lower so that he can stick the flowers back into his hair once again.

You inch closer to the pair, your lover instantly curling an arm around the back of your thighs to welcome you into his embrace.

"He's right," you blurt, "you do look pretty..."

"Don't start with me, brat," Sukuna teasingly responds through gritted teeth.

When Rai manages to stick the last flower back on, he seals the act by holding his father's chin and kissing him softly on the jaw.

The cursed king hums, and your heart flutters with love.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #dad sukuna x reader #dad!sukuna #dad sukuna series #the way you claim me #true form sukuna x reader #true form sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff

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the-offside-rule · 3 months ago

Text

Lando Norris (McLaren) - Sports Car

The sequel to Two Hands

Two Hands Part I, Part II

Y/n sat in the dimly lit studio, headphones snug over her ears, as the beat played for what felt like the hundredth time. She leaned back in her chair, mouthing along to the lyrics she'd scribbled down a few hours earlier, occasionally tweaking a word or two in her notebook. The explicit undertones of the song didn’t faze her; it was raw, honest, and unapologetic, just like she wanted it to be. She hit replay again and again, trying to perfect every detail.

The door to the studio creaked open, and Y/n barely looked up as her best friend, Tate, strolled in holding two iced coffees. "Still working on that song, huh?" Tate teased, plopping down on the couch and pulling her phone out. "Yup." Y/n replied without missing a beat, scribbling something down and playing the demo back for the umpteenth time.

Tate listened in silence for a moment, her thumbs flying across her phone screen. But the more she absorbed the lyrics, the more her jaw slowly dropped. By the time Y/n got to the second chorus, Tate was staring at her like she’d grown another head.

"Are we gonna just ignore the elephant in the room right now?" Tate finally said, setting her phone down. Y/n arched a brow, leaning back in her chair. "What?" Y/n asked. "What?" Tate echoed in the same tone, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "This song! Who is this about, and why are you suddenly… so worked up?" Y/n rolled her eyes, spinning her chair lazily to face her friend. "It’s nothing. Just… a song."

Tate snorted, crossing her arms. "Right. A song that happens to be very… explicit about what you want to do to someone. Come on, Y/n. We both know it's about Papaya." Y/n rolled her eyes at the code name they gave Lando. It wasn't practical or secretive in any way possible. It was so dumb. And yet, the mention of his code name, Y/n’s cheeks warmed, but she shrugged it off. "It’s not about anyone in particular. It's...I don't know. It's just setting the tone for the album, I guess." She said, avoiding Tate’s knowing gaze. "Besides, it’s not like I’m going to see him anytime soon. We only ever run into each other at races."

Tate narrowed her eyes, sliding the iced coffee across the table to her. "Uh-huh. Sure. But, girl, you need to stop lying to yourself. If this song is even half as honest as your feelings, you’re clearly still thinking about him. Just tell him what you want, he’s not a mind reader." Y/n sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. "I’m not telling him anything, Tate. It’s never going to go anywhere. We’re both too busy, and I’m not about to complicate things."

Tate groaned, throwing her head back. "Fine, fine. But let me see what you’ve got so far." She grabbed the notebook from the desk before Y/n could protest. Her eyes widened as she read the first line aloud. "Hey, cute jeans, take mine off me?" She burst out laughing, nearly dropping the notebook. "Are you kidding me?" Y/n shrugged, smirking. "You told me to be honest, so… that’s the energy I’m bringing to this song."

Tate kept flipping through the pages, her laughter growing louder. "Pretty blue streetlights and my hazel eyes, and if it feels right, we could go again like 3 or 4 more times? Y/n, who are you?" Y/n winked, leaning back in her chair. "My favourite part is the next bit. "On the corner of my bed, or maybe on the beach, you could do it on your own, while you're looking at- oh my god!" Tate squealed, chuking the notebook onto the table. "Think he’ll pick up on the hints?" Tate stared at her, utterly dumbfounded, before bursting into another fit of laughter. "This is not a hint, this is an open invitation. But honestly? If this doesn’t get his attention, nothing will."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Max Fewtrell’s stream was buzzing with activity. Thousands of viewers flooded the chat, firing off questions for him and his guest, none other than Lando Norris. The two were sitting in Max’s gaming setup, laughing about something dumb when a specific question caught Max’s eye. "Oi, Lando." Max said, grinning mischievously as he leaned closer to his monitor. "Chat wants to know what you think about Tate and Y/n’s new song."

Lando blinked, tilting his head in confusion. "They has a new song?" Max turned to him, his brows shooting up. "Mate, where have you been? It’s everywhere. There’s a music video too." Lando leaned back in his chair, his interest piqued. "Oh, I didn’t know. I mean, I like their stuff so… yeah, put it on I guess." He said ruffling his curls. "Alright, chat." Max said, smirking as he pulled up the song. "Let’s see what all the hype is about."

The track began, the sultry beat filling the room. On the screen, the music video played, showing Y/n moving effortlessly to the rhythm. Lando’s eyes were glued to the screen, his focus narrowing in on every word she sang and every move she made. "Hey, cute jeans, take mine off me." Y/n’s voice purred, her tone teasing yet commanding. Max burst out laughing, glancing at Lando. "This is… uh, quite forward, huh?" Lando, however, was silent, his gaze locked on the screen.

In the alley in the back

In the centre of this room,

With the windows rolled down,

Boy, don't make me choose

As the video continued, the lyrics grew bolder, the visuals more suggestive, and Lando couldn’t help the slight flush that crept up his neck.

Pretty blue streetlights and my hazel eyes,

And if it feels right, we could go again like 3 or 4 times.

Max snorted, trying to hold back his laughter. "Well, I mean, they know what they want." Lando let's out a soft chuckle at his remark.

On the corner of my bed,

Oh and maybe on the beach,

You can do it on your own,

While you're looking at me

Lando finally tore his gaze from the screen, a small, almost shy smile on his face. "Its a good song, actually." He smiles as the music seems to fade away for the time being. "You’ve met that one, right?" Max asked casually, still watching the video. Lando nodded. "Yeah, briefly. In Vegas."

"Vegas, huh? Sounds like a story there." Max wiggled his eyebrows knowing exactly what happened, but Lando just laughed it off, shaking his head. "Nah, nothing like that. She’s cool, though."

Unbeknownst to the two of them, Y/n and Tate were watching the stream from her apartment, Tate’s laptop propped up on the coffee table. At first, they’d been laughing at Max’s antics, but as Lando’s voice filled the room, the mood shifted. Tate frowned, glancing at Y/n. "Briefly? That’s all he’s going to say? What about everything else? The flirting, the sneaking ro his hotel room, the…" Y/n waved her off, her expression unreadable. "Doesn’t matter."

"It does, though." Tate pressed. "You’ve got to say something. You can’t just let this keep happening." Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You’re right. It’s time I did something about this." Tate’s eyes widened, a mix of excitement and disbelief on her face. "Wait, are you saying you’re finally going to tell him how you feel?" Y/n scoffed, looking almost repulsed by the idea. "God, no." Tate frowned. "Then what are you going to do?"

Y/n’s lips curled into a sly smile, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes. "I have a better idea."

#lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris blurb #two hands #sports car #tate mcrae

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ldydeath · 2 months ago

Text

Don’t Look Back | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong is stressed on tour and says something he can’t take back

Warnings: mild language

Author’s Note: Hi guys! This is a part one of a two part collab fic. My best friend, the lovely and talented @wcnderlnds wrote part two, go check out her post to see how it ends!

PART TWO HERE

Everything was too much. You knew that, Jiyong knew that, but you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t protect him. He should’ve never taken on this tour so close to his enlistment. You knew he wanted to do this one last thing for his fans, something to remember him by. But the stress was about to swallow him whole and there was nothing you could do to stop it. You glanced down at your buzzing phone and sighed.

Jiyong’s face appeared on the screen, you knew he was calling because you weren’t in Japan yet. You were two hours away by flight and the show was still hours away, but you’d promised you’d be there. You answered the call, his voice filling the line before you could even say hello.

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” Jiyong’s voice whined through the phone and you let out a sigh, your hand rubbing your temples.

You had hours of work to finish in order to get to the airport and you weren’t sure you were going to make it. The tour was nearing the end and you’d promised you’d be there for the last leg. Japan, the Europe dates, and the final night in Taiwan but work wasn’t letting you get away easy.

“I’m going to be getting in right as the show starts at this rate.” You sighed before slamming your hands down on your keyboard.

“You’re still at work?” You could hear the disappointment in his voice and slowed your typing. “I just have to finish some things before I’m gone for three weeks.” He let out a sigh and you chewed on your bottom lip, waiting for him to tell you not to come.

“Okay, I’ll let you go. I miss you.” the phone went dead before you could reply.

You slammed your phone down in frustration, trying your best to clear your thoughts so you could at least get to the airport in time to not miss your flight. You missed him too, you hated being apart for as long as you had been.

At least he hadn’t told you to not bother, that was a step in the right direction, unlike his dates in North America. An ongoing theme throughout this tour was his back and forth on wanting you there. You knew he was going through a lot, but it didn’t excuse his behavior towards you.

Deciding they could finish the rest without you, you left, making it to your plane just before doors closed and sat down in your first class seat. Of course he had gotten you the best seat money could afford. As you were getting situated, your phone buzzed and you stilled, almost afraid that it was work calling you back. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you saw who it was from. That sigh turned to a groan when you read his words. .

If you can’t make it, just stay home. I’ll be back before I head to Europe and we can just fly out together.

You didn’t know why he was pushing you away so much, you knew how lonely he’d been all tour. At least you’d be there in time for the show to start, you could hang out and see Japan after. He was there for a couple days anyway and you’d already made plans to sight see before you headed home.

I’m on my way. Plane taxiing now. See you soon. You hastily replied back before shutting off your phone and sliding your eye mask over your face.

You had just enough time to catch a nap before you’d be whisked off to the show. In true Jiyong fashion he’d had a car sent for you once he’d realized he couldn’t pick you up himself. You turned your phone back on once you were in the car to see several missed calls and texts from Jiyong, Daesung, and his management team.

Well, that wasn’t good. You ignored everyone else blowing up your phone and dialed your boyfriend's number. Straight to voicemail. He was probably just getting into costume for the show. That was all. Everything was fine. It didn’t stop your heart from racing, the nerves settling in the closer you got to the stadium.

One of Jiyong’s managers met you outside and led you backstage. It wasn’t hard to find Jiyong, he was standing by his entrance spot, his shiny jacket sparkling in the lights, your nerves settled as you saw him.

“Hey” You grinned, that grin faltering as soon as your eyes met his.

He looked exhausted. When was the last time he’d slept? Or eaten? He was so thin. You should’ve been here sooner, you could’ve forced him into a bed with a bowl of soup and not let him get up for a few days. You hadn’t seen him this bad off since that night he’d fainted over a year ago. Your heart dropped into your stomach and you reached for him, wanting to beg him to cancel the show. You knew he wouldn’t though and he smiled at you before turning away, your arms falling pathetically to your sides.

You hesitated before following his crew to the side stage, your favorite spot to watch Jiyong. It always amazed you how quickly he could transform from the exhausted man you saw a few minutes ago to the king of the stage. His fans were none the wiser to how he was truly feeling as he used up every ounce of energy he had on that stage. But you knew, and you caught every stumble, every large inhale, how many times he looked up towards the ceiling.

Once the show was over Jiyong headed over towards you, grabbed your hand and led you towards his sitting room. He looked up, eying the team of people following behind the two of you closely and shook his head before leading you inside and closing the door on them. He took one swift step towards you before his lips were on yours, his arms winding around you tightly. You could almost feel the weight of the day falling off him as you kissed him back.

This is what he needed, after all the long days and sleepless nights. You. He knew he was being needy and a bit all over the place with his emotions but now that you were finally here he was going to do everything in his power to make it up to you.

“Jiyong” You whispered as you broke the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest as you looked into his tired eyes. “Come on, let's get you changed and get some dinner. I’m putting your ass in bed tonight.”

The annoyance that crossed his face was alarming, he’d always appreciated you being the one looking out for him. He’d been off all day though, you reminded yourself as you stepped around him, moving to collect his hoodie. He took it from you wordlessly, stripping out of his sparkly red suit jacket and sliding the hoodie over his head in one swift movement.

“I don’t want you to be here if you’re just going to baby me.” Your eyes widened as you looked over at him. Surely you’d heard him wrong.

“I’m not babying you, Jiyong. You’re clearly not sleeping and when was the last time you ate?” He glared at you, folding his arms across his chest.

“This morning. I’m fine.”

“That’s bullshit, Jiyong. You’re not fine.” You pulled out your phone, pulling up the various missed calls. “If you were fine you wouldn’t be crying out for help when I’m on an airplane. What’s going on with you?”

He glanced down, running his hand through his already messy hair and let out a sigh. “You were supposed to be here for this, not come at the end and start worrying about me.” He glanced up, all the pain you thought maybe you’d imagined was visible on his face. “I needed you here.”

“I had to work!” it was a lame excuse and you knew it but it was all you had. They wouldn’t just let you take months off work to let you follow Jiyong around the world.

“I told you I’d take care of you. What do you think that fucking ring meant? You don’t have to work.” His icey tone caused you to flinch, he’d never been this angry with you before. You glance down at your ring, absentmindedly twisting it on your finger.

“We talked about this, Jiyong. I’m not going to quit my job and sit at home worried about you for the next two years. After the wedding, we agreed to revisit that topic. Don’t throw it back in my face now. I’m here. I’ve been here for you every night regardless of the distance.”

You two had had your share of fights before, but this felt different. Like you were both toeing a dangerous ledge and if you weren’t careful someone was going to get hurt. You held his gaze daring him to say something. Anything.

“Maybe it’s not good enough.” Your eyes widened in shock, your heart thumping so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it.

He didn’t mean that. You knew he didn’t mean that, but all rational thoughts had seemed to exit your brain as his words cut you so deeply. All you wanted to do was hurt him back.

“Not good enough? Being awake at three in the morning when I have a meeting at seven to make sure you’re ok, that you’ve eaten, isn’t good enough? Hopping on a flight to be here with you wasn’t good enough? I have supported you through everything, Jiyong. I have loved you through all of it. If that’s not good enough then I don’t think anything will be. Maybe you should take this back, if I’m no longer good enough.” Your voice cracked and you willed yourself not to cry, he wasn’t going to see your tears today.

You slid the ring off your finger, holding it out for him. He blinked, looking down at the ring. This isn’t what he wanted, he had always wanted you. He’d be damned if he broke in front of you right now, though. If you were just going to give up on him because of one bad day, then fine. He moved over to you, snatching the ring out of your hand and slid it onto his pinky.

You shook your head, moving towards the door. “If you walk out that door don’t come back.” His sharp voice broke the silence in the room and without looking at him, you opened the door, walked out and slammed it behind you. He closed his eyes, letting out a long exhale. He’d really fucked this up, hadn’t he?

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren

#kwon jiyong x reader #g dragon x reader #kwon ji yong x reader #gdragon x reader #bigbang x reader #g dragon #kwon jiyong #my fics #divider by cafekitsune #dlb

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tiza0925 · 1 year ago

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A New Skirt | 18+

Warnings/Tags: NSFW, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, female/AFAB reader, teasing, multiple orgasms, lap sex, hints of a breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, SET IN THE FUTURE WHERE ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED-UP AND OVER 18

Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You turn to the side, bending one knee, to take one last look at yourself through the tall mirror that sits in your bedroom.

And your chest falls with a small exhale of satisfaction as you focus on the way your skirt is just long enough to tease your ass, how your shirt hugs your waist oh so perfectly and makes it so damn obvious you’re not wearing a bra—

And a small smile forms at the thought of showing Bokuto your new outfit.

The door creaks as you open it, and when you walk down the hall and into the living room—you see Bokuto getting settled into the couch, turning on the TV to find a movie for you two to watch.

“You ready?” You hear Bokuto call for you, his attention on the screen as he sorts through the different movie titles to play, and you hum as you walk to where he’s sitting—your lower lip gets pinched under your top teeth as you walk around the couch to stand in front of him.

And the moment Bokuto’s head lifts to look at you—

Your heart thunders in your ears, and you feel flushed all over your body as his eyes gradually widen—scanning every inch of your body like he’s trying to commit the image to memory.

You swallow hard, feeling exposed, as Bokuto wets his lips, and his eyes remain focused on your skirt where your thighs are rubbing together. “You got a new skirt?”

His voice sounds so rough like he’s already affected by this, that it causes a small shiver runs up your chest as you inhale a small breath, nodding with your hands behind your back. “Went shopping while you were at work.”

“Yeah?” Bokuto seems amused by that as the side of his face lifts with a tiny smirk, and his lids lower as he leans back onto the couch—lifting his hips as he spreads his legs apart.

Then he tilts his head. “It’s a pretty skirt.”

You barely manage to suppress a grin as you purse your lips. “So you like it?”

Bokuto hums, the TV forgotten as he sets the remote aside, and he motions with his fingers to ‘come here’. “I want to see it up close.”

It’s the way he says it—with his voice low and eyes so murky with sudden desire—

It’s why you feel a jolt of heat sprout inside you as you close the distance between you, and Bokuto eagerly guides you to sit on his lap once he has his hands on you.

“What made you want to buy this?” He asks as he makes you sit, legs spread by his thighs, and he runs his hands down the side of your thighs, spreading goosebumps with the heat of his hands.

His hands that are so big that it can wrap around your thighs entirely.

You shrug. “It looked nice.”

A small lie.

The real reason was solely for Boktuo—to get the reaction that you’re seeing right now from him.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

Bokuto hums and his hands wrap around your thighs as he slides them up and under your skirt, his thumbs teasing your covered cunt by a mere few inches. “Well, It looks really nice on you, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitches at not only his words—but from the slight tease of one of his thumbs running over your covered slit—sliding it down from your clit to where your hole is.

“I’m glad you like it,” Your voice is breathy, a little too preoccupied with the feeling of Bokuto’s thumb rubbing slow, small circles over your clothed clit, and your hands fly up to hold him by the neck.

And Bokuto just smiles, all slow and syrupy, as he leans in closer to mouth at your chest covered by the thin fabric of your shirt.

You can feel the heat and wetness of his mouth as he sucks on one of your tits—even if you’re wearing a shirt—and your core clenches when you feel him give your nipple an impolite bite to make it pebble up.

He always knows how to make you melt almost instantly with just his fingers and mouth alone.

His fingers aren’t even inside you and yet he’s already managed to get you soaking your panties as you moan, rolling your hips on his lap as he continues his torturous movement of his finger over your panties.

“You can cum like this, can’t you?” He murmurs as he moves his head up to kiss the bend of your neck, and his finger teases your entrance by pushing your panties inside you for a moment, before sliding back up to rub your clit. “You’re so soaked, baby.”

He continues to rub and tease your pussy over your panties until you’re moaning, feeling mindless, and your legs shake with a soft orgasm hitting almost instantly.

“Fuck—Ko—Oh, god—”

“Let’s keep this skirt on, okay?” You hear him mutter as he slides down his sweatpants to let his cock bounce free.

It slaps against your exposed thigh, causing your muscles to tense, and you whimper as he fists himself with a few strokes to get himself to fully erect. “Lift your hips for me, love.”

And you immediately do as you’re told as you hold onto his shoulders for support, lifting each leg as Bokuto slides the rest of your panties off, and you gasp with a moan when you feel his thick cock slide between your pussy folds.

His hands move to grip your hips, and he doesn’t fuck into you yet like you’re hoping he would.

Instead, he guides you to rock on his lap, your pussy drooling all over the length of his dick as he slides them between your puffy slit, using your fluids as lube before he finally pushes the fat head inside you—

“Ko—!” You moan, low and sweet, and your fingers dig into his shoulders as he slowly pushes his hips up, making you take every inch of him, while his hands keep you in place.

“Look at you,” He moves his head forward to capture your lips with his in one of the most gentle kisses he’s given you, all while holding you firmly to make you take his thick cock. “You’re so pretty like this, baby.”

You whine from slight overstimulation—being torn between recovering from your first orgasm and feeling that liquid heat slowly beginning to grow in your belly again.

But you let him fuck into you—feeling his dick all the way in your throat in the position you’re in—trying to kiss him back all while your senses explode and your pussy throbs because of him.

“You think you can cum again for me?”

You nod dazedly, not sure if you can, but—

But then you feel his thumb return to your clit—and god it’s so fucking sensitive and puffy—and he slowly rubs it while fucking into your tight pussy, making your eyes roll back and you gasp into his mouth.

“You’re so tight—shit—” Bokuto groans, moving to bury his head into the crook of your neck, and you feel hot air fan against your skin as he breathes heavily while he continues to rock into you languidly. “I just need one more from you, love.”

You shudder, feeling that buzzing ache between your legs ready to combust any minute.

“Then I can fill you up, okay?” He lifts his head, and your heart flips at the way he’s looking at you, and he kisses the side of your jaw, murmuring, “You just look so pretty in your skirt, baby, I can’t help it.”

And hearing that pulls a small grin from you—

Because that’s the point.

You wanted this reaction from him.

And now you’re feeling just a bit more pleased that it worked out.

“Please,” You moan, your fingers moving up to card through his hair, and Bokuto moans so deeply that you feel it against you.

He uses whatever juices that gush out of your from his fucking as lube to rub your clit, and he picks up the pace—angling his hips in a way that he knows will have you seeing white shocks as he hits the right spot inside your walls.

He fucks you while tonguing at the sensitive spot on the side of your neck, making you gasp out a sob as you hold onto him, and he sucks on your skin while groaning near your ear.

It’s when he pushes his hips up and keeps it there, grinding his cock as deep as it can go inside you—making you feel every thick inch of him pulsing in your pussy—while he continues to thumb at your clit with practiced ease and skill—

That’s when your orgasm hits you, making you throb and cry out a moan as you hold onto Bokuto with all you’ve got—cumming over his cock as heat fills your cheeks and clit, spreading like wildfire and making everything so fucking hot around you.

“Fuck—baby, just like that, I’m gonna cum inside you.” Bokuto’s moan is guttural, and his thrusts turn more demanding and selfish as he holds your waist with an iron grip, fucking your abused pussy and bouncing you on his cock like a limp rag doll.

You feel electrified and boneless, all overstimulated and a puddle of honey—you don’t realize that Bokuto is filling you with his cum as he shakes and groans, your cunt taking it all in.

And it’s within this moment—as Bokuto’s orgasm begins to cool down and you feel his dick twitching inside you as both of your fluids leak out between your thighs and onto him—

That you make a note to buy more skirts in the future.

Perhaps to wear in public too to see what Bokuto will do.

End.

Masterpost

#haikyuu #haikyū!!#haikyu smut #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #bokuto smut #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutaro x reader #haikyuu bokuto #Bokuto x reader smut #bokuto x y/n #bokuto koutarou smut #bokuto koutaro #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #bokuto x you

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xoxosierralane · 20 days ago

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| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

✎ from sierra: hello hi there, my first time posting a fic on tumblr let’s hope i did this good..! and i also hope you guys enjoy this little chapter and lmk if you would like another, im also open to any ideas and writing tips. also ty to @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary & @bueckersbitch for some tips when i asked they def helped, you guys are lovely also check them out 🌺

✎ synopsis: when an overworked pre-med student wakes up late for class, the last thing she expects—aside from the existential spiral mid-lecture—is to be roped into tutoring UConn’s star point guard, Paige Bueckers. Paige is charismatic, cocky, and somehow always talking. The reader is sleep-deprived, sarcastic, and trying desperately to avoid any and all distractions. But when tutoring sessions turn into unexpected walks home, avoiding Paige becomes impossible. She’s not just a classmate—she’s a slow, sneaky problem. And worse? She lives next door.

✎ warnings: language

There are few sounds in this world more horrifying than your alarm going off thirty-five minutes after your class already started.

The second my eyes fly open, I know something is wrong. It’s that eerie, sun-too-bright, birds-too-loud kind of wrong. That creeping, soul-leaving-my-body realization as I blink at my phone screen and see the time:

9:53 AM.

Class started at nine. I should be halfway through pretending to understand biochem pathways by now, not halfway to a heart attack in bed.

I launch out of my sheets like a woman possessed, nearly tripping over the half-folded pile of laundry on my floor and banging my shin on the corner of my desk. (Why do dorm room desks always have the sharpest edges known to man?)

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” I mutter to myself, pulling on the first pair of jeans I can find and a hoodie that may or may not have toothpaste stains on it. “You’re only, like, an hour late. People have survived worse.”

My hair’s still in the braids I did last night, thank God, because if I had to fight edge control and lateness at the same time, I would’ve just dropped out on the spot. I grab my bag, shove in a half-closed notebook, and toss a granola bar in my pocket like it’s some kind of sacrificial offering.

By the time I get to the lecture hall, I’m fully out of breath and lightly sweating. Cute. Nothing says “serious STEM major” like showing up late and looking like you just ran a 5K.

I try to sneak in, pulling the door open as quietly as possible (which means it creaks like it hasn’t been used since the Civil War), and immediately feel a hundred pairs of eyes swing in my direction. My professor pauses mid-slide.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head down as I scurry to the only open seat in the second row, of course. Because the back row? The safety zone? Taken. God has favorites, and I’m clearly not one of them.

I sink into the seat and pretend I didn’t just make a grand entrance. The girl next to me—blonde, tall, looks suspiciously like someone who could dunk on me if given the chance—glances over with a raised brow and the tiniest smirk.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice warm, a little teasing. It’s got that slightly drawn-out edge to it, like she grew up saying “pop” instead of “soda.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in mock defense but doesn’t stop smiling. Great. A morning person with cheekbones. Just what I needed.

I turn back to the lecture, trying to catch up on whatever enzyme he’s ranting about. Paige—yes, Paige Bueckers, UConn’s golden girl, sitting next to me like this is her seat or something—keeps glancing over at me every few minutes, like I’m the entertainment for the day.

Which, fine. I probably am. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The lecture drones on, a blur of chemical structures and way too many acronyms. My brain’s already in fight-or-flight mode, and I’m trying to copy notes from the slide like my future depends on it—which it kinda does, because if I bomb this class, there goes med school, and if I don’t go to med school, then what? Sell overpriced vitamins on TikTok? Start a podcast about burnout?

I sink lower in my seat, hoping to disappear entirely.

“Alright,” the professor says, tapping his remote like it owes him money. “Can anyone explain the mechanism here?”

Silence. Beautiful, holy silence. For a second, I think we might all get away with it.

Then—

“Maya?”

I freeze. My neck actually creaks when I turn my head up to look at him. “Sorry?”

He smiles like this is fun for him. “The mechanism. For the rate-limiting step of glycolysis.”

Of course it’s glycolysis. Of course it’s this unit. I glance down at my notes, which may as well be scribbled in a dead language, and I swear my soul briefly exits my body.

Okay. Think. You’ve studied this. You’ve done flashcards at 2 a.m. like a responsible, sleep-deprived adult. You can do this.

“…Hexokinase?” I offer, which I immediately realize is wrong because his eyebrow twitches.

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

I want to melt into the floor. I want the Earth to crack open beneath me and swallow me whole like a Greek tragedy. Why would you call on someone who was just 50 minutes late and visibly unwell?

I drop my gaze to my notebook, which now has a sad little doodle of a frowning mitochondrion in the margin, and let myself mentally spiral.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to give up and open a dog café somewhere in Portland. Maybe academic success is a capitalist scam designed to break me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Maybe—

“You were close,” a voice whispers next to me, low enough that only I can hear. “It’s phosphofructokinase.” I glance over. Paige’s lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

Oh. So she’s not only annoying and smug—she’s smart, too. Fantastic.

I give her a blank look, then scribble it in the margin like I knew it all along. I don’t thank her. I’m not that gracious yet.

The professor moves on. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slouch back into my seat.

I don’t even know how Paige knows that answer. I swear she’s never said a single academic thing in class before—usually just nods like she’s vibing through the lecture, and now suddenly she’s a glycolysis expert?

I glance at her again. She’s leaned back in her chair like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Her hoodie sleeves are pulled over her hands and she’s tapping a pencil against her notebook, looking out the window like she’s half-listening, half daydreaming.

God, I hate her.

Not really. Just enough to feel mildly personally attacked by her existence.

By the time the professor finally wraps up, my brain feels like someone stuck it in a microwave on defrost. Half-melted, barely functioning, and emitting a faint hum of defeat.

I’m already halfway through mentally mapping my route to the dining hall—food, nap, forget this day ever happened—when I hear the worst possible words.

“Maya, could you stay back for a second?”

I freeze with my laptop halfway into my bag. No. No. Please no. My stomach drops, already bracing for the we’re concerned about your academic performance speech. Or maybe he’s just gonna roast me for being late. Publicly. Again.

Next to me, Paige doesn’t move. Which is weird because usually she’s the first one out the door, bouncing off to whatever practice or photoshoot or press interview she’s contractually obligated to pretend she enjoys.

“You too, Paige,” the professor adds casually.

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

I glance at her. She shrugs, and somehow even her shrug is smug. Like she already knows what this is about and I’m the one being dragged into something against my will.

Once everyone else filters out, the room goes quiet in that awkward way classrooms do when it’s just you, your mistakes, and the person paid to evaluate them.

The professor folds his arms. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Paige has been… struggling a bit to keep up.”

I blink. Paige?

She doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts her weight to one leg and tilts her head like, yeah, and?

“She came to me earlier,” he continues, “asking for extra support. And I mentioned you, Maya.”

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

“Yes.” He gestures vaguely, like this makes perfect sense. “You’ve got one of the top quiz averages in the class. And I know you don’t have a lot of free time, but I thought you might be willing to help.”

I open my mouth to respond, and nothing comes out except a confused squeak.

Paige, meanwhile, is suddenly all charm and dimples. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she says sweetly, looking at me like I’m the answer to her prayers instead of the barely-holding-it-together girl who almost cried during a glycolysis question.

I stare at her. Then the professor. Then back at her. This is a setup. Has to be.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “I guess I could… help out. A little.”

The professor claps his hands once, like this was the easiest part of his day. “Great. Work out whatever schedule makes sense. Maybe start after the next lecture?”

“Sounds perfect,” Paige says, and I swear there’s a glint in her eye. Mischievous. Knowing.

I nod numbly, the weight of this decision already settling on my shoulders like a second backpack full of regrets.

As I head for the door, I mutter under my breath, “This is going to end badly.”

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

“Nothing,” I lie, faster than a reflex. “See you later.”

She grins, following me out with way too much pep for someone allegedly struggling. “Can’t wait.”

And I suddenly remember: this is the same girl who walked in late the first week, said “yo, do we need the textbook for this?” in front of the whole class, and then somehow got a laugh out of the professor.

God help me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the library, clutching three textbooks and a syllabus I plan to set on fire. This day has already been long enough, now apparently, Paige “needs a little help” with some of the material. And apparently, I am just the student for the job.

I hate when people say “it’ll be good experience.” It always means work I don’t want to do for free.

The librarian waves at me as I step in—Ms. Marie, always with the peach-colored cardigans and peppermint candies. “Back again?”

“Like a bad habit,” I mumble, shooting her a smile. “Just grabbing some stuff for tutoring.”

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

“Trying not to cry in public,” I answer, and she laughs like I’ve said something adorable instead of tragic.

I spend way too long in the aisles, gathering books and stalling. Mostly thinking about how good I’m gonna sleep when I get back to my apartment. Seriously. The second my cheek hits the pillow? Instant peace. Probably coma-level sleep. I should be studied for science. Sleep is my love language. Sleep is the one thing in my life that hasn’t betrayed me.

I’m still mentally composing a love letter to my bed when I round a corner and see her—Paige, standing near the checkout desk, talking to one of the guys from the men’s team. He’s smiling like he thinks he has a chance. Good luck with that. Paige Bueckers is gay as fuck.

I snort before I can stop myself, just a short, soft laugh—but she hears it. Her head turns. Our eyes meet.

Oh.

She looks surprised. Not mad, not even curious, just… like she wasn’t expecting me.

And now I’ve made eye contact. Like a dumbass. I quickly duck back behind the shelf, gripping a biochem book like it’s a shield.

Great. Just great. Nothing says “competent tutor” like spying on your student and laughing at her across the library.

—

I give it a minute before circling around the long way and heading to the study room Hanes booked for us. Small, quiet, lots of windows. I stake out the seat closest to the door in case I need to make a dramatic escape.

Paige walks in a few minutes later, all long legs and blonde hair and that basketball-player stride—like she owns the space without trying to. She doesn’t say anything at first, just drops her bag and slides into the seat next to me.

I brace myself. Here we go.

She pulls out a notebook, then a pen. Then nothing. Just sits there.

I glance at her, waiting for her to do… something. Say something. Start. Breathe.

“Are you gonna, like… open the textbook, or…”

“I was letting you do your thing first,” she says, like I’m the one who showed up five minutes late and smelled like citrus gum and lavender hand cream. Her voice has that easy, confident rhythm to it—Minnesota smooth with a little edge, like she grew up chirping boys on the blacktop.

I give her a look. “My ‘thing’ is desperately trying not to cry while re-reading the same paragraph seven times.”

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward exactly, but quiet enough to make me weirdly self-aware of how close our chairs are. I pull out my laptop to have something to do with my hands.

“So,” I say, flipping to the study guide, “Professor Hanes said you’re struggling with the last few sections. You’ve looked at the review packet?”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair a little too casually. “Kind of. I just—I don’t know. I get the gist, but some stuff doesn’t stick.”

“That’s usually how it works when you don’t study.”

She raises a brow at me like she wasn’t expecting me to have teeth. “I do study.”

I raise mine right back. “Instagram Reels don’t count.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s either amusement or offense. Could go either way with girls like her.

“You always this friendly?”

“No,” I deadpan. “Usually I’m meaner.”

That gets a laugh out of her—low and genuine, like it surprised her. She leans in slightly, chin propped on her hand.

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, flipping a page. “Hanes kind of voluntold me. Said it would be ‘good practice.’”

“Bet you were thrilled.”

“Overjoyed. I love giving up my one free evening to explain gen chem to someone who probably uses Gatorade as a chaser.”

Another smile from her. This one lasts a little longer.

“You always this funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mutter, but my mouth won’t quite stop twitching.

We get into the material slowly—me talking through concepts, her asking questions here and there. She’s actually more focused than I expected. Still fidgety, still Paige Bueckers in all her tall, confident, knows-people-are-watching energy—but she’s trying. I can give her that.

Halfway through, she lets out a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face. “Okay, but why are there so many exceptions to every rule? Like, who made these up?”

“Science,” I reply. “Also colonialism.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not wrong.”

Another beat of silence. Then she asks, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

She whistles, low. “Damn. That’s sick.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. If you enjoy stress-induced migraines and disappointing your family.”

Paige grins. “Bet your mom’s proud of you.”

“She is,” I admit, softer now. “But I also think she thinks I sleep more than I do.”

Paige’s voice is light when she says, “You don’t strike me as a slacker.”

“I’m not,” I say, yawning. “But if I had one wish? It would be to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. Maybe forever. I love sleep. Like, I would marry it. I’d elope with sleep to another country and never text anyone back.”

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

“That’s survival,” I correct, grabbing a pen to tap against her notes. “Now stop stalling and write that formula down before I cry.”

She leans in again, not writing yet. Just watching me. “You kinda mean.”

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

We keep working, but the space between us softens just a little. There’s something about the way she shifts a little closer when I’m showing her something, or how she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer. She’s still full of herself, but in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and pay attention.

And then there’s the eye contact. God. Paige Bueckers and her Olympic-level commitment to staring directly into my soul.

Like—I’m trying to explain the electron configuration of potassium, and she’s looking at me like I might be the answer to something she’s been trying to solve for years. Icy blue eyes, lashes curled to the heavens, a little swipe of mascara like she knew she’d be making people nervous today.

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

It’s honestly kind of rude. Intimidating. Possibly illegal. There should be a warning label or something: DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH PAIGE BUECKERS UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO BE HYPER-ANALYZED AND POSSIBLY SEDUCED.

Because I swear—I swear—the way she looks at me? It’s not just eye contact. It’s eye-to-future-entanglement contact. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me out of my panties with just her stare and that stupid smirk she keeps trying to hide behind her hand.

Focus. I need to focus. This is chemistry. Not chemistry-chemistry. I’m not gonna be another gay kid that fails a class because I couldn’t stop thinking about some pretty basketball player with really good hair.

No offense to everyone else who’s fallen into that trap. (none taken)

“Okay,” I say, tapping my pen against my notebook and not looking at her eyes again, “that’s ionic bonding, which means we’re finally done with chapter four.”

Paige stretches her arms above her head with a small groan, the hem of her hoodie lifting just enough to flash a sliver of skin. I look away instantly, like a respectable person. Like someone not currently battling the urge to spiral into a gay panic over five seconds of midriff.

“Thank God,” she sighs dramatically, flopping back in her chair like she just ran drills for two hours. “You know, I think I actually learned something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am surprised,” she grins, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re kinda scary-smart.”

I blink. “Scary?”

“In a good way,” she adds quickly. “Like, in a ‘you could probably build a robot army and take over the world but choose not to’ kind of way.”

“…Thanks?”

She smiles like she means it. Like maybe that was a compliment in her language. And for some reason, it sticks with me.

I start gathering my things, stuffing pens and half-crumpled notes into my backpack like the burnt-out academic I am. “Well, we’re scheduled again next Thursday unless your Coach pulls you for something.”

Paige doesn’t move to leave. She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, watching me with that same annoyingly intense gaze.

“You always study here?” she asks casually, like she didn’t just spend two hours fighting for her life over basic chem.

“Sometimes,” I reply, zipping up my bag. “It’s quiet. And the librarian doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

She shrugs. “Ehh usually with the team. Or, like, wherever has food.”

I hum, trying to keep the conversation from stretching too long. I’m not great at lingering—especially not with people like her. The kind of person who walks into a room and owns it without even trying.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, already planning my post-study nap in vivid, loving detail, but before I can escape—

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

Not because it’s weird. But because I hadn’t expected it. Most athletes don’t even remember the names of their TAs, much less offer to walk them out of the library like it’s some sort of… soft exit interview.

I glance at the clock. It’s getting late. But also, she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth lingering around.

“Sure,” I say. Casually. Like my heart isn’t already doing cartwheels.

She grins, standing to her full height (good holy 6ft..), and my only thought as we walk side by side toward the doors is God help me, I might be in trouble.

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

The night air hits us as we step out of the library, and it’s just cold enough to make me regret not grabbing a hoodie. Of course, Paige doesn’t seem bothered at all. She walks like she’s immune to weather. Or like the wind parts just for her. Probably both.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkwardly so. My favorite kind.

Then, Paige starts talking.

And when I say talking, I mean talking. Like she hasn’t spoken to another human being all day and I just unlocked the floodgates.

“So, like, I’ve had the same pair of slides since I was fifteen, right?” she says, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “They’re disgusting. Like, actually offensive. I think they’ve developed their own bacteria strain at this point. But I can’t get rid of them. They’re like emotional support shoes. You ever have something like that?”

I blink. “Uh…”

She barrels right past my lack of response. “And then Aaliyah tried to throw them out once when we were on the road and I almost tackled her in the hotel hallway. She was like, ‘Paige, they smell like shit.’ But they don’t. They smell like loyalty.”

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

Not because I don’t want to. But mostly because what?

I nod along, mostly to be polite. Or maybe out of shock. I’m not really sure.

She keeps going. “Also, can I ask you a question? Why do all chemistry textbooks weigh as much as small toddlers? Like, what are they putting in there? Guilt? Disappointment?”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which unfortunately only fuels her further.

She talks about basketball. Then her best friend’s dog. Then how she’s still mad Chipotle took her favorite salsa off the menu. She has opinions on everything from cafeteria chicken to the superiority of Apple Music over Spotify (she’s wrong, but I let her have it).

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

I listen. Mostly because I’m stunned by how easily she fills the space between us, how her voice softens when she gets excited and how, even when she’s rambling, she makes it feel like you’re part of the story.

It’s… unsettling.

I don’t do people like her. I don’t get people like her.

And yet here she is. Walking next to me. Talking like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

And then, as if this night couldn’t get any weirder, she slows down in front of my building.

I stop too.

Paige pauses, looking at the entrance. Then looks at me. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, pointing to the left. “Top floor.”

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

She grins, pointing to the right. “That’s my building.”

I stare at her for a second. Then glance up. Then back at her.

This cannot be real life.

“You’re telling me we’ve lived next to each other this whole time and this is the first time I’m finding out?”

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

She’s still smiling like this is the best coincidence to ever happen. Like fate just personally delivered her a win.

I just shake my head, digging my keys out of my pocket. “Well. Thanks for the walk. And the verbal TED Talk.”

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

I turn to head inside, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

She salutes me with two fingers, still grinning, then turns and jogs up the steps to her building.

I stand there for a moment, key still in hand, trying to process everything. The tutoring. The talking. The proximity.

This is going to be a nightmare.

I let myself into the building, already craving sleep and silence and maybe a three-day nap. But even as I make it upstairs and fall face-first onto my bed, one thought keeps bouncing around my head like it’s got a key to the place:

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #dallas wings #paige x reader #wbb fic #sierrassweets #sierrasworks 🌺

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