#I'll try to have this done within the week!!

[drunkenskunk]

Oh boy another Drunk Skunk rant!

So I've been on vacation this last week, and I've got another week of vacation ahead of me. You would think that during this time, I would be doing anything productive, like writing one of the dozens of ideas rattling around my head, or trying to draw the comic of that one short story about pre-transition Tuera.

Instead, I have spent most of this time playing:

Because of course I have. I am a weak willed coward and have no defense against The Intrusive Thought.

However: during this time, when I could've been doing anything else more productive, I came to a strange realization. It's one of those things that I'm sure someone has already said, at some point, somewhere... but it's gonna make me feel better if I write them all down anyway.

Mostly because it feels like a convoluted tangle of several thoughts, I want to get them all sorted, and I can't think of a better way to do this than in front of tons of strangers on the internet.

Interestingly, this realization didn't start with WoW, it started with me rewatching that Noah Caldwell-Gervais' Diablo video, again. I've watched this video (and "watched" it in the background) many, many times, because it's really good, but something stood out to me on this particular rewatch.

It was that bit right at the very end of the Diablo 3 section, where he's talking about the boss fight against Malthael in Reaper of Souls:

"At the end of Diablo 3, your character, the Nephalem, is certainly stronger than any angel or demon. Death itself is the final boss, then. It is impossible to escalate from here, so the game ends, as is traditional, with a melancholy and temporary victory that leaves the future uncertain."

And that is when it hit me like a ton of bricks:

This is why WoW sucks lately. We reached that point where it was impossible to escalate further many expansions ago, but the game has kept going.

Don't get me wrong, this isn't the ONLY reason. There are a LOT of contributing factors (and I'll try and get to some of them), but I feel like that is The Big One. It's the Root Cause of a lot of other problems. The game has existed for way too long.

But that's also not the whole picture. Do you remember, a while back, when I was trying to figure out what the fuck was actually happening in the plot for The War Within? Well, I did eventually figure it out. Sort of. But in doing so, I noticed something.

In trying to untangle the story from the start of Vanilla (mostly to jog my own memory of 20 years ago, holy fucking shit I am so goddamn old) to the current expansion of The War Within, I noticed that there was a very slow but steady emphasis on the Player Character being referred to as, like... a legit hero, or "Commander" in Warlords, or "Champion" in everything post Legion.

I'm not bringing this up as if it's some big revelation. This has been a Known Problem with WoW for many years, so much so that even in my absence I heard people saying shit like "I'm tired of being Azeroth's Champion, I want to go back to being nobody again." I bring this up, because I think I've figured out why the game keeps insisting that the player is a "Champion."

The story of WoW, if you actually follow the quests as written (which I did to try and figure out what the fuck is going on jesus fucking christ what the fuck is wrong with me), are working under the assumption that the character experiencing these quests has been playing the game since Vanilla. And not just playing the game since Vanilla, but the story is sort of... taking it as read that they player has done EVERYTHING in EVERY expansion.

Like so much else in the storytelling of WoW, it's not... good, but it does make sense. At least once the layers of bullshit have been stripped away. Incidentally, that's also how I'd describe the plot of The War Within, now that I actually know what's going on: it's not good writing, but it makes sense.

When you stop to think about it through that lens, specifically, a lot of questionable writing decisions suddenly become a bit more understandable. Slightly. Because this hypothetical completionist player who has been playing the game since Vanilla that the story is apparently being written for... would be completely ridiculous.

Because, even in Vanilla, the quests that send you to dungeons and raids, if you'd ever actually stopped to read the text (which I did in my research to piece everything together) acknowledges that these are challenges for groups of people... but there is also this implication that you are the one in charge. The quests assume that You are The Party Leader, organizing this adventure to kill dragons, or elemental lords, or Old Gods sealed away for thousands of years. Of course The Player Character is regarded as a hero! ... right?

And, y'know? It's a shame that that is the angle they decided to focus on, and subsequently expand, when it came to the story. Because I think it betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of why MMOs like WoW worked in the first place. They are multiplayer games, first and foremost. Yeah, one of us can be "strong," sure, but we will always be stronger when working together. That sense of community you get with a bunch of people working towards a common goal, that is one of the primary draws of MMOs.

We weren't important back in Vanilla, at least not at first. We were just an ordinary person, rising to the challenges set before us, along with all of our friends. We weren't a prophesied hero, we weren't a "Champion," we were just... The Person Who Was Available. And more than that, one of the other big draws, at least back in Vanilla, was the novelty of being able to exist as a person in this world that we'd only ever experienced before in three strategy games.

Then again, when you look back at the RTS games - and specifically, the Founding of Durotar campaign in Frozen Throne - you realize that a lot of these problems have existed since before WoW was even a thing. I've often said that the Founding of Durotar felt a bit like a proof of concept of what Blizz wanted to do for WoW, just in the Warcraft 3 engine. Because Rexxar also wasn't a destined hero at first... he started off kinda like us. He was The Person Who Was Available. And wouldn't you know it, he ended that campaign as the Champion of the Horde. But we didn't notice that being a problem, back then... because that story came to an end. It was allowed to stop.

And that brings me back to the original problem. Because what do you do with a player character who has killed dragons, elemental lords, Old Gods, and everything else on the way? Where do you possibly go from there when you've already committed to this course for the story?

Well... you escalate.

Things get bigger. The threats get larger. The danger gets more extreme. The list of accomplishments under the player character's belt as they overcome these challenges grows. And grows. And grows. Things just keep escalating and building and escalating and building and the game is forced to acknowledge that everything else that came before has been done, and been done by you, specifically, even if the character you're playing didn't or couldn't... because it would be completely unfeasible and make even LESS SENSE to try and write different quest text based on what the current character has actually done, specifically. It just keeps going on and on and on and on...

But you can't keep doing that forever. At least, not under normal circumstances. Because doing that means things will just keep getting more and more ridiculous, and the titles and accolades will ring more and more hollow. Sure, you're a "Champion" in the quest text... but everyone else is a "Champion," too. Because the quest text isn't talking to you. It's talking to the hypothetical (and probably imaginary) completionist player that all this stupid escalation is apparently being written for.

We passed the Point of No Return and have significantly exceeded the Ridiculous Escalation Critical Mass Threshold several expansions ago. But because of the corporate machinations of ActivisionBlizzardKing - and now Micro$oft - World of Warcraft just... keeps going. It WILL keep going. Despite how many people have left the game over the years, it is still an economic powerhouse. It's still making the company literal boatloads of cash. And because of this, World of Warcraft is not allowed to die.

... aw, dang. Now I've gone and made myself sad again.

[thekyuusims]

ASOIAF Save File: The Riverlands Roadmap and predicted questions

*NOTE: this is not a image of my world this is a template map from this website.

The Riverlands will have:

-7 Castles , Riverrun, Harrenhal, Stone hedge, Raventree hall and two castle you will decide with polls

-6 Peasant homes

-the ruins of old stones(park)

-Jonquil's pool(swimming pool)

-2 tavern's including cross roads Inn

-1 Military Training ground(Gym)

-1 market(small business)

-2 Inns

-1 brothel(maybe haven't fully decided if I will add brothels yet)

A few Predicated questions

Q:When will this be released/finished ?

A: I don't have a set date of finish but save files take a long time to make , especially when using blowtorch as I am manually decorating the world. However I'm planning on releasing with each finished world so there will be the first release when the Riverlands are finished , so on so forth.

Q:Will this use CC ?

A: yes unfortunately it is very hard to make this save file without cc, however Going to try and limit cc and items for performance issues

Q:what packs will I need?

A: Get Together,Life & Death,Horse Ranch,Life & Death,Get Famous,Cottage Living,High School Years,Outdoor Retreat or Realm of Magic. as a minimum to get the worlds to show up but probably castle estate and others for decor

Q:how does summiting builds works ?

A: I'll mostly need smaller builds such as houses ,farms ,Inns ,taverns , but larger castles and landmark builds are welcome too! Ill pick the ones that work best within the world , If I uses your build you will be credited in the in game build description and my release posts as a builder.

Q:is there rules or a guide to building?

A: if you want to use cc you'll have to download my accepted cc file which has all the cc I'm going to use in the save file, when I'm accepting builds ill release information on the plot sizes and theme I want each region to have a cohesive theme, feel free to get creative tho!

Q:How far along are you with the save file

A:30% done with the Riverlands

overall save file probably 10% just of the castles I've already built

Q:what time period of ASOIAF will this save file be based off?

A:Im going to try and make it as timeless as possible , to fit any time period

Q:What sims will you included ?

A:new services sims, Smallfolk/townine sims, as I want this to be timeless I wont be include noble house members to keep the save as condensed as possible

Q:will this effect your cc releases?

A:No , most of my cc releases are pre-planned by weeks , before I announced this project I finished quite a few cc wips in preparation so I focus on this project a little more.

Q:What do you mean by Community driven?

A: having you guys do things like polls to decide what you most want to see in the save file also I'm always excepting feedback and requests !

[cloverapple]

hey clover i'd like to hear your thoughts on something

sorry this is going to be long and you dont have to respond to this if youre uncomfortable with it

okay so the law of assumption states that this is a universal law and that it applies to everyone regardless of feelings or circumstances correct? what all these blogs, coaches, master manifestors, master shifters deem to use LOA to shift to manifest etc etc

Then why is it that some of us who have been consistent with the law, im talking about months and months of consistency, years even, sure there may be a little crash out here or two (i mean genuinely can you blame us for that??? we're human and when we see another success story online when we have been persisting for as long as we have known the law or our desires, how can be not spiral and go "did we do something wrong?? are we the outliers? why is it that they can manifest and we can't? is it that we're not strong enough? is it that we didnt do enough? etc etc; you get my point) like personally, i did everything in my power that i could. i took two weeks of saturation sessions, 3 hours EVERY SINGLE DAY to affirm that i have shifted. when I still appear to be in my DR, i thought okay nevermind i'll try robotic affirming instead and i robotically affirmed my way for months on end, persisting, "living in the end", flipping all negative thoughts, telling myself no, i've shifted. i logged off tumblr, i logged off twitter, i stopped consuming manifestation content. i just continued to live in my CR assuming that its done and that im in my DR. but still, no shift. still in CR.

then there was a challenge or something i think a 50k affirmation challenge where you affirm for 50k times on your desires. success stories from anons were pouring in and i was like okay this is for sure going to work. and i did that. i set aside 3 days to do 50k. but then i was like why not go for 100k, that should really lock it in. and i.did.just.that. but funnily enough the law seems to be broken. or is it me?

i genuinely do not know why some people can "assume and persist" and get what they want straight away or like within days, while some of us while being consistent with our new story, seemed like the law broke and doesnt work for us. yeah i know some LOA bloggers are going to see this and go " WELL YEAH YOU JUST ASSUMED IT DIDNT WORK" but in all seriousness you do not know how hard we were consistent with our new story? the effort we took to change our thoughts? how hard we locked in? and you're telling me ONE SINGLE DOUBT or STATEMENT can ruin months end or years end of effort on the new story??? how does that make any sense? Like I understand we are not victims, I never said I was, but when we are candid about stuff like that, we are just told that we somehow cause this ourselves or that we are "victimising" ourselves when we are just tired and wonder why this feels like a chore more than it being effortless like the limitless being that we are?

sorry if this began to sound like a rant mid ask that wasnt my intention and im not shitting on LOA either i am just merely expressing my frustration and maybe your insight could help shed light on why this happens

I’m going to use an example from my own life. When I was younger—ages 13 to 16—I was deep, deep, deep in the subliminal community. I was consuming everything. Every creator, every subliminal out there, I was there. Dude I was in that community so long I remember when MindPower got exposed (idk if you know who MindPower is, that’s lore for another time lmao).

The point is, I stayed consistent for years. And it was always the same type of subliminals, even if I switched them around. The intention was always appearance changes—I wanted to look prettier, skinnier, like a bjd, all that. And I never saw results. Maybe my eyelashes grew a little, maybe I looked a tiny bit cuter, but it was never the results I actually wanted, no matter how consistent I was.

And it’s not that I doubted subliminals worked (I didn’t, and I still don’t. People get results with them all the time).

But I think the problem was, I was forcing myself to use them because I wanted them to work for me. I wanted the satisfaction of looking different and posting a success story on Amino. I wanted that so bad. But eventually, I got so tired of not seeing results, and I didn’t blame the subliminals—I blamed myself. So I just stopped using them altogether.

Then I turned to the Law of Assumption, manifestation, non-duality—a whole hodgepodge of things. And as soon as I started using the Law of Assumption (LOASS), everything started falling into place. Immediately. This was a couple years ago, not now, but back then I would script like crazy, affirm, rampage affirmations, assume, all of it, and stuff just worked because I was using it, and things were moving accordingly. I was manifesting.

But then, the weirdest thing happened over the years: the stuff that used to work for me, stopped working. Even assuming started to feel off, like it didn’t click with how my mind worked anymore. And this is around the time I got into shifting.

But I never doubted the Law of Assumption, and I still don’t. I used it to shift, so even if I’m not preaching it as hard as I was a few months ago, I still believe in it. It’s a valid law people practice and get results from.

Something I’ve said here before, and still stand by, is that the Law of Assumption isn’t one-size-fits-all. You mold the Law of Assumption to fit you—you don’t mold yourself to fit the Law of Assumption.

And if along the way it shifts into something else that isn’t quite the Law of Assumption but works for you, that’s okay. That’s what happened to me. My beliefs aren’t strictly LOASS anymore because they’ve evolved to fit me.

I think where a lot of people get stuck—and this is just my opinion—is that they keep trying to do something that doesn’t actually work for them, for years.

I know, I know, there’s the whole “you’re just assuming it doesn’t work for you,” but let’s be real: sometimes it just doesn’t click, doesn’t resonate, doesn’t feel good to do, doesn’t bring joy or satisfaction. But you keep forcing yourself because “everyone else has results, so I should too.” And in my opinion, it doesn’t work like that.

Because the assumption, or “observation” as I like to call it: “I’m already in my DR,” works just as well as “I’m shifting to my DR.” It works just as well.

I think manifestation and shifting are a process of elimination. You try something, and if it doesn’t work for you, you tweak it.

If it still doesn’t work, you move on to something else. You pull in facets of your personality, your likes, your dislikes, the way you operate—because you live with yourself every day, you know yourself—and you mold your own version of “rules” and “reality” that fit you.

And this might be a little controversial, idk, but people tend to follow where the majority goes.

Law of Attraction (LOA) isn’t as preached as it used to be, but it’s still practiced and valid. Then LOA got overshadowed when the LOASS blew up, and people started saying “LOA sucks, LOA never worked for me, LOA is trash, LOA didn’t get me my desires, LOA is just wishful thinking, LOA is a scam, LOA this, LOA that,” and people jumped ship to LOASS because “well, if it worked for them, it should work for me.”

But sometimes it shouldn’t, because what resonated with your awareness was LOA. And that’s okay.

You can’t just eliminate a law, a method, a technique, a framework, because all of it is the same thing. They’re all just different methods of redirecting your awareness to observe the reality you want until all other possibilities collapse into that one.

If someone thrives using the Law of Assumption, then use it. If someone thrives using the Law of Attraction, use it. If someone thrives using prayer and their religion, use it. If someone thrives using subliminals, use them.

And here’s how I view it: the moment you feel like you’ve tried everything, that nothing works and you’re just stuck, that’s when you need to step back and realize how weird it is that took action to get the thing, and don’t have it.

That’s why I keep saying: you can’t have the action, the intention, without the outcome.

The moment you did the action, the intention, you already had the outcome. So in my opinion, yeah, a lot of people are living in an illusion where they aren’t “master shifters” or “master manifesters” and think they don’t have their desires, when they do.

There’s this icontinuity illusion where they believe they don’t have what they spent years working towards, when they do.

If someone thrives with the Law of Assumption, loves using it, and it’s what resonates with them, but they’ve been trying for years with no results, it’s weird. It’s not that they failed, or that the LOASS doesn’t work. It’s that they’ve set so much intention over the years that they already have their desire, but they’re still looking for proof.

And the way LOASS is often taught in these spaces is that you can’t waver, can’t look for proof, can’t do this, can’t do that.

But in my opinion, you already have the proof: you took action, you held the intention, you soaked yourself in the assumption for years. That is proof that it’s yours. So now, naturally, as a consequence, you have it. You decided you have the thing, you have the thing. It’s as easy or as complicated as you make it.

You just have to break out of the illusion that you’re powerless or don’t have what you intended, because the proof is right there: you did the work, you set the intention, you made the assumption. So you have the thing. Naturally. You can’t do something and not have the outcome of it.

Idk if any of this makes sense to you, but this is just how I view it.

[bumblingest-bee]

anyone who saw dead outlaw off-broadway before april 2024 (or has audio of it): what the hell was the "oj is dead" line in the first reprise of dead before oj simpson died? because i know for a fact they put that line in within the month, which is hysterical in and of itself. if i can track down a pre-oj death recording of the show i will report back

[zooblesbutchpuppygirl]

diva you're 22 can't you just. make your own bank account

My mom told me it's not as easy as Just making one (unless she lied to me idk)

She said I'd need an ID (which I also don't have yet) and I think she said I'd need some documents??? Idk. She keeps saying she'll help me get it all together but then doesn't do it. It's Very frustrating but there's only so much I can do. If I can't get anyone to help me with it then it's probably not happening anytime soon :[

[orcelito]

Oh yeah so for my UX design class. Our final project is creating some sort of app that links to a wearable fitness device. Like a fitbit. And my group's doing a lil tamagotchi thing, whatever. It's kind of dumb but this class is kind of dumb anyways. I suck it up and do it regardless so that I can graduate.

Anyways so we actually only came up with this idea on Monday lol. Barely done any work on it. But the guy in our group got a fuck ton of interviews yesterday for it, and thank GOD he did bc GUESS WHAT!!! The "check-in" that we had today that was Supposed to be the TA walking around to talk to groups ended up beinggggg INFORMAL PRESENTATIONS!!!!!!!! And no one was fucking ready for it bc on Monday she'd asked for us to choose between presentations or individual discussions and we chose individual discussions. But I guess she decided to do presentations after all.

And well ok so I have a habit of being a little late to this class every day. It's a 3 hour studio and so long as u get there within 15 mins they're chill about it. And today was extra sucky cause I got RAINED ON like pretty hard. Cold ass rain. My jeans were soaked. And well that sucked pretty hard.

But I walked in to find that they were doing PRESENTATIONS and I was like Aw Fuck. And see the thing is, 2 of my groupmates in that class are always *very* late. Like half an hour to an hour late, if they even show up at all. So I couldn't count on them. And my remaining groupmate is the quiet type, so I couldn't count on her either.

So I was like. Aw, fuck. It's up to me.

Sat there in the 5 or 10 mins I had while other groups were presenting to review the interview results from yesterday (I hadn't even looked at them yet 😭😭😭) and then I fuckin gave an informal presentation on the fly about our project that we Totally didn't start working on only 2 days ago (lol). And the thing is. Somehow???? We had the most work done out of the class?????? Most of them hadn't even done interviews yet 😭😭😭😭 like this is due on the 2nd and next week is Thanksgiving break 😭😭😭😭 there is NOT much time left!!!!!!!

But yeah I was riding that high of carrying that presentation for us. I'm so Fucking good at bullshitting.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Just read your telling the LADS Men you're pregnant hcs and AAAA I loved it so muchhh. the boys r so silly. SOOO May I request LADS men when reader goes into labour when they're away? Sorry I just love chaos 🤭

The Baby is Coming!

Giving your lads man a call when you're going into labor while he's not with you. A/N: Hey nonnie I bet you thought I forgot about this request huh? I didn't sorry I took so long to finish it. Love you 🩵

Zayne

Calling Zaynes' office

Zayne: Dr. Zayne speaking Tara: It’s coming Zayne: What’s coming?

Fumbling noises from you snatching the phone from Tara

MC: Your big headed child Zayne my water just broke

Loud clattering noises on Zaynes' end

Zayne: I’m on my way home now MC: Tara is bringing me to the hospital just stay there Zayne: Right right … I'll report to labor and delivery MC: *groans in pain* Zayne: How bad is the pain MC: I’ll punch you in the nuts so you can experience it firsthand Zayne: I’ll let that one slide because I know it’s the contractions talking

Rafayel

MC: The twins are coming Rafayel: WHAT!? MC: YEA! Rafayel: They’re 3 weeks early MC: No shit sherlock *groans in pain* Rafayel: Tell them I said stop hurting mommy MC: Mommy is gonna curb stomp daddy if he isn’t here within the next 5 minutes Rafayel: Don’t worry your savior is on the way MC: You’re not funny hurry up Rafayel: Can’t you just cross your legs? MC: Nvm I’ll drive myself Rafayel: Okay okay I’m sorry I’m just freaking out MC: I have not one but two crotch goblins trying to rip me in half I need you to lock in or so help me God I will fry you up and serve you with a side of fries and extra tartar sauce you hear me? Rafayel: Yes ma’am

Xavier

Xavier: I have everything ready to read to your tummy tonight MC: You’ll be reading to our son instead Xavier: What do you mean? MC: My water broke while I was at Philos Xavier: Why are you there? MC: I was picking out the flowers I want in my hospital room *groans in pain* Xavier: I’m coming don't worry MC: You coming is what caused all of this but it's fine Jeremiah is driving me to the hospital now Xavier: ……does he drive better than me? MC: Xav please don’t piss me off right now……. Xavier: Right heading there now MC: Make sure you bring the baby bag Xavier: I have it ... unlike Jeremiah MC: NOT NOW!

Sylus

Sylus: I'm getting a distress call from Mephisto what's wrong? MC: The baby is coming Sylus: Is this another case of Braxton Hicks? MC: No its a case of amniotic fluid all over the damn kitchen floor Sylus: I'm on my way don’t move MC: *groaning in pain* I can barely do anything right now Sylus: Remember the breathing techniques MC: This is all your fault Sylus: I know Princess you can squeeze my hand as hard as you want MC: I’m gonna break it Sylus: Good luck with that MC: What did you just say? Sylus: I said I’m sure of that

Caleb

MC: Hey dumbass your big headed child is trying to tear me in two Caleb: Aww are they kicking too hard? MC: Caleb….. Caleb: Don’t tell me MC: Yes my water broke Caleb: Okay don’t worry I’m on my way stay on the phone with me MC: Gideon is already driving me to the hospital meet us there Caleb: ….. MC: You there? Caleb: Is he driving safe? MC: CALEB! Caleb: Right on my way! Uh real quick did you grab the baby bag? MC: Yes Caleb: Do you remember the breathing techniques? MC: Yes Caleb: Did you- MC: STOP WITH THE TWENTY ONE QUESTIONS BEFORE I HANG UP Caleb: Alright I'm done but just so you know you can scream at me all you want I don't mind MC: *Hangs up*

[sunbeamlessreads]

Let Him See - Oscar Piastri x Reader One-Shot

❝ He kisses you like he’s waited for permission. And that’s what makes you break. ❞

[oscar piastri x reader]

~8.2k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, emotional neglect, infidelity, porn with plot, smut, possessive behavior, complicated breakup dynamics

lando stopped seeing you. oscar never missed a thing. now the whole paddock knows.

notes: i tried writing in present tense for this, which really isn't in my ballpark. not sure if i loved it, but maybe i'll do more of it later on. i’m sorry i made lando out to be such a dick. i promise ill make up for it!! enjoy! <3

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The McLaren party is elegant in that vaguely overstated way team events always are—polished chrome fixtures, dim gold lighting, and drinks served in glasses that clink too delicately for the kind of tension simmering beneath the surface.

You walk in on Lando’s arm. A black strapless dress hugging you like it was tailored in vengeance. The ruffled ruching along the bottom cascades like spilled ink with every step you take. You planned everything—the heels, the bold red lipstick, the subtle shimmer in the inner corners of your eyes. All for him.

He barely glances down at you.

Lando says something to a passing engineer, nods at a sponsor, then slips out of your grasp as naturally as water slipping through your fingers. No one notices the slight shift in your balance when he lets go. But you do.

You’re left standing beside a bar you didn’t want to be near, surrounded by people who smile too brightly and ask questions you don’t want to answer.

You’re his girlfriend—the public face of a dying relationship neither of you have the courage to end. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. He’s across the room within minutes, grinning down at a woman in a red backless dress, hand resting low on her spine. It’s a familiar stance. You’ve seen it before. You’ve even been on the receiving end of it—back when he still bothered.

Your chest aches, but you don’t flinch. Not here. Not while people are watching.

Someone asks you if you want champagne. You decline with a polite smile, then excuse yourself—something about needing to take a call, voice breezy, unbothered.

You step out of the ballroom like you’re slipping out of a skin that doesn’t fit anymore.

The hallway is dim and mercifully empty. You exhale, back against the cool wall, and pull your phone out of your clutch—blank screen. No missed messages. No excuses to stay outside longer than you should.

You open WhatsApp. You type a few words. Delete them. Start again. Then stop. You let your head tip back until it rests against the cool wall, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

You wore this dress for him.

You practically starved yourself all day, got your makeup done by the same artist who preps you for photoshoots, shaved every inch of your body until your skin ached—and he didn’t even look at you.

A sharp sting pricks behind your eyes, but you blink it back. Your mascara is too good to waste on someone who hasn’t kissed you in public in weeks.

You shift your weight in your heels. They’re taller than you usually wear—he once said he liked when you looked just a little out of balance, like he had to catch you. He hasn’t caught you in a long time.

The hallway feels like limbo. You’re not sure if you want to scream or vanish. The silence settles over you like a second skin—until it breaks.

“Hey.”

You look up.

Oscar stands a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Brows knit with something like concern—or maybe anger, but not at you.

You straighten up instinctively, “Hey.”

His gaze flicks toward the ballroom, then back to you, “He didn’t even notice you left.”

Your voice catches before it comes out, “He never does.”

Oscar doesn’t speak. He just stays there, watching you like you’re not crazy for feeling the way you do.

For a few seconds, that’s enough.

You look away first. Not because you’re embarrassed—but because his eyes are too steady, too full of something that burns beneath the surface. Like if you look too long, you’ll start crying or say something you can’t take back.

Your gaze falls to the floor, to the veins in the marble tile, to the perfectly manicured hand holding your clutch like it’s the only thing holding you together.

Then, softly—like the truth finally scraping its way up your throat—you speak.

“He does this a lot,” you murmur, “Leaves me at these things. Flirts with whatever blonde he hasn’t slept with yet. Sometimes it’s just talking. Usually it’s not.”

You swallow. The bitterness coats your tongue.

“And I’m supposed to smile through it. Pretend I don’t care. Because we’re McLaren’s golden couple, right? I look good enough on his arm, and he looks better in the photos. Win-win.”

Oscar doesn’t interrupt. He stays where he is, still but attentive, like if he moves too fast you might break.

You don’t stop. It’s pouring out now.

“I tell myself it’s fine. That I knew what I was signing up for. That it’s just how he is. But then I see the way he touches them—like they’re interesting. Like they matter.”

Your voice drops, quiet and sharp:

“He hasn’t looked at me like that in a long time.”

The silence after that is loud. Heavy.

You take a shaky breath and force out a dry laugh. “God. I sound pathetic.”

“No,” Oscar says immediately, “You sound hurt.”

You blink. His voice is too honest. Too kind.

It cracks something wide open.

“Of course I’m hurt,” you whisper, “I feel disposable. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s why I don’t leave. Maybe I’m scared if I do, no one else will want me.”

Oscar moves then.

Just a step. Slow. Controlled. Like he’s grounding himself.

“That’s not true,” he says, sincerity and care laced in his voice. 

You lift your eyes to his. His tone doesn't match how furious he looks. Not at you—never at you—but at everything you just said. At every bruise Lando left behind that didn’t show up on your skin.

“I’m tired of watching him hurt you,” he says, voice like steel wrapped in silk.

The breath catches in your throat. You didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect him to say it. Not so simply. Not so seriously.

You fold your arms across your chest, trying to find a shield in sarcasm. It’s the only armor you have left.

“What, you want to make him jealous or something?” A laugh, light and mocking. A shrug, “Go ahead.”

You don’t mean it. It’s a deflection, a defense. Something to push him back before he gets too close to the bleeding parts.

But Oscar doesn’t laugh.

He steps in.

Close.

Too close.

You feel his hand brush the side of your face, gentle fingers slipping behind your ear. He pauses—waits for you to stop him—and when you don’t, he tilts your chin just enough.

And then he kisses you.

Your body locks. Every muscle goes taut.

Your lips are frozen against his, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

But his mouth is soft. Steady. Patient.

He kisses you like he’s waited for permission.

And that’s what makes you break.

You melt.

Fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt, you kiss him back. Rough. Desperate. Furious with yourself for how good it feels. For how long you’ve wanted this, buried it, pushed it down under years of Lando’s carelessness.

Oscar groans when your hips tip into his.

The kiss deepens. His hands grip your waist—hard, grounding. Yours slide up his chest, grabbing fistfuls of cotton like you need to hold on or you’ll collapse.

You hit the wall with a soft thud. He doesn’t stop. You don’t want him to. One of his hands finds your bare thigh where your dress has shifted, the other cradling your jaw.

He kisses you like he needs to prove something. Like he’s making up for every second Lando didn’t touch you.

You moan into his mouth—too soft, too shocked at yourself.

He pulls back just enough to breathe against your lips.

You’re both breathing heavily; you more than him.

Your lipstick’s ruined. His pupils are blown. His chest is rising and falling like he’s just come off a cooldown lap.

Then—voice low, rough, shaking with restraint—he says,

“Room 321. If you mean it.”

And he steps back. Hands still curled like he wants to reach for you again.

But he doesn’t.

He leaves you standing there in a dim hotel hallway, breathless, shaking, lips tingling, with your heart slamming against your ribs and your mind screaming that something just changed forever.

Room 321.

You stare at the number plaque for a moment.

You knock once, and the door opens like he was already standing behind it—waiting.

Oscar stands in the soft glow of the hotel room, still in his suit pants, white shirt rumpled with the top two buttons undone. His jacket’s folded neatly over the back of a chair. His hair’s a little mussed like he’s been running his hands through it since he left you.

His eyes land on your lips first. Then your throat.

Your lipstick is smudged from the hallway kiss. You didn’t fix it. You didn’t want to.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there. Chest rising slowly. Eyes locked on yours. There’s something sharp in his silence—not anger, not regret. Restraint.

You step into the room slowly. The door closes behind you with a dull thud that feels heavier than it should.

He still doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

The tension crackles between you like a tripwire no one wants to step on first.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says quietly, eyes dark.

Your chest lifts, lips parted slightly as you look at him across the room, “Then tell me to leave.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he takes a slow step forward.

You mirror him.

Another step. Closer. Breath catching.

Until there’s no more distance between you.

He reaches out—hesitantly—fingers brushing your chin, then trailing along the line of your smudged lipstick.

“You look like you’ve already been kissed,” he says. 

You breathe, “You did that.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I did.”

That’s when the tension snaps.

The second his mouth meets yours again, everything else dissolves.

It’s rougher this time. Starved. Less like a kiss and more like a confession torn from his chest. His hands cradle your jaw, fingers pressing just beneath your ears like he’s grounding himself in the feel of you. Your arms loop around his neck instantly, your body melting into his like it always belonged there.

His tongue slips past your lips, hot and slow, as your backs bump blindly into the desk behind you. A McLaren cap falls to the floor unnoticed. You gasp softly into the kiss, and he groans into your mouth like it’s killing him not to take more.

His hands slide down your arms, then to your waist, where he grips you tightly—not to push, not to rush. Just to hold. Just to feel.

You don’t pull away when he reaches behind you and finds the zipper of your dress. It comes down slowly, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet of the room. His knuckles brush your spine as he guides the fabric off your shoulders.

You’re still kissing when it falls to your ankles.

Still kissing when you push his shirt off, fingers slipping under the undone buttons, palms brushing warm skin. He shrugs it down his arms and lets it fall with a soft rustle to the carpet. His pants follow soon after, as you blindly undo his belt and unbutton them. 

His hands don’t leave your body. Not once.

You walk backward together, mouths fused, breath short, until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you.

Then he bends slightly and lifts you—carefully, like you might shatter in his arms—and lays you down on the sheets as if it’s an offering.

Your hair fans out against the pillows. Your chest rises and falls quickly. Oscar stands over you for a second, chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes moving across every inch of your skin.

Then he climbs onto the bed and kneels between your thighs.

You watch him watch you, lips parted, body burning.

He leans in and kisses your neck—softly at first.

Then lower.

And lower.

Down the column of your throat, over the swell of your chest. He shifts the fabric of your bra aside, reaching beneath you and removing it gently, with trembling fingers, and kisses the curve of your breast, then bites gently.

You gasp, fingers grasping at the sheets.

He sucks gently—and when he pulls back, there’s a blooming red mark just beneath your collarbone.

Then another. Between your breasts.

Then one lower, over the swell of your ribcage.

He takes his time. His mouth moves down, and you lose count of how many places he claims with his lips and teeth.

You squirm as he shifts, adjusting on his knees to reach lower, pushing the edge of your panties aside so he can press another kiss just above your hipbone—then right at the inner curve of your thigh.

He sucks there, too. A long, slow draw that makes your fingers fist the sheets.

“Oscar—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice husky, “Let me leave them.”

Another bite. Another mark, just shy of the place where you’re already aching for him.

“I want him to see every single one of these.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

You’ve never been kissed like this—not for show, not for ownership, but for the sheer need to leave a piece of himself behind on your skin.

By the time his mouth trails back up your thighs, your panties are damp with heat and your breathing’s gone shaky.

Oscar leans up, one hand bracing beside your waist. His other hand finds the waistband of your panties and begins to ease them down—slowly. Carefully. Like unwrapping something delicate.

He watches your face the entire time.

They slide down your legs with ease, and he tosses them aside.

You’re bare for him now—fully, completely—and you’ve never felt so seen.

He kisses your knee. Then the inside of your thigh again. Then finally, finally, his mouth hovers over where you need him most.

You’re already soaked. He groans when he sees it.

“Fuck. Look at you. I’ve thought about this,” he says softly, eyes fixed on where you’re already wet for him. “So many times.”

You can’t answer. You can barely think.

His hands spread you open gently—reverently—and then his mouth is on you.

Warm. Wet. Soft.

The first stroke of his tongue is unhurried, a slow drag from bottom to top that makes your spine arch off the mattress. You gasp, hips twitching, but his grip is firm on your thighs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against you.

He licks again—long and deliberate—then presses soft kisses to your clit, switching between his tongue and his lips like he’s tasting something he wants to savor.

You moan—high and broken—and he groans back like he feels it.

His hands hold your thighs open, thumbs stroking slow circles into your skin. You’re writhing now, overwhelmed, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your belly with every passing second.

Your fingers claw at the sheets. You feel it coming, your body locking up—

Until he pulls back.

Your hips lift off the bed, chasing the loss, but his hands still you.

He leans in, kisses the inside of your thigh again—slow and deep—a soft, open-mouthed press that lingers just long enough to leave another blooming bruise.

Then he hovers over you, mouth wet, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re close,” he murmurs, “I can feel it. You’re shaking.”

You nod, lips parted, breath stuttering.

His hands slide up your thighs, grounding you—but instead of returning to where you’re desperate for him, he pulls back more.

“Don’t come yet.”

Your brows draw together, lips twitching in protest, “What—why—?”

Oscar leans in again, hand wrapping around your thigh to hold you open as he presses a kiss just above your aching heat. 

His voice is low, but firm, “Because I want to be inside you when you fall apart.”

The authority in his tone makes you clench around nothing. You whimper as he sits back on his heels, rubbing his palms over your thighs in soothing strokes.

“Please…” you whisper.

His mouth tilts into the faintest smirk—not smug. Hungry.

Then he crawls back up your body, leaving another trail of slow kisses across the bruises he’s left down your chest.

“You don’t come without me tonight,” he says quietly against your skin. “You understand?”

You nod, barely breathing.

“Say it,” his tone is demanding, but not impatient.

“I—I won’t come until you’re inside me,” you surrender. 

He moves back up to kiss you—soft at first, then deeper, longer—as he reaches over to the nightstand. You hear the foil tear, the familiar sound grounding the moment in something real. His body shifts against yours as he sits back briefly to roll the condom on, his breath catching as his hand moves.

Then he’s back above you—one forearm braced beside your head, the other hand sliding down to guide himself to your entrance. His cock brushes against you, hot and thick and so ready.

But still, he pauses.

“Are you sure? You won’t regret this later?” he asks, voice quieter now. Not demanding. Not coaxing. Just open.

You reach up, cup his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek.

“Yes. I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

Oscar exhales—one soft, shuddering breath—and presses his forehead to yours for a moment, like he’s soaking those words in.

He sinks into you slowly—not teasing, just careful, controlled, like he’s doing something sacred. His hips press forward inch by inch, stretching you open, filling you fully until your thighs tremble against his sides.

You gasp, clutching his biceps, head tipping back into the pillows, “Oscar…”

“I know,” he breathes. “Fuck, I know. You feel—”

He cuts himself off with a groan, jaw tightening as he bottoms out, “So fucking tight. Like you were made for me.”

He stills inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you shaking with the effort of not losing it too soon. He brushes your hair away from your face with the gentlest touch, his palm cupping your cheek like he’s afraid you might break if he lets go.

“You okay?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, “Move. Please.”

So he does.

The first thrust is slow and deep, rolling through your whole body. His hips pull back and push forward in a smooth rhythm that feels like worship. Each time he fills you, you feel more of yourself unravel, like he’s stripping you bare with every stroke.

He kisses you through it—long, lingering kisses against your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

You breathe it against his lips, broken and honest:

“I’m yours.”

He groans, burying himself deeper.

His pace stays steady, grounding—not brutal, not rushed, but deliberate. Like he wants to make this last. Like he needs you to feel it for hours after.

His hand slides down your side to grip your thigh, pulling your leg up around his waist to angle you just right—and when he thrusts again, you choke on a moan.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod frantically, eyes wide and wet.

“Yeah, baby. That’s it,” He stumbles through his words, deep within his own pleasure, “You take me so well.”

You cling to him like he’s the only real thing in the world, his name slipping from your lips between soft gasps, your body clenching around him, slick and pulsing and completely his.

When your orgasm hits, it’s not sharp—it’s deep. A wave that rolls through you, full-body and consuming. You cry out, and he swallows the sound in a kiss, fucking you through it with soft praise and steady hands.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. I’ve got you.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until he kisses the corner of your eye.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, “You’re safe.”

He comes only seconds later, thrusts stuttering, mouth falling open against your neck. You feel him groan into your skin as he grips your thigh and spills into the condom, his whole body shaking with the effort.

And when it’s over, he doesn’t pull away.

He just collapses into you—gently—his chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapping around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his hold.

You lie there tangled in each other, your fingers brushing through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, your thighs still parted around his hips.

Neither of you speaks.

You don’t have to.

You’re both suspended in that quiet stillness—the kind that only comes after something real, something that changes the shape of you.

After a long moment, he shifts slightly, careful not to crush you. His hand strokes your thigh where it’s still curled around his waist. He places a soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your jaw. Then he pulls out gently, drawing a small whimper from your throat.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, brushing his hand down your hip, “You okay?”

You nod. Your voice is still trapped somewhere in your chest, so you let your hand answer for you, fingers curling around his bicep. He disposes of the condom quickly, then returns to the bed without hesitation, lying beside you and immediately pulling you into his arms.

He doesn’t ask if it was good.

He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he cradles you, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other brushing soft fingers through your hair.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Just… a lot.”

You feel his smile against your forehead. His hand slides up and down your back, slow and steady, grounding.

“Hey,” he says gently after a pause. “You don’t… regret this, do you?”

You shift slightly to look at him. His eyes are wide, open, vulnerable—stripped of all the heat and control from earlier. He’s just Oscar now. Soft-spoken and careful with your heart.

You shake your head slowly, “No. I don’t.”

His shoulders relax.

“Okay,” he says, “Good. I just—I need you to know…”

He hesitates, thumb brushing your side, “This doesn’t have to mean anything. If it was just about him—if it was just something you needed to do — that’s okay.”

You blink. His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of sadness tucked into it. Like he means what he’s saying, but part of him hopes it isn’t just that.

You slide your hand up his chest, over the steady beat of his heart, “It wasn’t just about him.”

His brows lift slightly. You lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t mean anything.”

Oscar exhales—slow and shaky—and you see the tension leave his body like someone just untied a knot that’s been there for months.

He pulls you in tighter. You tuck your head beneath his chin, leg slipping between his, arms around his torso, his scent already warm on your skin.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “Stay?”

You nod against his chest, “I want to.”

You fall asleep like that—in his arms, his fingers tangled in your hair, your body marked with proof of what happened.

Not revenge.

Not just sex.

Something.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

Oscar’s chest beneath your cheek. His arm still slung around your waist. The faint hum of city life beyond the hotel windows. You blink slowly into the early light, your lashes brushing the skin of his collarbone.

He’s already awake.

You can feel it in the way his fingers trace lazy, absentminded shapes along your back. He’s not in a rush. Not trying to move you. Just… there, soaking the moment in.

You shift slightly, stretch, and wince a little—your thighs ache, in the best way. Oscar immediately pauses.

“Sore?” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

“A little,’ you respond quietly.

He kisses your forehead, “Good sore or… need-an-ice-pack sore?”

You snort, hiding your smile in his chest, “Good sore.”

He hums, content. His hand returns to your back. You both stay still for a few more seconds—not talking, not overthinking—just breathing together.

Then, softly, “You don’t have to sneak out,” he says, “You can walk out like you belong here.”

You glance up at him, “I kind of do belong now… don’t I?”

His lips lift into a tired smile, “Yeah. You do.”

You press a soft kiss to his jaw before finally sitting up, the sheets slipping down your body, baring the constellation of love bites he left down your chest. His eyes flick to them, and his smile shifts—pride, possession, a little satisfaction.

“He’s gonna see those,” he says.

“Good,” you echo, voice quiet but sharp.

You find your underwear, pull on your clothes from the night before — everything still wrinkled from the floor. You go to the mirror, fix your hair just enough, and borrow his hoodie. He watches you do it all in silence.

Before you leave, he stands, cups your face in both hands, and kisses you slow. Sweet.

“See you down there?”

You nod, “Yeah. I’ll be around.”

You open the door.

Step out.

And you’re not five steps down the hall before you hear the elevator ding.

You hear the sound of footsteps before you register anything else—then the shift in atmosphere. Heavy. Cold. Unwelcoming/

You turn.

Lando steps into the hallway off of the elevator, coffee in hand, hoodie tied low around his hips, damp curls falling over his forehead like he just stepped out of the shower.

He doesn’t speak right away.

He just stops—eyes locked on you—and stares.

At the heels.

At the wrinkled black dress from last night.

At the hoodie hanging off your shoulders—Oscar’s '81' hoodie.

Then his gaze lands on your neck.

The bruises.

The silence stretches, thick and venomous.

“Wow,” he mutters, taking a slow sip of his coffee, “Didn’t think you’d stoop that low.”

You raise an eyebrow, heartbeat steady, “Funny. I was thinking the same about you for the last six months.”

His eyes flicker—a flash of guilt, gone in an instant.

“So what, then?” he snaps. “You fuck my teammate to even the score?”

You shrug one shoulder, “I didn’t realize we were still keeping score.”

“You really let him leave those on you?” His voice cuts sharper now, bitter, “Is that what you’re doing now? Walking around marked up like a fucking trophy?”

“He didn’t do it to prove a point,’ You step closer, just enough, “He did it because he wanted to touch me. Because he actually looked at me.”

Lando’s jaw clenches,

"You’re still mine.”

That’s when you laugh—not cruel, but quiet. Final.

“No, Lando. I was never yours,” you say with a confidence you didn’t know you possessed, “I just played the part.”

His lips part like he wants to fire back, but no words come.

You walk past him without another glance, heels echoing softly against the hotel carpet. His coffee hand twitches like he wants to stop you—to say something that could undo what he just saw.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

The bruises on your neck do all the talking.

The tension hits before you even step onto the concrete.

You’d heard whispers all morning—something about a joint media pen meltdown, Lando snapping mid-question, storming off, Oscar handling it with trademark calm. Nobody quite knows why. No one’s saying anything aloud. But everyone feels the shift.

Especially in the McLaren garage.

The energy is tight. Controlled. Like an engine revving just a little too high.

You move through it like a blade through silk.

Sunglasses on, McLaren pass hanging low on your chest. Hair neatly pulled back, hoodie zipped halfway. You tried to cover the hickeys— light foundation along your collarbone, you hadn't expected to need color corrector on this trip—but Monaco’s heat is unforgiving. The bruises are starting to bleed through the coverage, soft and red and obvious.

You don’t adjust your zipper.

Let them wonder.

As you step through the divider into the team area, a few heads turn. You're familiar enough to them. People don’t stare—not directly—but eyes flick. Conversations pause. It’s subtle, but you’re used to it by now.

Oscar’s standing just to the side of the media tent, debrief notes in one hand. He looks up the second you appear—and though his expression doesn’t change much, you catch the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth. Just for you.

He doesn’t come to you.

You don’t go to him.

Not yet.

You pass close enough that your arm brushes his, and the heat between you sizzles like something private. He doesn’t look, doesn’t touch.

But he says, quiet enough for only you to hear, “He cracked.”

You smile faintly, “I heard.”

“They asked about quali, he said something about ‘teammates knowing their place.’”

You raise a brow, amused, “Classy.”

“Zak pulled him out. Press has no idea what the fuck he meant,” Oscar says, with a hint of boyish triumph laced in his voice. 

“But you do.”

He doesn’t answer that—just smiles again, a little wider this time.

You walk past him and take your place in the viewing area beside one of the engineers. From across the garage, you feel Lando’s eyes land on you. Just a flicker.

Just long enough.

He sees the bruise peeking above the collar of your hoodie. The faint outline of teeth just beneath your jaw.

He looks away.

You don’t need to say a word.

Oscar already said it for you—with his mouth on your skin, with his name on your lips, with every mark he left behind.

Qualifying starts, and Monaco doesn’t give anyone room to hide — not on track, and definitely not off it.

From the team pit wall, you watch it unfold through tinted lenses, headset perched loosely around your neck.

Oscar’s smooth. Fast. Calm through Sector 1, surgical through the hairpin. Lando’s twitchier. Overcorrecting. Radio sharp. He goes wide into Turn 12 and mutters something that gets bleeped on the live feed.

The garage knows.

Everyone knows.

Even the engineers are glancing at each other between data runs. The tension hasn’t lifted—it’s just gone quieter. Deeper.

Zak walks past you once, then again, and doesn’t say anything.

You don’t move.

Oscar finishes P3. Lando P7.

When Oscar’s lap time flashes on the board, there’s a flicker of something like satisfaction in the way he lifts his visor. He doesn’t celebrate. Doesn’t gloat. Just pulls back into the garage like he’s done his job—and knows you were watching.

You head toward the back hallway after the session ends. Quiet space behind hospitality, where the drivers come through before facing the press.

You’re leaning against a wall when you hear the voices before you see them.

Lando’s.

“Why don’t you tell them what you were really thinking on that last lap?”

Oscar’s.

“Excuse me?”

Lando’s.

“You wanted to beat me. You needed to. Don’t act like this was just another quali for you.”

Oscar’s voice is quieter, cooler, “Every quali, I want to beat the guy next to me. That’s the point.”

Lando laughs, sharp and joyless, “You think you’ve won something, don’t you? Some prize of a woman?”

You step into view.

They both go quiet.

Oscar’s eyes flick to you first—not surprised, not smug. Just aware. Present.

Lando sees the faint hickey blooming again, the one the foundation couldn’t fully hide, and his jaw ticks. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to.

You tilt your head, “Everything alright?”

Oscar looks at Lando for half a second longer, then turns to you.

“Yeah,” he says, calm and even. “We were just clearing the air.”

This earns him a glare from Lando. 

You smile at Oscar, brush your hand lightly along his arm as you pass.

Lando stays frozen.

It’s dark when you find Oscar again—rooftop level, away from the noise. He’s leaning on the railing in his McLaren hoodie, watching the city lights flicker over the water.

You slip in beside him.

He doesn’t look away from the skyline.

“He’s pissed,” Oscar says.

“He’ll stay pissed,” you admit quietly.

“He’s not just mad about it being me,” a beat, “He’s mad because he never thought you would leave him.”

You nod, fingers grazing the edge of the railing, “He never thought I’d let anyone else touch me.”

Oscar turns to you then. The tension’s gone now, burned out somewhere between the lap and the hallway. He notices you shivering and removes his hoodie, handing it to you without a word.

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” you respond, more assurance in your voice than the last time he asked. You turn fully toward him, “Do you?”

He just looks at you—steady, thoughtful, something softer than anything he’s shown all day.

Then he shrugs one shoulder and smiles faintly, “Not even a little.”

You lean in.

Kiss him.

The kiss is soft—nothing like the one in the hallway, or the ones from last night, hot and breathless with desperation. This one is calm. Confident.

Yours.

Oscar’s hands rest lightly on your waist, the cool night breeze lifting strands of your hair between you. Monaco glitters below, impossibly golden. You kiss him once. Then again. Slow. Unrushed. Like no one’s watching.

Except someone is.

You don’t notice it at first—the small mechanical click behind you. Subtle. A shutter. A camera lens adjusting to the low light.

By the time you pull back, it’s already done.

Oscar’s head lifts just slightly, eyes narrowing toward a corner of the rooftop—barely visible through a line of glass. Not press-official. Paparazzi freelance. The ones who sell exclusives when the media team’s off-duty.

“Shit,” Oscar mutters under his breath.

You turn, eyes locking on the shadowed figure just as they duck behind cover.

Too late.

“Think they got it?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Oscar nods slowly, expression unreadable, “Yeah. They got it.”

You exhale—not panicked. Just… bracing.

Because the image will drop. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. You in his arms, mouth on his, Oscar’s hoodie on your shoulders, his fingers curled around your waist like he’s holding something that matters.

It’s not a rumor anymore.

It’s not a whisper in the paddock hallway or a locker room assumption or something Lando only suspects.

It’s proof.

The photo drops sometime after 2 a.m.

It’s soft. Intimate. The Monaco skyline blurred behind you, Oscar’s hands gentle on your hips, your lips brushing his in a kiss too tender to be casual. You’re wearing his hoodie, your body leaning into his like you belong there. The headline spins fast, and the image spins faster.

“Piastri and mystery girl— late-night kiss confirms more than paddock rumors.” #MonacoGP #OP81 #McLaren #F1WeekendRomance

By the time the sun rises over the harbor, the image has circled the globe. Instagram reels. Reddit threads. Private group chats with McLaren team tags. 

Some know who you are. Others ask. Everyone guesses.

No one’s surprised.

Not even Lando.

He sees it around 6 a.m. His phone buzzes with the notification, a WhatsApp ping from someone in media: “Bro…?”

He clicks it, thumb slow, still groggy from a half-slept night.

The image fills his screen in just about a second flat.

And for a second, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

Then it hits—slow and thick, like cold water spreading under his ribs. He stares at the photo, eyes scanning over the curve of your smile, the way your fingers curl into the back of Oscar’s shirt, the undeniable ease in your body.

You look happy.

He hasn't seen that look on you in months.

The worst part is how quiet the fury is—how it doesn’t come out loud, how it just sits there in his chest.

He doesn’t throw the phone.

He just stares, jaw tight, thumb hovering above the screen like he could rewind the moment and undo it.

But it’s already out.

And nothing will unsee it.

The paddock is different that morning. The kind of quiet that’s not actually quiet—just loaded.

Oscar walks in calm. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t shrink. He gives one quick nod to Zak, another to the comms lead. Then walks into the garage like he hasn’t just become the most searched man in F1.

Lando’s already in the back, zipped into his fireproofs, eyes locked on the telemetry like it might give him something to hit. When Oscar appears beside him in the media pen, the tension is immediate—even before the interviews start.

“Oscar,” one reporter says, half-laughing, “you’ve been trending all morning. Surprised by the attention?”

Oscar’s lips tug into a polite half-smile, “Not particularly.”

“Balancing a fast lap and a fast… personal life?” someone else jokes.

He doesn’t miss a beat, “One lap at a time.”

Lando laughs then—too sharp, too loud, “He’s got more than enough time to focus on everything else, clearly.”

The PR handler stiffens. The reporters go quiet. One camera clicks. Someone tries to move the topic on, but the moment lands.

Oscar doesn’t react. Just folds his arms across his chest, gives a small smile, and looks straight ahead.

You hear about it an hour later.

And when you enter the garage, it’s like parting smoke. The space tenses. Heads turn. No one quite meets your eyes, except for Lando —a glance, sharp and quick, from across the space.

He looks away.

Oscar doesn’t.

You find him standing near the screens, headset tucked around his neck, one hand in his pocket. He sees you and offers the smallest, softest smile.

You pass close. Don’t touch. Don’t stop.

But your fingers graze his as you go.

He breathes like it’s the first time all day he’s been allowed to.

Later, after the final briefings wrap, you find him alone behind the paddock—tucked into a quiet service alley, the marina glittering beyond the concrete walls.

He doesn’t hear you approach. Just stands with his back to you, hands braced on the railing, still in his gear. His shoulders rise and fall in slow rhythm.

You stop beside him.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, “So,” you murmur, “that’s one way to go public.”

He huffs a laugh. “Guess we don’t get to control the timing.”

You glance sideways at him. “Regret it yet?”

He finally looks at you — eyes soft, voice quieter than it was all day, “Not even a little.”

You nod slowly, “Me either.”

He exhales, like that’s what he was waiting for.

“It’s going to be loud,” He warns

“I know.”

“He’s not going to take it quietly,” Oscar adds. 

“He’s not my responsibility anymore.”

Oscar studies your face — the calm in your expression, the steadiness in your voice — then lifts a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing gently beneath your cheekbone.

“If it gets messy—” Oscar starts. 

“We’ll deal with it,” you reassure him with a confidence foreign to you. 

He nods once.

"Good luck out there."

The Monaco sun glints harshly off the harbor, but the air inside the McLaren garage is colder than it should be. Everyone’s already seen the photo. The photographers couldn’t have asked for a cleaner shot.

No one says a word about it — not to your face. But there’s something in the silence. The way engineers glance between Lando and Oscar before looking away. The way a strategist clears his throat before relaying sector data like he’s afraid it might ignite something.

You stay quiet. Poised. Present in the garage like you’ve always been. Just another figure with a headset and a McLaren pass. Except now, yesterday's bruises aren’t just hickeys—they’re headlines.

Oscar’s composed during formation laps, fully in the zone. Lando, on the other hand, can’t seem to keep still. His fingers twitch on the wheel. His visor drops early. And when he lines up behind Oscar on the grid, his car nose to the back of the #81, the message is clear:

He’s not racing for position.

He’s racing him.

The lights go out at the start, and the tension snaps taut.

Oscar gets off the line clean. Fast. Aggressive, but composed—the kind of driver who cuts through chaos like he’s above it. He settles into P3 behind Leclerc and Max, calm radio calls rolling through your headset.

“Tyres feel stable. Brakes coming up nicely.” His tone is smooth. Professional. Locked in.

“Copy that, Oscar. You’re looking good. Just manage the gap.”

Lando, meanwhile, is chewing through the field from P7, but he’s not driving—he’s fighting. And it shows. He’s too heavy into the Nouvelle Chicane. Nearly clips the barrier at Mirabeau. Gets squeezed by Hamilton going into the tunnel and screams down the radio like it’s personal.

“Is anyone actually gonna call shit today, or should I just punt him off the fucking track?”

“Lando, stay focused.”

“Oh, now you want focus. Should’ve told golden boy to stay out of my way in quali.”

Twenty laps in, Oscar’s holding steady in third with tire wear perfectly balanced. Lando’s muscling his way up to P5, then P4 after a gutsy dive into Sainte Devote. It’s impressive. Chaotic. Pure Lando.

“Tell him if he’s going to block me, he better commit to it. This half-ass defending doesn’t help anyone.”

The pit wall tries to smooth it over.

“Copy, Lando. Maintain focus. Oscar’s running clean.”

There’s a beat of static. Then Lando again.

“If he wants to play team leader, he better drive like it.”

In Oscar’s car, there’s only quiet. Steady updates. Clean cornering. No rise. No reaction.

Just sector after sector of control.

But it’s Oscar who makes it look effortless.

Final laps tick down. Lando’s close—closer than he’s been all weekend—but not enough.

You watch the checkered flag fall from the garage viewing area, headset still clutched in one hand, heart thudding in your chest. Oscar crosses the line second—a solid, beautiful finish. No mistakes. No drama.

Lando follows in fourth.

The crowd roars. The team celebrates.

But inside the garage, the energy is split.

Half the crew glances toward the monitors. The other half glances toward you.

No one says anything.

But the silence speaks volumes.

The garage claps for Oscar’s podium. It’s not dramatic. No confetti. But the applause is sincere. You stay tucked to the side as he peels off his gloves and helmet, curls damp and jaw clenched with adrenaline.

He doesn’t look for you.

He knows you’re there.

The podium happens in a flash champagne, interviews, cameras. Oscar is graceful. Deflecting the kiss photo with a shrug:

”I try to keep focus on track. Everything else…” He shrugs. “That’s not what wins points. I let the track speak louder than the tabloids.”

Clean. Cool. Unbothered.

Lando’s post-race media scrum doesn’t go as smoothly.

His smile is too tight. His answers too short.

“Happy with your pace today?”

“No.”

“Anything you’d like to say about team dynamics?”

“I think a few people need to remember who they were before the cameras showed up.”

You’re not sure if it’s coincidence or fate. Lando's leaning against the wall near the back of the hospitality area, arms crossed over his chest, fire suit still half-zipped, sweat drying on his neck. The air between you tightens instantly.

He sees you before you speak.

“So that’s it?” he says, voice low, mocking, “You get your moment? Photo hits the press and suddenly you’re Piastri’s girl now?”

You keep your voice even. “It’s not about the photo.”

“No?” His eyebrows lift, “Looked like it. Looked like perfect timing, actually. Right before race day. You really going for the full storybook arc, huh?”

You cross your arms, matching his stance, “You think I planned that? You think I wanted to be caught?”

He snorts. “Certainly didn't stop.”

You step closer.

“You didn’t stop sleeping around. You didn’t stop ignoring me. You didn’t stop until I was already gone.”

His mouth twitches—not a smile. Something bitter.

“And you think Oscar’s different?”

“I know he is.”

He studies you then. Really looks. Like he’s trying to find the part of you that still belongs to him. The part he can poke and prod and control like he used to.

But it’s not there.

His breath stutters. He looks away—jaw tight, hands clenched.

There’s movement behind you.

Lando glances past your shoulder—posture tensing.

Oscar stands just beyond the corner. Silent. Watching.

But he doesn’t step in.

He meets your eyes—not Lando’s—and with one subtle nod, he turns to go.

Because he trusts you to handle this.

Because you needed to take this one yourself.

You find Oscar later by the hospitality coffee station, half-dressed down from his suit, fingers curled around a water bottle, his race boots unlaced. The crowds have thinned. The crew’s winding down. But he’s still here—waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“You saw?”

“I heard,” he says. “Then I saw.”

He studies you.

“You handled him.”

You nod, then smile faintly. “So did you.”

Oscar lifts his water bottle and takes a sip.

You step closer. Not rushed. Just enough.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“For what?”

“Not stepping in.”

“Didn’t need to,” he replies, “I knew you could handle him.”

You lean into his side, your hand resting on his chest. His arm slips around your back like it’s instinct.

There are still cameras around.

Still whispers.

Still fallout coming.

But for now, it’s just the two of you.

Still standing.

FROM PADDOCK DARLING TO PIASTRI’S MYSTERY GIRL: MONACO GP’S MOST TALKED-ABOUT WOMAN

Well, well, well. Things are heating up in more ways than one at McLaren—and this time, it’s not just on track.

In case you missed it (though how could you?), Oscar Piastri made headlines this weekend for more than just his flawless P2 finish in Monaco. The 23-year-old Aussie was spotted sharing a kiss with a woman who—until recently—had been very publicly linked to his teammate, Lando Norris.

Yes. You read that right.

The viral photo, snapped late Saturday night on a rooftop terrace above the Monaco paddock, shows Piastri in what can only be described as a very cozy moment with a mystery girl who fans quickly identified as Lando’s longtime (but reportedly estranged) girlfriend.

Wearing his hoodie. With his hands around her waist. And what appear to be love bites peeking out from beneath her collar.

(We zoomed in. Don’t act like you didn’t.)

The woman once seen at every race on Lando Norris’ arm is no longer just a grid-side accessory—she’s made it very clear whose garage she’s in now. And it’s not Norris’.

Neither Oscar nor the woman in question have made an official statement, but the body language has said plenty. The pair has been spotted multiple times, hand-in-hand, unabashed.

While reps for McLaren offered no official comment on the photo, the tension in the garage during Saturday qualifying spoke volumes. Sources inside the paddock describe Norris as “visibly short-tempered,” with one engineer claiming he was “racing like he had something to prove.” As for Piastri? Calm, composed—and, if we may, focused.

He brought home P2.

Norris? P4—and reportedly less than thrilled.

Let’s not forget: this isn’t the first time Lando’s off-track antics have made waves—rumors of infidelity have followed the Brit through the past few seasons, though they were often brushed aside by his ever-loyal girlfriend. Until now.

While nothing has been confirmed (yet), it would certainly appear that she’s Oscar’s now.

Whether this unexpected romance will fuel drama or just give Oscar a boost on track remains to be seen, but one thing’s for sure: we’ll be watching.

Very closely.

Stay tuned. The summer break’s never felt so far away.

© Copyright, 2025.

[makiette]

☆ the look of love

• satoru gojo 𝓈𝓊𝓂. he won't look away from your eyes and you think there might be something wrong with him. wc. 630

it was really subtle at first.

satoru could hold anyone's gaze if he so much as looked in their direction, the crystal blue irises capturing any passersby attention within a moment. you, not being immune to his charms, falls victim to this often, finding it difficult to look away when speaking to him. and satoru being satoru, often likes to use this knowledge to his advantage, finding an excuse to stare at your face and admire the eyes staring back at him through his teasing.

leaning in toward your face, a slightly provocative smile playing at satoru's lips, noticing the way you seem to almost shy away from him. "what is it, too irresistible to look away?" he questions playfully, curling a strand of your hair around his finger. "don't worry, i don't mind. you can stare all you'd like."

you scoff, ignoring the warmth that fills your face and the terrible flutter in your stomach. "irritable, more like." you reply, gently pressing your palm against his face and pushing him away, finally breaking eye contact. "you're such an idiot, satoru."

but then it's a week later and you'd quickly noticed his gaze lingering on yours for a moment too long during conversations, and sometimes you swore you'd seen his eyes drop down to your lips before quickly flicking back up to your eyes with an innocent smile, as if he hadn't done anything at all.

"you're staring again." you point out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"why? does it bother you?" is satoru's response, and he's suddenly much closer than he initially was, tilting his head at you with that same smile that tends to curl at his pink lips. especially when he feels the heat radiating off of your face and the pretty shade of color that follows.

you sputter breathlessly, eyes widening in surprise but you're unable to think of any lengthy words except for a pathetic— "no?" you murmur hopelessly, your bottom eyelashes fanning your cheeks as he moves even closer. "no?" he repeats teasingly and he's just so impossibly close, it's hard to think of anything but him. he knows this.

"did you know your pupils dilate when you look at someone you love?" satoru asks cheekily, tapping your cheek with the tip of his index finger.

oh.

the lasting glances, which really couldn't be considered glances because really, he was unabashedly staring at her all the time, were all because he was trying to see if her pupils dilate when she looks at him.

"do you?"

your lips part as you try to find your words and you embarrassedly hit his chest, resting your fist there, where you can feel his heart beating almost ten times faster than your own with the aversion of your gaze. "you can't just ask me that."

satoru grins and brushes his thumb across your cheek, smoothing your skin out and pinching it. "do you like like me then?" he questions, the tips of his white hair tickling your forehead, your eyes meeting his striking blue ones.

and how have you never noticed the size of his pupils until now? looking straight into his eyes in front of your own, the pupils enlarged and ever so slightly darker, enveloping the gorgeous light blue azure. not to mention his gaze, ever so sickly longing, never strays away from you. you've never been one to have a strong resolve when it comes to satoru.

"and if i do?" you whisper.

satoru taps his chin as if to think really hard about his answer. "there's a few things i can think of, but i suppose i'll just have to settle for a kiss..." he drawls, his other hand gently resting on your waist to pull your body in further. "or two."

[cafem3wcuryy]

౨ৎ ━━━ R U MINE?

━ cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater

━ characters: gojo, geto, nanami, toji

━ sum: catching him in the act. (modern au)

━ wc: 3.06k

━ tw: angst, m cheating, angst again, angst, no comfort :(, slight nsfw. MDNI.

lowercase intended!

𖤐.ᐟ pt 1: cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater | pt 2: ghost of u.

m.list

━━━ GOJO SATORU

you stared in utter disbelief at the sight before you. the plastic bags, that were once in your hands, sat by your feet as you involuntarily let go of the bags of plastic.

"i'm so sorry." you muttered hastily, picking up the plastic bags and quickly excusing yourself from the place you once called home. all of the memories, that were once only good and filled with love, were quickly replaced with the feeling of disgust and utter sadness.

the scene of your boyfriend, very soon to be ex boyfriend, and a woman having sex in the foyer of his mansion, was quickly engraved into your memories. the sight of gojo satoru's bright blue eyes, widening upon the realization that you had come home to him, shirtless with his pants down to his ankles, fucking a woman in doggy style, as her hair was bundled up in his hand.

"[name]!" hearing your name slip past his lips, you quickened your pace. your hands shaking as you try to get your car keys out of your bag, tears threatening to slip past your eyes.

"[name]! listen to me!" his bigger hands grabbing the hand you were using to dig through your bag, making you quickly pull your hand away. taking a step back, you refused to look at him. you refused to let him see you break down into tears. you refused to let him see how he broke you.

taking the biggest breath you were able to muster, you shut your eyes tightly before looking at him. his disheveled hair, the trickles of sweat coming down his forehead, his shirtless body, his swollen lips. before you knew it, the tears began to fall, one by one.

"[name], angel, it's not what it looks like." sato- no, gojo, quickly added, the desperation in his voice as he tried to excuse his adultery.

"i'll come by within the next week to pick up my stuff." you ignored his weak attempts to make excuses. turning your back to him once again, you resumed to dig through your bag. you bite down hard on your lower lip as you tried to suppress the whimpers that threatened to escape your throat.

in another weak attempt to stop you, he hugged you from behind, whispering i'm sorry's into your ear, hoping to calm your shaking body. your body froze at the contact. his back hugs that you used to adore, used to make you feel safe and at peace, no longer gave you that feeling.

"you were just gone for so long, angel. that woman is nothing to me, i swear. i know i shouldn't have done it," his words didn't even reach you. "it won't happen again! please, forgive me! i can fix it! i'm the best, right?! i can do anything for you, i'll do whatever! you know i can make it right!"

it's funny. he was caught fucking another woman, and the first thing that came out of his mouth, 'you were just gone for so long'. his speech was quick and messy, his body shaking as he held onto you tightly, afraid if he lets go, you're actually going to leave him.

"'tor- gojo," you weakly spoke as you found your voice. "text me when you're available so i can pick up my things."

"no, no you won't. you're not actually planning on leaving me right?" gojo's embrace tightened. "it was a mistake! i'll atone, i swear! baby, please..."

you turned your body, softly pushing the white haired man away from you, your eyes meet his. his blue eyes, frantic as he tried to read your expression, as he tried to read what you were feeling, as he tried to read your thoughts. the man who was titled 'the best', couldn't read you.

"i trust that you would never do it again, satoru..." his eyes brightened ever so slightly, the feeling of hope and relief washed over him. he takes a step closer to you, before freezing. your next words broke down any sense of relief and hope he had felt, quicker than he had felt them come in. "because we're over."

━━━ GETO SUGURU

"do you think dad is sleeping?" nanako questioned as she sucked on her lolipop.

"maybe." mimiko shrugged watching you unlock the front door of the small apartment.

"if he is we should keep quiet," you told them, opening the front door as you looked at the two twins. "your dad is probably really tired."

letting the sisters go inside first, you chuckle softly as they both excitedly took their outside shoes off, running up to their shared room with their new bags of clothing that you had purchased for them. lining up their shoes beside your's, you notice another pair of shoes laying there. ones you haven't seen before. shrugging off the weird feeling that had taken over you, telling yourself one of the girls had gotten another pair without your knowledge, you make your way to the kitchen planning on preparing tonight's dinner.

the sounds of hushed whispering reached your ears. stopping whatever you were doing, you stayed silent. thinking the girls wanted to play a joke on you, you ducked behind the small island, planning on scaring the twins instead. hearing the steps come closer, you jumped up with a 'boo'.

expecting to see the twins, you were met with a random woman shrieking and suguru's shocked expressions. you froze. the sound of two pairs of footsteps running down, fell deaf to your ears.

there stood, your boyfriend shirtless with dark red marks on his chest, down his abdomen.

"who the fuck are you?" nanako questioned, her voice loud with authority, breaking whatever hypnosis you were in.

with no words, the woman quickly left, picking up her shoes that you had spotted at the entrance. the apartment was silent. geto looked back and forth towards you and the two sisters, as he struggled to say anything.

"nana, mimi." you called to the two girls, who looked at you upon hearing their names. "would you guys please go upstairs? i think your dad and i need to talk."

"no!" nanako exclaimed. her eyes red with anger. "whatever you guys have to talk about we should know too right?! i mean, i'm sure it's not what it looked like right?!"

"[name]..." geto could only mutter. your eyes made contact with his.

you looked down at the cutting board that laid in front of you. the vegetables that were in the midst of being cut for a family dinner, was completely forgotten. the erratic beating of your heart, and the feeling of betrayal consumed you entirely.

"say something!" nanako pleaded to her adoptive father, who only looked down with shame.

"dad..." mimiko spoke. "don't tell us you cheated on [name]..."

"we were just starting to feel like we finally had a mom!" nanako yelled as she began crying. "you just had to fuck it up?!"

the sight of nanako getting upset on your behalf, the tears that threatened to fall from mimiko's eyes, the sight of your body shaking as you held back tears for the sake of the twins, broke geto suguru.

"i..." geto spoke up, but no words followed.

"girls," you finally looked up, the heartbreakingly sad smile you gave the two, made them begin crying slightly harder. "go upstairs, i'll be there to talk to you guys after i talk to suguru. please."

giving into your pleas, the two hesitantly made their way upstairs, leaving you and geto alone. silence engulfed the two of you. you stared at the long haired man, your eyes raking up his body. your eyes following the trail of multiple hickeys that littered his chest.

"why?" your voice so weak, so destroyed.

"i don't...i don't know..." geto answered truthfully, the sound of your heart shattering echoed in your ears, your eyes no longer being able to keep the salty water at bay.

"if you didn't want to be committed, why didn't you say something?" you cried, a sob escaping your throat.

"i did!- i do! i don't know why, it just happened..." geto spoke, his words breaking your heart even more. the deep red marks across his chest that was out for the world to see, a loud reminder that geto suguru, didn't love you. and if he did, he didn't love you enough to stay devoted to you.

choked sobs escaped your throat. you covered your mouth in attempt to calm yourself. you took a deep breath, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.

"we're done."

geto's eyes snapped to your's hearing your sentence, his eyes widening. you swallowed hard, walking around the island and past geto's frozen body. as you walked past him, he took a hold of your hand, gently tugging to keep you from continuing your way up the stairs, forcing you to look at him.

"you're not actually going to leave me and the girls," his eyes looking through your's. "right?"

"i loved the girls as if my own, sug- geto." you cried. "i loved you, took care of you, devoted myself to you and this is what i get in return?"

you snatched your hand out of his grip. you stared at him deep into his eyes, tears fell out of your orbs as if never ending. you turned your back, making your way up the stairs to mimiko and nanako's room. before ascending even more, you stopped. without turning around you spoke before continuing your way up the flight of stairs.

"we're breaking up."

━━━ NANAMI KENTO

it had been a while since you've seen your beloved boyfriend due to having a business trip over seas. nanami kento, the man you desperately wanted to marry and have a family with. a hard working man, never trying to work overtime, loving, soft, gentle and so much more.

you had decided to surprise him at his office with his favorite lunch, wanting to eat with him before he had to go back to work. making your way through the building, greeting familiar faces, a skip in your step as you made your way to his office.

giggling to yourself as you spot his windows covered with blinds, you knew he was working himself to the bone, trying not to stay at the office longer than he has too. a bright smile made it's way to your features as you fixed yourself, wanting to look presentable for when you surprise him.

taking out the spare key he had given you to his office, with the reason being, he didn't want to be disturbed as he worked with people entering his office unannounced. only you being able to get to him whenever you felt. you brought your phone out, pressing record, wanting to make a cute memory of you surprising him after being away for so long. you unlock the office door.

you brought your phone out in front of you, recording. the smile you once had immediately dropping.

there sat nanami kento in his chair, with his cock out and his assistant on her knees, tits out and mouth around his dick.

"WHAT THE FUCK, KENTO?!" you yelled tears falling down your face as you quickly put your phone down, never stopping the recording.

with a yelp, his assistant raises to her feet, sloppily fixing her shirt as she tried to walk past you. grabbing her shoulder, you forcefully make her face you.

"i would hit you, but i refuse to touch a whore." you sneered at her. she rolled her eyes at you with a scoff.

"not my fault he's easy. besides you obviously couldn't keep him satisfied, so i helped him." she snapped back with a smirk. with a laugh, you waved your phone in the air.

"i hope you have fun living in the street, where you belong, slut." her eyes widened in realization. immediately breaking down, nanami's assistant begins to stutter out words.

"isn't that too much?" nanami's voice made you snap you head at him. seeing him zip up his pants, he hesitantly walked over to you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"oh, shut the fuck up, nanami." you bit back with so much anger, shocking him.

ignoring the woman who cried as she ran out the office, your eyes never left his. the feeling of anger and heartbreak grew in you as he stood there staring at you, your tears never ending. your tears mixed with anger and sadness.

"when did you get back?" nanami asked, his voice weak. "i thought you were back next week."

you scoffed. "why does it matter, huh? so you wouldn't get caught fucking a skank?"

his silence angered you even more. seething, the video that had ended upon you raising your phone in the air, without hesitation, you sent it to the company's ceo, having met him at nanami's work parties, along with sending it to any of the other office workers' phones that you had saved. including sending it to nanami kento.

to whoever watched the video, the sound of you silently giggling in excitement as you unlocked the door, then quickly turning into sheer horror at the obvious scene of nanami and his assistant. the video soon catching your conversation with the assistant.

the realization was soon hitting him. he was scared.

"you're fucking disgusting." you spat, roughly wiping your tears away, before leaving the office.

"live a fan-fucking-tabulous life, nanami kento."

━━━ FUSHIGURO TOJI

"what do you think i should make for dinner, megu?" you asked the teenage boy who sat beside you as you drove the two of you to your apartment.

"gyudon sounds good." megumi answered shortly after.

the two of you held conversation, soon making it to the apartment you had moved into a few years ago. making your way upstairs with megumi close behind. unlocking the front door, you and megumi begin putting groceries away, soon beginning on making dinner.

"did you tell your dad we didn't continue to the arcade with yuiji and nobara?" you asked as you cut up the onions.

"nah," megumi shrugged. "do you have any ideas of what kind of food you want at the wedding, mom?"

mom. the feeling of megumi calling you that never got old. it made your heart leap with joy knowing megumi saw you as his mother. you had known megumi for almost five years, it took him so long to get used to you being around due to his father's past histories of bringing random women home. he thought if he got attached, you would disappear too.

just a few months ago, megumi began calling you 'mom'. the memory still fresh and with forever be engraved with the first time he accidentally called you his mom. soon it began being a habit of his to call you 'mom' or 'ma'. but that was another story for another time.

toji proposed to you a year ago, at a jockey. of course being in love with him and his son, you said yes. you and toji's wedding was set to happen in a month. as time ticks, the closer the wedding got, the more excited you had become (including megumi).

you and megumi continued to make dinner, before your guys' attention had been brought to the sound of the front door knob jiggling.

the sound of a woman moaning and mouths smacking against one another, reverberated around the apartment, making your stomach drop. toji and a random woman making out as he carried her into the house, as you and megumi looked at the sight in horror.

the sound of you dropping the glass soy sauce bottle shattering onto the floor, made toji and the woman pull apart from their kiss and to the noise. toji's eyes widened, seeing his son and his fiance standing there.

dropping the woman, he shoved her out of the apartment, closing the door roughly. he stood in front of you and megumi. without knowing, you began crying. tears pouring out of your eyes as you stared at him.

"again, toji?" you whimpered, covering your mouth from the sobs that were escaping your throat. the broken shards of glass on the floor, perfectly depicting how your heart felt.

"again?" megumi repeated, his eyes narrowing at his father. "what do you mean again?"

"go to your room." fushiguro's rough voice demanded at his son.

"no. what does mom mean by 'again'?" megumi pried, his fists clenching.

"go to your room before i make you, megumi." fushiguro demanded, his voice getting stern.

rubbing megumi's back in comfort, you whispered. "please, just go. i don't want you and your dad to fight."

"tch." megumi clicked his tongue, pushing past his dad, slamming his room door shut.

"seriously, toji?" you sobbed. "you're doing this, again?"

the sight of you sobbing, ignited something in him. the diamond ring on your finger, glistened in the kitchen's lights. all at once, the realization of his actions cam dawning upon him, but it was too late.

"i know, i know," toji's voice unusually soft compared to the voice he used with his son. "i swear this was the last time. i promise. you can forgive me again, right?"

shaking your head, as you continued to sob into your hand. toji tried to embrace you, but was shoved away. looking at you in masked shock.

"toj- fushiguro," you hiccuped through your cries. "i can't. not anymore."

his eyes widened when we watches you taking the engagement ring off, placing it on the table.

"there's no way you're leaving, right?" he asked, afraid of your answer. the once composed, daring and rough man, began to crumble right before you. "the wedding is just a few weeks away. you can't- i've made plenty of mistakes, i'm not perfect. i won't do it ever again, especially when i've made you my wife, c'mon, doll."

"that's not how this works!" you yelled at him between your sobs. "i'm done, fushiguro."

"what about megumi? he finally called you 'mom', right? you're not seriously throwing that away." fushiguro spoke with haste.

"i will always, and forever be there for my sweet megumi," you hiccuped. "together or not, fushiguro, megumi can reach me whenever he needs, i'll fill in the shoes as his mother until he no longer needs me."

"what about me? i need you." fushiguro tried to hold you, but you move away from him.

"no," you whimpered. "the wedding is off, we're done."

note(s):

not proofread

i hope this wasn't too ooc! i wrote nanami and geto as people who wouldn't care at first but once it all settles in, it starts to hit them hard, lmk if i should do a pt 2

[tpwk-formula1]

Paddock Bunny Series - 3

A/N: I promise next week I will try to not have a threesome involved in each situation but for the plot this made the most sense. I'm also so fucking sorry for how long this took me! I'm trying to get my mental health in check while also being in and out of the hospital for stomach issues. It's been a whole thing but I'm getting there! Slowly but surely I will be back to semi regular postings! I love you guys always I'm glad you're here for the ride

Drivers Included:

Max Verstappen x Lando Norris x reader

Pierre Gasly x Kika Gomez x reader

Lewis Hamilton x reader

TW: ALL OF THEM

WC: 6.7K

Y/N POV

"Shit," I mumble when I see Max and Lando collide into each other. I continue watching as both of the boys make their way into the pit lane to fix Max's puncture and Lando serve his penalty as well as fix the front wing.

"Retire the car," I hear Lando mumble into his radio making me cringe slightly knowing he's breaking his streak of being the only driver to finish within the points this season.

Once Lando's car is parked back into the garage he quickly climbs out and heads start for the media pen. With him being the only driver in the media pen he is done within the first 30 minutes and back to hiding in his driver's room.

"Please meet me in here"

The text read which had me shaking my head softly before sneaking towards his room when everyone was paying attention to Oscar.

"Are you doing okay?" I ask softly while opening the door and walking into the room to find Lando sitting on his little couch with his race suit at his hips.

"Don't wanna talk about it," Lando mumbles while I climb into his lap making myself comfortable while he wraps his arms around my hips and pulling me closer.

"We have to fly back with him tonight," Lando tells me softly making me wince at the thought of being stuck in a plane with Lando and Max right now.

"Technically I'm flying with my dad," I tell him softly while letting my fingers lightly trail over Lando's cheek bone.

"I don't care, tell him you're flying with me to help me with my media presence or something, I don't want to be alone on that flight," Lando replies back before pulling me down for a quick kiss.

"Fine, I'll talk to him," I tell Lando softly before kissing Lando again and allowing Lando's wandering hands to find my ass and giving it a quick squeeze.

Once I board Max's private jet I quickly find Lando in the back of the plane with his headphones on ignoring whatever Max could have said to him.

"Stop being rude," I tell Lando sternly while taking out one of his Airpods so he can hear if someone talks to him.

"Don't wanna speak to anyone," Lando mumbles like a child making me roll my eyes at his pettiness.

"Hi Max," I turn my attention to the Dutch man since Lando doesn't want to speak to anyone.

"Hi, Y/N how are you doing tonight?" Max asks softly while I sit down into he seat across from him. I could see Lando in the corner of my eye sink further into his seat while pouting.

"I'm alright, think I'm just here to make sure the girls don't fight," I joke with a small smirk on my lips making Max laugh softly and shake his head while Lando only pouts a bit louder.

"I'm proud of you for making it back to P5," I tell Max softly making him smile and nod.

"I'm sure the Brit behind me wouldn't be too thrilled to hear you say that," Max teases making me shake my head softly.

"He'll get over it," I shrug not wanting to cater to Lando's feelings if he's going to act like a child.

"Really, Y/N?" I hear Lando huff making me giggle a little.

"Lando stop pouting and join us please," I say softly making Lando groan and sit in his seat a couple more minutes before finally getting up and joining Max and I.

We're about midway through the flight before the boys are back on speaking terms.

"Look I'm sorry if I said anything in the media pen. I was upset after the DNF and penalty," Lando mumbles to Max making me smile softly.

"I'm sorry too if I said anything too," Max replies with a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Whatever happens on the track and in the media pen needs to stay there," Max adds making Lando nod his head in agreeance.

I went back to reading my book ignoring the two boys before I feel Lando gently pull me into his lap making me squeal.

"Lando!" I say while laughing slightly. Lando ignores me and just adjusts me into his lap so I'm straddling his waist.

"Do you want to go into the room with Max and I?" Lando asks softly making me think for a split second before nodding.

Lando says nothing just stands up and carries me into the small room in the back of the plane that has a door for privacy. I see that Max has followed us in here before Lando gently places me down on the bed so I'm looking up at both of the boys.

Neither of them say anything so I reach for Max's belt before unbuckling it and unzipping his pants letting them fall on their own while I move to Lando doing the same thing. Once both of them step out of their pants leaving them in their shirts and boxers I quickly pull off the dress I was wearing leaving me in my black matching set. Once I'm down to my bra and panties Max and Lando both quickly pull off their shirts before Max is climbing onto the bed near the headboard which instantly has me crawling away from the edge and into Max's lap.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask softly since this is the first time Max and I are sleeping together and we all agreed to follow everyone's boundaries.

Instead of answering Max pulls my face into his hands and brings me down to his lips. The second his lips hit mine I can't help but moan and sink further into Max's lap while I can feel Lando climbing onto the bed behind me.

"Protection," I say softly pulling back from Max making him groan softly.

"It's in the backpack at the end of the bed," Max mumbles pulling me back into a kiss making me grind down into his crotch harder making both of us moan into the kiss.

I feel Lando shuffle back towards the end of the bed and rummage through the backpack all the while Max and I are still wrapped up into each others arms.

When I hear the sound of the foil being picked up and I turned my body slightly grabbing one of the condoms from Lando and ripping it open without a second thought.

I shuffle off of Max's lap letting him pull his boxers down where I put the condom on the tip of his dick before using my mouth to roll it on the rest of the way.

"Fuck," I hear Max hiss at the contact of my lips on his sensitive tip.

Once I had successfully rolled the condom on using only my mouth I pull back up climbing into Max's lap and pulling my panties to the side, before slowly sinking down on Max's cock not needing any kind of warm up.

"Fuck, I had so many plans for the first time I got with you and the second you rolled that condom on it went right out the window," Max groans while Lando is behind me unclipping my bra and letting it fall into Max and I's lap.

Max's hands are on my tits almost instantly while I get to work of bouncing on Max's cock.

"Fuck, Max! It's too big," I whine out when I'm fully seated on his cock being stretched in ways I have yet to be stretched.

"Shit! I can feel the way you're squeezing me," Max says through gritted teeth while I start slowly rocking my hips.

Lando moves around the bed slightly before attaching his mouth to one of my free nipples.

"Oh God," I cry out when I feel his teeth sink down softly illiciting slight pain that instantly turns back into pleasure when he goes back to sucking to soothe down the sting.

Max lets me ride him for a few more seconds before he's pulling me off his cock and arranging me so I'm on my hands and knees for him.

"Oh fuck," I cry when Max wastes no time shoving his cock back into my pussy.

Lando moves his body around so he's now sitting in front of me letting his hard dripping cock touch my lip. I waste no time taking him into my mouth and working his cock with my tongue.

"Fuck," Lando cries out making me smirk slightly before taking Lando all the way down my throat.

I kind of figured Max would be dominant but I wasn't prepared for hot rough he truly was.

Everytime I try to cry out in pleasure it is muffled by Lando's cock sending strong vibrations straight through his cock making him cry out even louder.

I could tell Max was feeding off of both Lando and I's pleasure showing me he is a true pleasure dom.

"I can tell you're about to cum, princess," Max grunts out while he continues to fuck into my pussy harder.

When Max moves his fingers between our bodies and starts playing with my clit I can no longer hold off my impending orgasm.

Lando pulls his cock out of my mouth letting me scream out as I cum all over Max's cock.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," I chant as I feel wave after wave of my orgasm.

Once my orgasm had washed over Max gave me no time to calm down as he's flipping out bodies over again so I'm riding him once again.

"Fuck her ass," Max tells Lando which has him instantly rolling on another condom before climbing behind me.

When I feel Lando push two lubed up fingers into my ass I let out a loud moan burying my face into Max's neck. It takes Lando a couple minutes to stretch my ass enough to feel I was ready to take his cock.

"Oh fuck," I whine when I feel the tip of his cock start to push into my ass.

"Oh God," I cry out when I feel him start to push further into my ass filling me up.

Once Lando was filling in my ass both of the boys start moving making me see stars almost instantly.

"She's not gonna last long," Lando grunts out knowing how quickly I cum from just anal let alone having my pussy filled up too.

"She's free to cum, but I'm far from done," Max grunts out only bucking up into my pussy harder.

My second orgasm of the night hit me out of no where resulting in squirting all over Max and I.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Max grunts bucking a bit harder making sure to milk this orgasm as much as he had the last.

Knowing Lando he was close to cumming and when he pulls out and quickly pulls the condom off to cum on my ass I let out a soft moan feeling his hot cum hitting my skin.

"Fuck," Lando grunts out through his orgasm. Once he's finished cumming he quickly throws on a pair of boxers before leaving the small bedroom, leaving Max and I alone.

Without Lando right behind me I quickly sit up a bit taller and start riding Max's cock.

"Fuck so good," I moan riding a bit harder trying to ignore the overstimulation I was starting to feel.

"Fuck," Max grunts out fucking up into my pussy making my nails dig a bit deeper on his chest.

I can tell Max was getting close my the way he bucking was becoming a bit more erratic.

"Fuck," Max grunts out while cumming into the condom triggering me into another small orgasm.

"Maxie," I cry out leaving scratches down his chest.

Once both of us have come down from our high I collapse on top of of Max feeling his arms wrap around his body.

"You're father would hate me even more," Max says with a laugh falling from his lips.

"He only hates you cause he can't have you," I say making him laugh.

As we are both coming down from our highs Lando slowly makes his way back into the room with a few things to start aftercare.

Lando gently takes me into his arms and lifts me off Max's cock making me whimper slightly. Once Max was free he quickly gets up and discards the condom before he started looking for my clothes while Lando helped clean me up a bit.

Once we were all dressed we all climbed back into the bed and laid with each other. I curl myself into Lando's side while Max's turns to pull my back into his chest.

I can see Max's slowly rubbing circles on Lando's torso. Seeing how relaxed Lando was under his touch told me that this was not their first time sharing a girl but it was also definitely not their first time being intimate together.

"Who wants to admit when this first started," I tease while gestering towards Max's grip on Lando's side.

"Rookie year," Lando admits softly with his cheeks heating. I just smile and nod curling farther into Lando while Max tightens his hold.

We spend the rest of the flight in each others arms talking about some of the experiences I've been able to have since becoming their bunny.

It's Silverstone and the pressure is at an all time high in Mclaren. I've been bouncing between both of the drivers room this whole weekend but now that it's Sunday and all of the guys are getting into the car to get ready for the formation lap.

A soon as the formation lap begins I move towards the back of the garage not wanting to be in the way of anyone.

When I notice the lap is coming to an end I see Pierre come back into the pits confusing. I try my best to tune into what the mechanics were saying but given being in the Mclaren garage they were mostly worried about Lando trying to get his second win.

When the lights go out I pay attention to the screen as much as possible but when my phone starts ringing I instantly break focus and notice that Kika is calling me.

"Hi, gorgeous," I say while answering the phone.

"Hi, um this might be a bit weird and I apologize if this is overstepping but I was wondering if around lap 22 you could come into Pierre's garage. I know he's upset with the race and I think you would be a good pick me up," Kika admits softly making me smile.

"Of course! Would you be able to meet me outside the garage so I can come in?" I ask.

"Absolutely! Ill see you soon," Kika responds and we quickly end the call with each other.

When the time came I quickly snuck out of the garage and made my way through the back of the garages until I got to Alpine where I found Kika standing outside waiting for me.

"Thank you! I'm sorry if that was weird," Kika says with pink cheeks.

"You're fine, I don't think Pierre would have called me himself and if you think it'll be a pick me up then I'm more than happy to help," I say with a smile. Kika and I have been friends since they got into a relationship and she was one of the first girls I told about this. She thought it was a bit insane but not because she was judging but because she's confused how Im not catching feelings.

"I'll drop you off in his room and head to the common area," Kika tells me while we are walking through the back of the garage to where Pierre's driver room is.

"You don't have to leave," I admit softly with a blush creeping up on my cheeks.

"I- really?" Kika asks with a small smile on her lips.

"Kika, this is your relationship and Im honored that you trust Pierre and I together but I would honestly love if you joined," I tell her while grabbing her hand and giving it a little squeeze. Given that we are already in the privacy of Pierre's drivers room she quickly pulls me in and places a soft kiss on my lips.

"Can I watch at first?" She asks softly looking me in the eye.

"Of course, watch and join when you're ready or just watch and enjoy," I say with a smile and pull her in for another quick kiss.

Once Pierre gets into the room he quickly smiles when he sees the two of us sitting on the little couch talking. Pierre may not have asked for time together but he 100% knew what was about to happen.

"Who's idea," Pierre says with a smirk and making his way to the couch before leaning down and pulling his girlfriend in for a kiss before looking down at me and placing a soft kiss on my cheek.

"Mine," Kika says with a bright smile making Pierre look down at her with a soft smirk.

I have always loved seeing Kika and Pierre's relationship because it was always evident how much love they shared between the two.

"Does that mean you will be joining us," Pierre asks with a bright smile clearly getting a bit giddy.

"I'm gonna watch at first and then maybe I'll join," Kika tells him softly.

Pierre seemed content enough with that as he moves his attention onto me. He quickly pulls me my by cheek to place a kiss on my lips. I see Kika make her way over to the small chair near the couch before placing herself on it.

Once we had the full couch just us Pierre makes quick work of deepening the kiss and pulling me into his lap. It doesn't take Pierre long to start tugging at my shirt and pulling it over my head to reveal my bare chest, well besides the new piercings I had gotta last week.

"Fuck, no one mentioned piercings," Pierre gasps lightly running his finger over the cool medal that's been pierced through both nipples.

"I was with her! She took it like a champ," Kika announced to her boy friend making him look at her with a raised brow.

"She said it was a surprise... that's why it was never mentioned in the group chat," Kika said with a shrug of her shoulder.

"Lando has been itching for them to be known so he can talk about how hot they are," I say with a laugh making Pierre laugh slightly but still pull me in closer and attach his lips back to mine.

"I too can't wait for everyone to know about them," Pierre mumbles against my lips.

"Holy shit! Lewis is leading," Kika says noticing the screen placing the live footage of the race.

"Then I better get my fix before MR. 7 gets his hands on her," Pierre mumbles making me laugh but still lean down to attach my lips to his neck.

I start trailing my kisses down his neck making me slip onto my knees in front of the man pulling his race suit away from his hips and letting them pool at his feet before I look over to Kika who is watching us intently.

When I reach into Pierre's boxers before I can even see his cock I instantly look back at Kika.

"Go on," Kika says with a smirk making me pull his cock out to reveal one of the biggest cocks I had even seen. Not only in person but also in porn.

I look between Pierre's cock and Kika a few beats before she breaks out in a small giggle and joins me on my knees.

"He's fucking massive Kiks what the fuck," I whisper to my friend as if said man wasn't right there.

"Yuki wasn't joking," Kika says with a shrug of her shoulders before leaning down and licking the tip of Pierre's cock making him hiss at the contact. When Kika pulls back I instantly follower her motions be instead of pulling back like she did I take Pierre into my mouth and using my tongue to circle his tip before pulling back and offering him to Kika.

We spend the next several minutes giving Pierre a teasing blow job never taking more than a few inches into our mouths before pulling back and switching.

"Fuck! Please," Pierre finally cracks making Kika giggle before taking her boy friend almost all the way down her throat before she's gagging and starts bobbing her head a few times. When she pulls back I follow her actions taking as much of his cock that fits into my mouth before bobbing my head a few times.

"Fuck, I will cum," Pierre groans while Kika is bobbing her head on her boy friends cock. This has her pulling back and standing up before she's helping me stand up and pull off my shorts leaving me completely bare for the couple.

She then pulls me down for a kiss while walking us towards the small massage table in the room before she's laying me down and spreading my legs.

Kika's mouth starts trailing kisses from my lips down to my jaw and neck before she settles on one of my nipples before looking up at me.

"I know he said two weeks but I know Lando's mouth has been here, please," Kika asks making me blush and nod my head before she's instantly attaching her mouth to one of my nipples making me hiss and arch my back at the pleasure.

Once she's given the first nipple some attention she turns her attention to the other one giving it the same treatment before she starts trailing small hickeys down my stomach right next the the ones Lando had left yesterday.

When she reaches my pussy I can't help the small whimper that leaves my lips when she blows a wisp of cool air directly on my clit.

I notice Pierre has discarded race suit and briefs leaving them drapped over the back of the couch not to ruin his race suit before he's approaching the both of us.

"Shit, Kika," I cry out in a moan when I feel her tongue graze over my clit.

Kika moans into my pussy making me whimper and try to close my legs but she has a strong grip on my thighs keeping them spread open completely for her.

"So good," I moan feeling her slip 2 fingers deep into my pussy and finding my G-spot almost instantly.

I knew I was gonna cum of Kika's tongue if she didn't pull back but when I tried to push her face away from my pussy Pierre only grabs my hands and holds them over my head leaving me completely helpless to her talented tongue.

"Cum for us," Pierre leans down whispering into my ear instantly throwing me into a powerful orgasm.

"Fuck," I cry out at Kika continues to suck on my clit helping me ride out my orgasm before she pulls away but not without giving one last gentle kiss directly on my clit making me twitch from the slight overstimulation.

Pierre finally lets go of my wrists and pulls his girlfriend up for a kiss tasting me on her lips.

"Fuck she tastes good," Pierre groans pulling back from the kiss.

"She does, doesn't she," Kika responds with a smirk before she's leaning down and pulling me in for another kiss.

"Are you ready to take him," Kika asks gently against my lips.

"Yes," I whisper back feeling a blush creep onto my cheeks.

Kika just smiles and quickly climbs off the bed and quickly undresses herself before climbing back up and hoovering her pussy above my mouth.

"Oh," I moan gently when I feel Pierre's condom covered tip tease my clit. When he feels he's collected enough of my slick on the condom he slowly start pushing the tip of his cock into my pussy making me gasp.

Kika takes this as her chance to sit her pussy directly onto my mouth making he attach my lips to her clit and sucking.

"Fuck," I moan into her pussy as Pierre continues to push into my pussy.

"Too big," I gasp out when I feel him in places I've never had touched.

"Fuck," Kika whimpers out when I slip two fingers into her pussy while still playing with her clit.

"Keep doing that and we're gonna have to shower you before we send you off," Pierre grunts out once he's fully seated deep into my pussy.

"Pierre! Don't tell her that! I don't want her to stop," Kika whines out making me giggle softly knowing there was no way I was gonna stop now at the prospect of getting to make Kika squirt for me.

I slow my actions down and joking slip my fingers out of her pussy making her whine loudly.

Pierre reaches over and gives her ass a slap, telling her to behave herself. While I couldn't see Pierre slap her ass I could hear it and it instantly made my pussy clench around his cock.

"Fuck," Pierre grunts out when he feels my pussy clenching. He slowly starts pulling his hips back before slamming back into my pussy making me whimper into Kika's pussy.

I start working my tongue on Kika's clit again making her moan loudly.

Feeling Pierre's thrusts speed up makes me scream out in pleasure.

"So good," I mumble out which only has Pierre speeding up his actions making my orgasm start to build once again.

"Fuck, cum for me," Pierre grunts out while speeding up his thrusts.

"Shit," I cry out while cumming for Pierre.

"Fuck, did she just squirt for you?" I hear Kika ask making Pierre grunts out a yes.

"Fuck," I scream out as Pierre continues to fuck me through the overstimulation.

"Too much," I cry out while sinking my fingers back into Kika while sucking on her clit.

When I find Kika's G-spot she instantly cries out as she starts cumming for me.

When she starts squirting I open my mouth catching as much as I can before swallowing a little bit of it and spitting the rest at our.

"Fuck," Pierre grunts out before he's pulling out of my pussy and quickly pulling Kika off my face and pulling us both by the hair back onto our knees before cumming all over our faces.

"Fuck," Pierre grunts when the first ribbon of cum hits my face. When Pierre was done painting our faces I quickly pull Kika in for a messy kiss licking a strip of his cum off her chin before pulling her in for a wet kiss.

"Looks like you might be spending the evening with Lewis," Kika giggles while pulling back from the kiss.

When I look at the screen I notice Lewis is hugging his dad after winning his home race.

"He's never expressed interest so I doubt it," I say with a soft laugh falling from my lips.

"The shower is ready for you two, I'm gonna go talk to the team and see if they figured out why the gearbox failed," Pierre tells us both while leaning down and pressing a quick kiss on both of our lips before leaving the room.

Kika and I both make our way into the shower and have our own little fun for a few minutes before we quickly shower and she quickly helps me get back dressed into my clean clothes.

When I check my phone I can see that it's been blowing up.

"What's the group chat saying?" I ask while brushing my hair.

"Lando called dibs... and Lewis very quickly shot that shit down," Kika says with a smirk on her face.

"Text Lando privately and tell him I'll stay with him tomorrow night in Monaco," I tell Kika while walking out of the bathroom.

"God damnit Y/N! Why has he sent so many dick pics in the last 3 minutes... did he not JUST get out of the damn car?!" Kika exclaims while flashing the screen.

"Sorry I should I have warned he might have done that," I laugh taking my phone in my hand and texting himself.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, don't let Pierre murder me! I get to go sleep with Lewis fucking Hamilton," I say making KIka laugh.

"I think he'd ask if it was any good. He likes the confirmation that he's the biggest on the grid," Kika says making me laugh softly.

"He's definitely the biggest I've been with so far. Feel Like Lewis is the only one with a fighting chance," I say with a laugh making her nod.

"Ya, Lew is 100% BIG dick energy," Kika teases while we walk out of the drivers room with our arms linked together.

When I get back to my hotel room I instantly start freaking out about what I was going to wear to impress Lewis. I decided on a simple black lacey bra and panties and threw on a black crop baby tee and a pair of leggings that makes my ass look nice.

When I get another text from Lewis I see that he sent me his hotel and room number. When I got to his hotel floor I instantly start pacing the hallway again when I bump into a body.

"Oh shit! I'm so- Oh hi Nando! I'm sorry was just lost thinking," I say sheepishly to the older man in front of me.

"What's got you so nervous, hermosa?" Fernando looks at me with a slight smirk written all over his face.

"Oh! Nothing, was just thinking about how the season is going so far," I lie not even convincing myself. Fernando just laughs and softly takes me by the hand.

"What are you doing? I have to meet someone," I reply softly while walking with him anyways.

"I'm taking you to Lewis," Fernando says with a smirk making my step completely stop.

"You know?" I whisper shout shocked that he knew what I had been doing.

"Yes, and I plan to text you soon," Fernando says with a wink making me smile and nod.

"I'll be waiting," I reply with a squeeze of his hand completely ignoring the fact that is is nearly 20 years older than me.

"Alright he's waiting," Fernando says while taking me to the door before knocking and walking away leaving me completely alone and wide eyed when Lewis opens the door shirtless with only a pair of sweats hanging low on his hips.

"Treat her good," Fernando shouts down the hall making Lewis look in his direction before turning to me with a raised brow.

"He found me pacing the halls, dragged me here himself," I say softly while still standing in the doorway.

"Nothing to pace about," Lewis says softly while taking my hand in his and bringing me into the room.

When I stand further away from Lewis than probably normal he steps closer to me pulling my chin to look up at him before smiling softly.

"What's got you so nervous? You this nervous with everyone else?" Lewis asks while looking me in the eye.

"Well-no. But it's nothing against you it's just- Lewis I was basically in love with you when I was younger. When my dad would come to races back then before he even had to. I was young but I remember you in the Mclaren," I admit letting my already pink cheeks grow a tomato color.

"Oh God, please don't remind me how old I am," Lewis teasingly groans before pulling my chin up and placing a soft kiss on my lip.

"Nothing to be nervous about though. We are here to celebrate an amazing day. The best day actually," Lewis replies making me smile and nod in agreeance.

"I would say you did amazing but, I wasn't really paying attention," I admit with a small grimance.

"I heard Pierre got his hands on you," Lewis teases before pulling me up to his lips once again and kissing me but this time instead of pulling away he pulls me in by my waist and deepening the kiss.

I bring my hands up to his face bringing him impossibly closer. When I feel Lewis's tongue push through my lips and tangle with my I moan into Lewis's mouth making me smile softly before he's gripping the back of my thighs and lifting me into his arms with ease.

"Lew," I squeal out while giggling while he carries us towards the bedroom part of his hotel. When we get in there he instantly drops me down on the edge of the bed so I'm still sitting up.

He instantly pulls my shirt up and over my head before he makes quick works of taking my bra off all while still keeping his lips attached to mine as much as possible.

I tug at the waistband of Lewis's sweats but before I can pull them down Lewis is taking my hands in his and pulling them away.

"Lewis," I whine into his mouth making him laugh laugh lightly.

"I wanna take care of you. It's my celebrations after all," Lewis tells me with a small smirk playing on his lips.

Lewis takes a second to step back and just look at me breaking out in a smile.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Lewis tells me with a smile playing on his lips. I just look up at him with a bright smile before pulling him back into me for another kiss.

This time Lewis gently lays me down on my back hoovering over me while he starts peppering kisses around my jaw and neck while he's using his fingers to tease my nipples making me whimper.

"Such children," Lewis teases while he gently tracing a few of the hickeys that have been left behind by everyone.

"Let me guess, Lando?" Lewis teases while tracing the heart made out of hickeys making me roll my eyes and nod my head.

"Ya, he has a thing for biting. I've tried to get him to let up," I tell Lewis with a small smile mostly embarrassed for being covered in so many markings.

"You're fucking gorgeous regardless," Lewis says with a shrug before he's pulling off his sweats and boxer revealing his semi hard dick. I follow suit standing up and pulling off my pants along with my thong.

When I climb back into the bed I put myself in the middle waiting for Lewis to climb back in to join me. He throws a condom on the bed before joining me. When he gets on the bed he spreads my thighs apart before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on my lips before he starts his trail of kisses down my neck making his way to my already soaked pussy.

"All for me?" Lewis says with a smirk while running a finger through my folds.

"Yes," I whimper when his thumb flicks at my clit.

Lewis leans down and takes my clit into his mouth sucking on it gently while using both of his hands to reach up and start teasing my sensitive nipples.

"Fuck," I gasp out when he pinches them slightly causing pleasurable pain to shoot straight down to my pussy making me clench around nothing.

"Fuck, so good," Lewis groans while still sucking on my clit.

"Please Lew, I want you to fuck me," I beg. Lewis just laughs lightly while looking me directly in the eye.

"Patience," Lewis teases but still sits up and grabs the condoms, ripping it open and putting it on his cock.

Lewis wasn't nearly as long as Pierre but he was just as thick making me whimper when he slowly starts pushing into me.

"Fuck Lew," I moan out while gasping.

"So fucking tight," Lewis grunts while bottoming out in my pussy.

"So good," I gasp when Lewis wastes no time in starting to thrust slowly in and out of my pussy.

Lewis brings his fingers between our bodies and starts teasing my clit with his fingers only bringing me closer to an orgasm I didn't even know was nearly.

"Are you about to cum for me?" Lewis teases with a cocky smirk written all over his face.

"No," I lie but the gasp I let out while clenching around his cock gives me away.

"Cum for me," Lewis leans down and kisses my lips softly making me instantly clench around his cock cumming all over it.

"Lew," I cry out letting the tears fall from the overwhelming pleasure.

"So beautiful when you cum," Lewis tells me before placing a soft kiss on my lips.

Lewis starts fucking back into my pussy making me whimper softly. He starts speeding up the thrusts again making my whimpers turn from a whimper into a loud moan when he starts speeding up his thrusts.

"Fuck, feel so good," Lewis grunts out while fucking into my pussy harder.

"Too good," I gasp feeling another orgasm start to build.

"Fuck, cum for me again," Lewis grunts when he can feel the tell tale signs of my pussy clenching tightly around him.

"I want you to cum with me," I whine trying to fight off the orgasm.

"Next one, come on. Cum for me," Lewis tells me sternly making me whimper.

"Fuck," I moan when I finally relax enough to cum.

Feeling another orgasm wash over my body I can't help the loud cry that leaves my lips making Lewis's hips faulter slightly but continue fucking me through my orgasm.

He gives me little to no time to come down from my high before he's fucking back into my pussy at a rough pace.

"Fuck, I won't last much longer," Lewis admits but still continues fucking me at the fast pace.

I bring my fingers down between us and starts rubbing my clit making me moan loudly.

"So good," I cry as Lewis continues fucking me.

I knew my final orgasm was gonna come soon but when Lewis starts plowing into my pussy at a brutal pace I can tell he's just as close as I am.

"Fuck," Lewis grunts while his hips start to falter a bit.

With one final thrust I feel Lewis start to fill the condom up triggering another orgasm making me scream out.

"Lewis!" I cry out as I feel him thrusting in and out of me to help us ride out our orgasms.

When he finally starts to pull out I whimper at the oversensitivity. He gently takes me into his arms and carries me into the connected bathroom where he draws a hot bath.

Once it's filled up he gently climbs in while still holding me. When he places me on the ground he quickly sinks into the bath while gently pulling me down so I can rest my back against his chest.

"I'm texting the group chat I made you cum in less than a minute," Lewis teases making me let out a loud whine.

"Lew! That's embarrassing," I complaing making him giggle at my childish antics.

"It was hot as fuck and I deserves bragging rights," Lewis says with a shrug but wrapping his arms around me tighter.

We continue to relax in the bath until the water runs cool which has Lew draining the bath and climbing out to grab us both towels.

I ended up spending the night with Lewis who ordered us breakfast in the morning and even made sure to drive me back to my hotel in time to catch a ride back to the airport.

"Thank you," Lewis tells me before I can get out of the car.

"Nothing to thank me for. You did amazing yesterday and you deserved it," I say with a smile.

"Yesterday was a good day," Lewis says with a smile making me laugh and nod.

"You have my number, use it," I say before pacing a quick kiss on his cheek and getting out of the car.

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

AHHHHH! I hope y'all love it! Also have not proof read so apologies if theres any mistakes!

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 1

max verstappen x single mom!reader

{next}

face claim: none, random pinterest find warnings: cursing, max is broody, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, idk red bull team aside from Max, Checo, and Horner... (y/n's bestie is named after my irl bestie bc she told me to write this, and y/n's son is not named after Magnussen i swear) Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 4293 auth.note: hiii new to writing for f1 so I'm posting this in the middle of the night and hiding in bed - feedback greatly appreciated. also this is forbidden love/he falls first/friends to enemies to lovers

"Hey Max, come meet the new social media admin."

On his way out, he barely heard the words. But they registered and he immediately turned, knowing how important it was to have a good rapport with the social media personnel. He only had to meet them, then he could leave and go to the team apartment and… He didn't know. Pass time in his sim until he couldn't hold his eyes open. Maybe he'd go for a run until he was close to exhaustion. Or see if Lando was in the country and they could go out together. It was only when he was about to pass out that he was able to sleep and not be plagued with dreams.

His eyes swept the small office, swiveling to focus on the new face. She smiled, giving him a little wave as she set down her slice of pizza.

"Max, this is y/n. Y/n, this is Max."

"Hello," he said, watching as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"Hi, sorry." She took a sip of her drink and wiped her mouth again. "Sorry – It's so great to meet you."

She was American. Walking over, he extended his hand. "Where are you from?"

Shaking his hand, she smiled up at him. "Well most recently I was with—"

"No, no, where in America," he corrected.

"Oh! North Carolina. I try to keep the country accent to a minimum but sometimes I slip up." She motioned to the pizza box on the desk. "You want a slice?"

No, he had to leave. His work was done, he didn't need to hang around and kill his precious down time. Besides, his diet was strict for the next few days, what with the race coming up. He had to focus on… Within fifteen seconds he was sitting across from her, holding a slice in one hand. One slice wouldn't hurt, he decided as he took a bite. "How long have you been in England?"

"About three weeks?" She glanced at her watch and nodded. "Three weeks tomorrow. I was staying at an Airbnb until a week ago when I moved into my apartment."

He nodded. "Are you going to be based here or go to the races?"

"Races. Gonna be living the glamorous life of travel and hotels and surviving on caffeine and sugar," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"It's not so bad."

"I'm sure I'll get used to it. You've been doing it for, what, half your life now?"

Shrugging, he took a sip of his water. "More than that, really. Are you saying you don't travel?"

"Not like this. I lucked out with my last job because I was able to do it mostly from home. I think I went up to New York or out to Cali maybe six times total? But I know I can do it," she added when his eyebrows lifted. "It'll just take a little getting used to, especially with a little one in tow a lot of the time."

That surprised him. His eyes immediately moved to her hands, which were completely bare of rings. "A little one?"

Y/n nodded, her eyes lighting. "He's three."

"What's his name?" Max asked. It was none of his business about the boy's father, anyway, so he wasn't going to ask about him. And he didn't even care.

"Kevin." Her smile was both shy and sparkling.

His chest tightened. Kevin, he knew, was one of the most loved children in the world. "What's he like?" The words came out and only after saying them he realized he wanted to know.

"He's… He's Kevin." She laughed. "He asks a million questions and will talk to anyone about anything. He's high energy but has laser focus when it's something that interests him – Like the other day I took him to the park. I expected him to be running around and trying out all the swings and stuff, but he spent an hour crawling in the grass following a caterpillar."

"Laser focus can be good at times," Max told her, earning a warm smile.

"I know. He comes by it honest because I do the same thing when I'm working."

"Will you be bringing him to the races?" Finished with his pizza, he shook his head when she nudged the box towards him and sat back to finish his water.

"Yeah. Not all of them, but to the next few. I already talked to Mr. Horner and Wanda about it," she said quickly, as though expecting him to be upset about her bringing her child to work. "He won't be in the way. My best friend – Ellie, she's his godmother – is traveling with me to Imola and Monaco to watch him for me. But her new job starts the first of June so I have to make arrangements before then."

"Does he like racing?"

"He's three," she deadpanned. "He loves anything with cars or trucks."

"You'll have to bring him to the track—"

"He also loves fart jokes and bugs."

Max blinked at her, snorting on a laugh when she grinned at him. "Fair enough."

"I do have to warn you, though," she said carefully, standing to gather the napkins and throw them into the trash. Closing the pizza box, she used a clean napkin to wipe off the desk. "He likes McLaren."

"It's the orange livery isn't it?" Max sighed. When she nodded, he shrugged. "I'll do my best to not hate him."

She giggled, letting out a snort.

And, for the first time in six months, Max felt lighter.

*-*

"There's my lil doodle bug," Viv cooed as Kevin leapt off the couch and ran towards her. Dropping her purse and work bag, she scooped him into a hug. "Hi sweetheart. How was your day, hm?"

Her son grinned, squeezing her tight. "I fell in poop!"

Viv froze for two seconds and leaned back a little. "What kind of poop?"

"Dog. Yes, it was fresh. Yes, he had a bath. Yes, I washed his clothes," Ellie announced as she came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Your dinner's almost done – How was work?"

Viv kissed her son's cheek and set him down so she could pick up her bags. "I spent the day reading protocols and policies and signing contracts. Oh, and getting my uniform."

Ellie took the knapsack stuffed with team shirts and jackets. "Good thing you love blue huh?"

"No kidding." She glanced over to Kevin, who had climbed back onto the couch and resumed lining his hot wheels along the back. "How was he today?"

"He was fine. You worry too much, mama," Ellie said gently, following y/n to her bedroom. Setting the knapsack down, she took the work bag and reached inside to switch off y/n's work phone. "Ah, ah, you're off now. You don't officially start work until Monday, so they can't expect you to be on call."

"Yes ma'am." Y/n held her hands up in surrender. "I'm gonna change and get him tucked in then I'll eat, promise."

"Perfect. Bridgerton tonight?" Ellie asked on her way out the door.

"You know it!" y/n called after her.

Once she'd changed into sweats and an old t-shirt she went to the living room. "C'mon, doodle bug," she said softly, smiling when Kevin slid off the couch without hesitation. She helped him pack his cars into their cubby, telling him about her boring day at work while she led him to the bathroom so he could brush his teeth. Then to her bedroom, wishing she had been able to afford a larger apartment so he could have his own space. But he didn't seem to mind, and more often than not he ended up crawling into her bed during the night. Something she treasured, because she knew that all too soon he would be "too big" to share a bed with his mama.

Three storybooks and a rambling made up tale about a one-eyed dragon and the princess that saved him from the evil knight later, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned off the light. "Good night, sweetheart. Sweet dreams," she whispered before she left the room.

"So I met Max Verstappen today," she told Ellie a few minutes later while fixing her drink.

"Ooo Mr Tu Tu Du Du himself?"

Y/n snorted. "Yeah, that one." The chicken alfredo with a side of broccoli looked so much more appetizing than the greasy pizza she'd had for a late lunch, and she almost felt like she'd cheated on her best friend for ordering takeout.

"What's he like?" Ellie asked, scooping a little more sauce over the noodles.

"He's nice."

"Just nice?"

"I mean, he asked me surface level questions and laughed at my lame jokes? Yeah, nice." Y/n pulled her plate away before Ellie could push more food onto it and sat down to eat. "Everyone's been so nice, Ellie…"

Her friend squeezed her shoulder. "I'm so glad. I have good news, too."

Y/n lifted her eyebrows, unable to speak because her mouth was full.

Ellie sat down, smiling brightly. "I spoke to HR today and Kev will be able to use the daycare."

Gulping down her mouthful of food, y/n gasped. "Oh that's great!" she cried, feeling the weight of worry that had been plaguing her for three weeks lift. "They're sure?"

"Yep, you just have to come in with me before the first and sign a document giving me permission to take him from the premises."

"Excellent, we can go in the morning? I have to go in after lunch to get my kit. Camera, laptop, all that. And Wanda told me to get more shirts so I don't have to worry about laundry while on the road – Oh and I'll be getting our passes."

"Kevin is so excited about Italy. He wants to see the leaning tower of pizza."

"Bless his heart, maybe I can take him one day."

Plans made, she finished her late dinner and did the washing up then changed into her pajamas before settling on the couch to watch Bridgerton. They were rewatching the series so she didn't feel guilty about scrolling her social media, finally biting the bullet and following all of the RedBull people she knew from headquarters.

"You are the bane of my existence… and the object of all my desires."

"Ugh," Y/N and Ellie whined in unison.

"So much nicer than you've had me hard since we met," y/n muttered.

"Let's be real, practically anything is better than that," Ellie agreed.

They finished the episode and y/n headed to bed, keeping as quietly as possible even though she knew her son could sleep through anything. Digging her work phone from her bag, she powered it on to check for any missed messages, smiling slightly when she saw Max had added her on WhatsApp. Adding him back, she was about to turn the phone off again when a new message popped up.

👋🏻

Rolling her eyes, she replied with the same emoji and waited a few seconds before plugging the phone in and turning on do not disturb. She wasn't going to have a late night chat with Max Verstappen of all people. He was probably just being nice, she told herself as she brushed her teeth and did her skincare. Wanda had told her that Max added everyone but rarely messaged anyone aside from Mr. Horner or the engineers.

Besides, she wasn't there to make friends, she reminded herself as she climbed into bed. She could be friendly, but she was there to do a job.

And no flirting with him either, she thought, immediately wondering why the idea had popped into her mind. She would never – okay, she might, if unintentionally. She knew it was a protective thing, knew it was because she had the undesirable need to have everyone like her. But she couldn't do it. Not with him, especially. He'd probably laugh in her face. He was younger than her and probably had a never ending line of gorgeous women waiting to please him.

Before she switched off the lamp she glanced over at her sleeping son. A living, breathing, very real reminder of what she'd gone through just four years ago. And she knew she couldn't go through that again. She wasn't strong enough. She refused to endure that torture and heartache. Kevin needed her, so she had to be strong for him.

Not to mention there was a no hanky-panky clause in her contract?

She had barely closed her eyes when she heard his toddler bed creak. Lying there, she listened to his feet whispering against the rug, smiling in the dark when he slowly slid the covers back.

"Mama," he whispered, and she reached for him. He snuggled close, tucking his head under her chin as she pulled the covers over them.

"Love you, sweetheart," she murmured, pressing a kiss into his hair.

"Love you, Mama."

*-*

"I think it's good, yeah," Max said, eyes scanning the screens of data from the upgrades. "It'll be great for turn seven." Nodding, he listened to the engineers as they went over potential upgrades for Monaco. Once the meeting was finished he grabbed his water bottle and left the room, ignoring the almost immediate phone call from his father. He knew it was his dad without checking, and strode down the hall, intent on leaving and heading straight for the airport to go home. Where he could ignore everything and everyone until Sunday when it was time to fly to Italy.

Rounding the corner, he lurched to a stop as a small child darted in front of him, his giggles echoing down the corridor. The little boy stopped and looked up at Max, blinking slowly.

"Hi!" He waved.

"Hello." Max heard rapid footsteps and glanced up to see y/n iquickly approaching.

"Kevin Scott—"

"I've got him," Max told her with a quick wave, squatting down to the boy's level. "So you're Kevin?"

The boy nodded, light blonde curls bouncing on his head. "I'm Kevin. That's Mama."

"I'm Max. I heard a lot about you."

Kevin's eyes widened. "You know Mama?"

"About this much." Max held his thumb and index finger barely a centimeter apart. He quickly looked to y/n, who was walking up behind Kevin. "I work with her."

"Ohh… She's gonna take me to see cars. D'you like cars Mister Max?" he asked seriously. As though cars were the most important thing in the universe.

"More than I like myself some days," Max quipped, reaching to check the miniature car the boy was holding in his hand. "I drive one like this."

Kevin gasped. "Do you got it here?"

Max chuckled. "We have a lot. Do you want to see them?"

"Please," the boy said, and Max couldn't have said no under any circumstances.

"You have to ask your mum," he said gently. "And maybe say sorry for running away from her?"

Kevin immediately turned to his mother. "Mama I sorry. Can Mister Max take me to cars?"

She sighed, squatting down to fix his shorts. "We've gotta be more careful, sweetheart. And yes, Mister Max can take us to see the cars."

Kevin spun to face Max again. "She said yes!"

Grinning, Max nodded and stood.

"Thank you," y/n said softly. "I'm sor—"

"He's three, yeah?" Max reached to place his hand on the boy's head, gently guiding him closer when he started to wander off. "Don't apologize for him being a child."

She tipped her head at that, then nodded, grabbing hold of Kevin's hand as Max turned to lead them back down the hallway he'd just left. "I only came by to get my kit, and his aunt had paperwork at her new workplace to finish up, so I had to bring him."

"I'm glad you did." Max gave her a gentle smile, using his card to open the door leading to the back of headquarters. "Have you been back here?"

"Only on my tour the other day."

"Just stick with me," he said. They wouldn't be entering the engineer or design areas, only taking the corridor to the garage. Otherwise they'd have to travel all the way to the main entrance and walk around to the back, which would be tedious for her son.

"I'm under contract and signed an NDA, and it's not like I'd know where to go to sell team secrets," she told him. "And I wouldn't even know what I overheard."

"Not a car fan?" he asked, accepting the model car Kevin was shoving at him. Slipping it into his pocket, he guided them along the curving corridor.

"Eh… Kinda? I like racing. I don't understand all the mechanics to it, I just like the adrenaline of watching twenty guys drive really fast. And I can admire good craftsmanship, like a Bugatti or a McLaren, ya know?"

"What do you drive?" Max asked, using his card to open the door to the garage. Met with the faint aroma of rubber and asphalt, he inhaled deeply, catching with it a lighter, more pleasant scent.

"Nothing at the moment. I've been taking an Uber to and from the apartment," she explained. "I'll probably get a used car after my first paycheck."

Max furrowed his brows, stopping on the catwalk. "You haven't gotten paid yet?"

"No? Well, only my signing bonus, and that's gone to household necessities like rent and food. It's fine, Max, I don't need a car right now."

What are you going to do, give her one of yours? he thought, reaching to Kevin and lifting the boy to his hip so he could carry him down the stairs to the main level. Kevin was already oohing and aahing over the neat rows of cars. "It's just me, Brandon," he called, seeing the member of the security team at the other end of the garage. "A quick tour for a new friend, yeah?"

Brandon waved and disappeared around the corner.

At the bottom of the stairs, Max set Kevin down, ushering him to the nearest car. The boy's excitement was contagious, and Max gleefully told him about each one that he'd driven, helping the boy climb into each and press buttons on the steering wheel. Laughing when Kevin made racecar noises, he pulled out his phone to pull up some videos for sound effects. Swiping away the notifications from his dad, he turned up the volume so the engine sounds echoed in the garage, enjoying Kevin's childish glee.

"This one you know," he said, guiding him to the most recent addition. Lifting him into the seat, he squatted down. "This is a car I drove last year, which—" He pulled the model car from his pocket and set it on top of the steering column. "—is just like the one you have."

"Wow." Kevin looked at him with pure awe. "Did you win?"

"I did. And I won the championship too."

"You're a champ-een, Mister Max?" the boy gasped.

"I am."

"Like Lightning McQueen?"

"You could say that," he chuckled, affectionately ruffling the boy's curls. Glancing over at y/n, he paused when he saw she was holding up her phone.

She peered at him over the top. "Is it okay to take pictures?"

"Of course." He had a feeling she'd already taken dozens. He stepped out of the way so she could get photos of Kevin in the car, then lifted him out once she tucked her phone away. "Have you seen the trophies?"

"No. Can we see 'em, Mister Max? Please?"

"You have to ask your mum." Turning, he sent y/n a pleading look as Kevin asked permission.

"As long as Mister Max doesn't mind," she said, rolling her eyes when Kevin squealed yay.

"It's a long walk, do you want me to carry you?"

Kevin squirmed, wriggling so he was piggybacking. "Thank you Mister Max."

His chest tightened, and he reached to adjust the boy's legs around his middle. "You're welcome, Kevin. We do have to make a stop on the way to the trophy case, though."

Next to him, y/n cleared her throat. "I can take him if you've got something to do."

"No, it's fine, a quick stop," Max assured her, motioning for her to go up the stairs first.

"A pit stop?" Kevin asked, giggling as Max jogged up the steps.

"Exactly that. No more than ten seconds," he promised.

Fifteen minutes later, he was squatting down to fix the collar of Kevin's new shirt. "There you go, mate. What do you think?"

Kevin grinned and gave him a thumb's up.

Max looked up at y/n, who rolled her eyes. "He has to be Team Red Bull," he explained with a shrug, adjusting Kevin's new cap with a grin. Thanking the merch manager, he handed over the bag of goodies he'd grabbed and motioned for Kevin to climb onto his back.

"Thank you!" Kevin called, waving enthusiastically as he was carried out.

"Thank you, Max," y/n murmured while they walked towards reception. "But please don't get him anything else."

"I won't," he said softly. "If I overstepped—"

"No, no, it's fine. He'll wear the shirts until they're too small and he'll play with the models until they fall apart. I just don't want him to think he'll get this type of treatment all the time."

"I understand." He nodded. She didn't want her son to be spoiled. Which he found admirable. "…So giving him one of my old cars is out of the question?"

She halted, jaw dropping. "Max!"

"A joke!" he promised, flashing her a grin as he jogged ahead.

"Not funny," she scoffed behind him, and he heard her huff as she ran to catch up. "Those things cost probably a million—"

Max swung around, easily catching Kevin and swinging him back onto his back. "The car for Miami was about sixteen million."

Her eyes widened. "Sixteen—" She pressed her hands together right in front of her mouth. "Million? As in sixteen then six zeroes behind it?"

Nodding, he started walking backwards, amused at her reaction. She was staring at him in shock, and her son was giggling. "It's hard to pinpoint an exact cost, because we reuse some components from race to race. A chassis, or wings, yeah? If you really wanted to know I can pull up the data and get the price for each part—"

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "Please don't. I'd probably faint."

"It's an expensive sport, y/n," he reminded her.

"Yeah no shit," she muttered, exhaling harshly. "I've got so much to learn."

"You'll be fine." He'd meant it to come out in an offhand manner. A generic it's okay so feelings wouldn't be hurt. But it came out gently, laced with reassurance and promise. And, before he could stop himself, his mouth opened again. "If you have any questions you can ask me."

"I can Google," she told him.

"I can change my Wikipedia to say I'm eighty-six. Doesn't make it true," he quipped.

To his relief, she laughed. "Fair point. I'll be sure and ask you."

He turned his attention back to Kevin, swinging him from his back to his hip. Reception was empty, and he set the boy down so he could explore the various displays. "He can't hurt anything," he reassured her, knowing she was watching carefully as Kevin ran over to a wing displayed on the wall.

"I just worry," she sighed.

"Why do you sound like you're apologizing?" Folding his arms over his chest, he watched Kevin walk around the large room, drinking it all in. "You're his mother, you're supposed to worry. If you didn't you would have to apologize."

"Thank you."

"He's a good kid, y/n," he said softly.

"I think so too." He could hear the smile in her voice and turned slightly to see it on her face.

Every other time he'd been in this room the weather outside had been cloudy or rainy. He couldn't remember the sun ever shining as he'd stood there to soak in all the history. Until now. It poured through the windows, causing the trophies in the cases to sparkle and the polished floor to gleam. It shone into her eyes, and he could only stare at her as she squinted a little, a tiny dimple appearing in her left cheek.

God, she was lovely.

She glanced at him and his breathing kickstarted. Unconsciously licking his lips, he cleared his throat. "You seem to be doing well, for a single mom."

Her smile faltered and he mentally kicked himself. She looked to Kevin, who was studying the Red Bull logo on the wall, and looked at Max again. "I didn't have a choice."

"I'm sorry," he said automatically.

"Oh he's not dead." She watched her son, her smile gone. "Just dead to us."

"Then I'm sorry for bringing it up." It had ruined the day. Well, alright, not the day but the moment. They'd been having fun, he'd been having fun.

You always fuck up don't you?

His jaw clenched as the angry voice from years ago echoed in his mind.

"It's okay, Max." Her gentle voice cut through the echoes of the past and he forced his jaw to relax.

Nodding, he uncrossed his arms and called to Kevin, taking him by the hand and leading him to the towering trophy case. "Come on, y/n, time to learn some history."

She snorted on a laugh but joined them, and he could tell she was paying attention as he rattled off years and races and drivers to Kevin.

You're going to fuck this up too, the voice sneered.

[alienseasfanfics]

Friction - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!traumatized!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

Summary: When you're targeted by a violent stalker, Sam Wilson hires Bucky Barnes to guard you in an isolated safe house. This causes tension as you both get on each others nerves in an increasingly dangerous situation. But, you slowly come to realize you're more alike than you thought. Will it be too late when you finally let yourself trust him?

Word Count (for Part 1): 2.3k

Tags: Slowburn, reluctant attraction, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, bodyguard, hired to protect, fluff and angst, nightmares and comfort, eventual smut, reluctant attraction.

T/W: Some non-graphic depictions of violence, guns, eventual smut.

A/N: Hello. This will be just a few parts. I'm envisioning 5. Who knows though. Will be posted on my AO3 as well (linked here). Also, feel free to send short one-shot requests. I may not answer them all but if one inspires me, I'll write. Enjoy!

“If you keep staring at me, I’m going to sprint down the hill into oncoming traffic.”

“There is no oncoming traffic.”

“I’ll keep running until I find some.”

“Good luck.”

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking another swig of your coffee. Bucky Dumbass Barnes leans against the porch railing, watching you. You flip him off and he rolls his eyes, looking instead at the dirt road ahead.

The day is calm and cicadas are buzzing loudly. You draw your knees up to your chest as you watch the wind play with the grass, making it flatten and swirl into ever-changing circles.

It’s so incredibly boring out here, away from the city. There’s no coffee shops, or long walks down busy streets, or movie theatres. The lack of movie theatres hurts the most.

All you want to do is sit with people, too many people, anonymously sharing a laugh or a cry in a dark room. Free people don’t appreciate the amount of community that is shared within the walls of a theatre. The insight gleaned from hearing their murmurs to their friends about the attractiveness of the actors or the stupidity of the dialogue. You miss connecting with them and feeling, finally, like one of them. Anonymously. With the ability to leave afterwards, free to go about your business.

But now, all you do is watch the grass as Bucky watches you. Solely because of one stupid person with an obsession.

You chug the rest of your coffee and get up, limping past Bucky and letting the screen door slam behind you. He huffs, but you couldn’t care less.

The safe house has a rudimentary kitchen. Though, fancier than your own due to the coffee machine Sam brought as an apology for forcing you here. As you start another cup of coffee, you tap the counter with a finger. Sam said this would only be for a month. Just until they found out how He was tracking you. Then you could go back to your blissful anonymity in New York.

That is, if they could even find who He is.

That’s the flip side of the coin. You can disappear, until someone wants to find you. Then, it’s all that much easier for them to never appear to you at all, except when they want to.

The little voice in the back of your head whispers his name to you, but you close your eyes and silence it. He’s gone. He must be.

The coffee drips from the machine. It’s been overworked the past two weeks, both from you trying to cling on to whatever sense of normalcy you’ve cultivated outside of this house, and from Bucky trying to stay awake.

How long did Bucky say he was going to stay here for? Couldn’t have been more than a month. He’s always been sick of you within the hour in past missions. It’s a miracle he’s still around two weeks in. Once he’s decided he’s done, you can go back. Or when whatever Sam bribed him with is gone. And then, who else does Sam trust enough to know where the safe house is? He barely let you know. You’ll be going back in no time.

Sure, there’s a homicidal maniac after you, leaving traps that have caught you twice already and broken your leg both times, but now that you know his M.O. you can catch him. You’ve handled yourself before, who’s to say you can’t again?

The coffee machine beeps, and you take a sip from the cup. Your bad leg twinges, angry at supporting you for this long, and you grit your teeth. Your own body doesn’t believe in you. That’s a tough pill to swallow.

The screen door slams again as Bucky comes inside.

“There’s no more coffee.” You mutter, and he reaches into the cupboard by the door and pulls out a bag. Opening it, he comes over to the machine to refill, and you move gingerly out of the way. He doesn’t notice, or care, and continues.

“This is the last bag, though. We’ll have to go into town to get more.” He says to the coffee machine.

“I don’t think it’ll answer you.” You say.

“You don’t want me looking at you. I’m happy to grant that request.”

“I don’t want you watching me. That’s very different.”

“You’ll have to get used to me doing that.”

“Not for much longer.”

“Thank god. You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met. I don’t know who’s stalking you, but it must be the only person in the world who could put up with your bullshit.”

“At least someone can put up with mine. I don’t think anyone can handle this long with you.”

“I’m okay with not having a psycho leaving bombs on my doorstep.”

“My balcony. He left them on my balcony.”

“Touchey. Or however the fuck you say it.”

“Touché.”

He rolls his eyes, not answering you and instead methodically glancing over the sparse living room. After two weeks you know what he looks at. The boarded up back door, the windows with trip-wires stretched across the sills, the cameras blinking red and pointed at every egress point. If he wasn’t such an ass, you’d be impressed by the level of care he’s putting into his job. You know it’s just about the money, though. Money that’s quickly running out.

“How much did Sam pay for?”

“Coffee? Two months supply. You’ve been drinking it like the damned Energizer bunny, though.”

“No, your money. For your ‘services’, or whatever you call the peeping tom bullshit.”

He closes his eyes and sets his jaw. His neck muscle flexes beneath his collar. You’d think it was attractive if it wasn’t his jaw.

“That was one time. I knocked, and you didn’t answer. I told you to always answer. I didn’t ‘peep’ at anything, anyway.” He finally says after a minute of counting.

“You’re not my keeper.”

“For the next two weeks, I am. And then it some other poor idiots job to watch you.”

That makes you freeze, putting your coffee down.

“What?” You say, and he glances over at you.

“What, you want me to stay now?”

“No! What do you mean someone else will be watching me?”

“Well, if Sam and them don’t find Him, you’ll still need to stay here.” He’s talking slowly, as if talking to a particularly dumb child.

“That wasn’t the agreement. Sam said a month.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Sam. Besides, you want to go back there? Back to your apartment, that He knows about? Hell, He knows the security camera blindspots. And you want to waltz back in like everything is fine?” Now, he’s looking at you. You really hate it when he does that. He seems to always be studying you, picking you apart with his ice-cold eyes. It makes your heart jump into your throat.

You break the eye contact by looking into your coffee.

“I just want to go home.” You finally say into its dregs. You swallow the rest of it, putting it on the counter harder than you meant to. “I’m taking a shower. Try not to come in, weirdo.”

“Easy enough.” He mutters as you walk up the stairs.

- - -

That night, you’re running.

You don’t need to look behind you to know He’s there. You’re barefoot again, running on the rough cement of the lab, scraping your bare skin against the walls as you round the corners of the never-ending basement prison. The burn from your wounds is nothing to the one in your head. It’s making your vision blurry and your eyes red-hot, and you know he’s closing in on you.

Sprinting now, the lights behind you close one by one with an electric thud, like a giants footsteps getting closer to stomping on you by the second.

Thud. You’re blinking back fire. Thud. Your heart is giving out.

Thud. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine as he finally-

Crash. You startle awake, a scream still ripping through your throat. You grab the closest thing to you -another coffee cup- and throw it towards the door that just smashed open. It narrowly misses a barely clothed Bucky as he ducks backward.

“Fuck!” He shouts, “Don’t surprise the guy with a gun! Gun safety 101!”

You notice now that he is holding one, its metal nose glinting off the moonlight coming through the bent blinds. His steel fingers share the same gleam.

“Don’t break into a sleeping woman’s room!” Is the only thing you can manage to yell back, turning away from him to wipe hot tears from your face quickly.

“I think the fact you were screaming loud enough to wake the dead is reason enough to come in here! I told you to not lock this door, by the way, so the whole breaking and entering thing is your fault.” He barks.

“Shut up, Bucky.” You whisper.

“Is someone in here? Why were you screaming?” The floor creaks under him as he steps into the room, looking around the corners.

“No one is in here, just go back to bed.” You’re gripping the mattress now, trying to calm down. He’s not making it any easier as he stops to stand behind you. There’s a soft ting of a bullet hitting the ground as he uncocks the gun, but he doesn’t leave.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes I did.”

“There were two questions.”

“I’m glad you know how to count.” You need to breathe. 1, 2, 3- shit. 1, 2- shit! Do you know how to count?

He’s quiet for a moment, and you almost think he’s left until he speaks again.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?”

“Because I need to be.” You say breathlessly. Running a hand through your hair you stand up shakily, moving around the bed and going to the door. He’s standing in front of the doorway, not moving. In the dim light of the moon, the only part of him not shrouded in shadow is his metal arm. You try to avoid looking at it, knowing somewhere deep down that he hides it from you for a reason, with long sleeves even in the harshest sunlight. But the only other place to look is his chest or his face, which makes your cheeks feel hot even now. You settle on looking down at the bullet on the ground between you both.

“I need some water.” You murmur after a moment of him staring down at you.

“You need to answer me.”

“Please, Bucky.” You plead. Your defences fall for just a moment, but your lungs are starting to collapse. The world is starting to swim, and you’re not sure if its panic, tears, or the pain in your leg screaming at you to sit back down. Whichever one, you really don’t want Bucky to see it.

“Go back in bed. I’ll get it for you.” His voice is calm now. Quieter. Exhausted, the only answer you can manage is a nod, doing as you’re told and laying back down. You stare at the crack in the blinds and try to blink away tears as you listen to him rummaging in the kitchen.

He comes back too soon. He sets the glass on the nightstand behind you, but you don’t hear him leave. Sighing, you turn around, and finally look at him in the face.

His eyebrows are knit together, and as he looks at you, you can feel him studying you again. This time your stomach flutters.

You break eye contact again, sitting up and sipping the water quietly.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Sorry for crashing in.”

“Sorry for screaming.”

“Not for the coffee mug?”

“I’ve been wanting to do that.”

You flick your eyes up at him, and you think for a moment you see a smile, but it quickly falls away once he looks in your eyes. You both look at each other for a second, two, three, before its his turn to break contact. He runs his metal hand through his tousled hair, glancing down at his gun, the bed, the window, anywhere but you.

“When I, hmm.” He takes a deep breath. “When I have a bad night, I have to ground myself.”

“Ground yourself? Like a naughty kid?”

“No.” He pinches the skin between his eyes. “My senses. Y’know. Five things I see, three things I hear, one thing I feel. Until I calm down.”

“Oh.”

“Are you still on edge?” He glances down at your free hand gripping the mattress. You loosen it.

“I guess.”

“Do you want me to stay in here?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to stay in here. To...watch over you.” He’s still looking away from you.

“Aren’t you already doing that? Hence the gun?”

He rolls his eyes.

“If you don’t want me to, I’ll just-”

“Yeah. If you can. Stay here, that is.” The permission comes from a part of you that you’ve shoved down. Or thought you shoved down. Now, it’s speaking from the middle of your throat, stealing any breath you have with it.

He finally looks at you again, then slowly nods.

“Okay. I can. Let me grab a blanket.” He walks out of the room, and you’re finally able to breathe again.

Laying back down, you try to ground yourself. You see the armchair across from the foot of your bed, the window, the bent blinds, the broken patch of ceiling above you, the barely touched glass of water on the nightstand. You hear the croon of an owl outside, the orchestra of a grasshopper, the creak of the floorboards as Bucky comes back in. Closing your eyes, you try to focus on sleep.

You feel Bucky’s warm hand brushing against your skin as he pulls your blanket up to cover you, leaving you cold when he moves away.

Your muscles relax as you hear him settle into the armchair. Inexcusably, your brain tells you, he calms you. Happily, your heart slows, letting you fall into a dreamless sleep.

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ Slytherin Boys' Reaction to Another Boy asking you to the yule ball : ✦ 」

[Mattheo Riddle / theodore Nott / lorenzo berkshire]

Mattheo Riddle :

Mattheo had been waiting for the right moment to ask you to the Yule Ball, rehearsing his words and planning the perfect approach. However, his plans were dashed when he heard that someone else had beaten him to it. Frustration and possessiveness surged through him, but he decided to take a mischievous yet playful approach to address the situation.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Mattheo orchestrated a playful kidnapping of the boy who had asked you to the Yule Ball before him. Confronting the boy, Mattheo made his feelings clear.

"So, I hear you've asked her to the Yule Ball. A bold move, I'll give you that," Mattheo started, his voice carrying a warning tone. "But let me make something very clear to you. She's not yours to take. She's mine. You've stepped into a game you don't understand, and trust me, you don't want to be on the losing side."

The boy, startled by the sudden turn of events, stammered out an explanation, but his gaze remained firm.

he spotted you across the ballroom, and with a contrite expression, he approached you, a single red rose in his hand.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked you to the ball first. You deserve better than the way I handled things," he admitted, his eyes filled with regret.

You smiled softly, accepting the rose. "If you had asked me first, I wouldn't have said yes to him."

His determination shone through as he promised, "I will make it up to you, baby. I promise."

Dancing under the shimmering lights, the tension between you melted away as you talked and laughed, reconnecting in a way that felt natural and comforting.

Stepping out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air, Mattheo gazed into your eyes. "The moon is so beautiful tonight," you remarked, your eyes fixed on the sky.

"Yeah, very beautiful," Mattheo whispered, his gaze shifting from the moon to you. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a gentle, soft kiss under the moonlit sky—a kiss you had been waiting for, a moment of clarity and realization of mutual feelings that had been brewing for years.

theodore Nott ;

Theodore Nott's dark smirk intensified as he processed the news, his competitive spirit igniting a fire within him. He wasted no time and confronted the boy who dared to ask you to the Yule Ball, his aura exuding authority and a hint of danger.

"I hear you've extended an invitation to her for the Yule Ball. Interesting choice," Theodore began, his voice carrying a veiled threat. "But let's get something straight. She's not just any girl you can whisk away for a night. She's special, and she's mine to protect."

The boy, trying to defend himself, replied, "That’s for her to decide. I just thought she might want to go with me."

Theodore's eyes flashed with warning, his patience wearing thin. "Think again. You're treading on dangerous ground. If you know what's good for you, you'll rescind that invitation before things get messy."

The next day, when Theodore discovered that the boy hadn't complied, he took matters into his own hands. He arranged for the boy to have an unexpected "vacation" under Madam Pomfrey's care in the hospital wing, ensuring he wouldn't be attending the Yule Ball.

Approaching you at the ball with a sheepish smile, Theodore revealed, "He's not coming, love."

Confused, you asked, "What—why?"

"I made sure he won't be able to walk for a week," Theodore admitted, his tone apologetic. "I owe you an apology. I should have been the one to ask you to the ball first."

Surprised by his confession, you started to speak, but he gently cut you off. "No, I was just nervous to ask you."

"You—nervous?" you echoed in disbelief.

"Imagine that? Yeah, me too. I'm still trying to figure out what you have done to me, love," Theodore admitted, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier intensity.

Later that night, as you found a quiet corner of the ballroom, Theodore took your hand, apologizing again. Without hesitation, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, his emotions laid bare in the passionate embrace.

Lorenzo berkshire :

Lorenzo watched from afar as the boy approached you, asking you to the Yule Ball. His jaw clenched as he felt a surge of jealousy and possessiveness. Determined to make his feelings known, he waited for the right moment to act.

During a Quidditch match, Lorenzo saw an opportunity. As the boy flew past, Lorenzo angled his broomstick just right, causing a collision that sent the boy tumbling. Everyone else thought it was an accident, but you knew better.

That night, Lorenzo sought you out, his expression dark with intensity. "You say yes to any other boy, and God help me for what I will do," he said, his eyes locked onto yours.

You smiled softly, meeting his gaze. "If you had asked me, I would have never said yes to him from the start, Enzo."

On the day of the ball, Lorenzo didn't leave your side, his hands possessively on your waist as you danced. "Call down, Enzo," you said gently, trying to soothe his intense emotions.

"I can't, not when I can't get the face of that stupid boy asking you first out of my mind. I'm sorry," Lorenzo admitted, his voice filled with regret.

You continued dancing, trying to distract him. As the music swirled around you, Lorenzo suddenly pulled you towards a secluded area, his hunger and desire evident in his eyes. Pressed against a tree, he kissed you passionately, his emotions overflowing.

You gently reminded him that you were there with him and no one else, calming him down from his intense emotions from time to time throughout the night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[bratbarzal]

for your valentines event ³⁾ "you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry." with quinny ❤️

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

"you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry." with toxic!quinn!!! ALOOF!QUINN TRUTHERS THIS IS YOUR MOMENT!!! this came to me in a fever dream last night tbh and escalated so hope you enjoy once again I took creative liberties with the exact wording (I didn't want it to be too much like the nico blurb) and I'm not sure this fits the vibe of the prompt but I saw I'm hungry and my mind went to one place!! and I don't even think this mentions valentines but what can you do it's may!!! (post requested blurbs within a normal response time you say??? who do you think I am?) I'm not great at writing smut but I did my best and my best is probably taking things too far with random interlinked plot dotted throughout

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut!! the filthy kind tbh - dom!quinn, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, squirting, slight/light/barely even spanking if you want to be dramatic lol, degrading comments maybe, brief mentions of previous sexual encounters, quinn is a menace and a dirty talking tease :) ~cheating but not really it's a first date with no labels that's going nowhere and reader and quinn have history. he's an asshole :) but I'd let him do unspeakable things also

4.7k words!!

The last place you expect to run into Quinn Hughes is in the middle of a bar.

The venue is too crowded to be somewhere he would usually visit - rowdy guys in the corner watching the baseball on the TV, even though you're not sure it's even live, a couple pool tables occupied with the kind of people who would recognise him in a heartbeat - and maybe that's why you chose it in the first place.

But you should have run for the hills the second you saw Elias Petterson and Brock Boeser on your way in. You should have known it would only be a matter of time before Quinn himself showed up, and that you would have no chance of escaping before he saw you.

"Was gonna offer to buy you some fries to share," he comments as he slides into the booth beside you, his eyes assessing the rest of the bar as if he's trying to gauge who might notice him talking to you. "But Petey said you were meeting someone,"

God, he can be such an asshole when he wants to be.

You haven't seen him for weeks, he's been ignoring your texts for weeks, and he can't even look you in the eye?

This is exactly why you keep telling yourself that you're done. This is exactly why when you mention him to your friends, they roll their eyes and tell you to just block his number and move on.

But they haven't seen the parts of him you've seen - the parts you so desperately cling to when he's cold like this.

"I am."

"I don't see anybody."

"He got held up at work."

"Of course he did." he scoffs, "You're being stood up. You're lucky I'm hungry though, I'll save you the embarrassment of sitting here on your own."

"Just because you're an asshole who ghosts girls the second things get serious, it doesn't mean Justin is."

"You don't have to get protective, sweetheart," he purrs, glancing down at you in a way that shouldn't make your throat seize, "Just saying, it's the oldest trick in the book. I was gonna sit with you but if you're gonna be snippy about it, I'm sure Justin will turn up eventually."

Asshole.

You couldn't be more thankful for the buzz of your phone on the table, pulling you from the depths of Quinn's gaze as you glance down, Justin's name flashing on your lock screen.

Quinn quirks a brow as he looks down, too, watching as you swipe into the message.

I'm here.

And then you glance to the entrance of the bar, relief flooding your system at the sight of him - not a sensation you ever thought you'd be feeling when you agreed to meet up with him after months of him asking.

But you're supposed to be getting over Quinn Hughes.

Justin is sweet, and you suppose he's attractive in a cute sort of way. He doesn't make your head spin, or your heart pound, or your stomach swirl into knots, but you're not supposed to want that, so he's the next best thing.

You edge past Quinn without sparing him another glance, hoping it hurts him in some way - hoping he at least feels something at your feigned indifference - and you proceed to spend the rest of your night unable to shift that hope.

Every time you force a laugh at one of Justin's attempts at a joke, you hope Quinn hears it.

Every time you try to flirt, you hope he sees it.

Every time you lean over the table when the two of you move over for a game of pool, you're hoping Quinn's watching.

And you think it must be the karma that comes from craving his attention that has you colliding with somebody else on their way back from the bar, their drink spilling all the way down the front of your top until it sheers out a little, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom to go and try clean up.

You really hope he didn't see that.

You're thankful it was vodka soda and not cranberry, the stain easy to shift with a little water and a blast of the hand dryer, and you're shrugging the top back on when you hear the rap of knuckles against the door.

"Yeah, sorry," you call out, shuffling towards the entrance, "I'm finished, it's all y-,"

Quinn stands on the other side of the door when you swing it open, hair astray like he's been running his hands through it endlessly, and his stature imposing.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he crowds into your space, backing up until you’re both in the bathroom, and he’s reaching back to lock the door behind him.

“Told you, I’m hungry,” and the look in his eyes confirms just that - dark and dangerous, a stormy swirl of greys and greens that make your breath stutter, the intensity sweeping straight through you.

He advances on you slowly, your feet stumbling back until you can steady yourself against the bathroom counter, and his gaze drops agonisingly down your body, lingering way too low for any sort of friendly admiration - because that's what he'd said the two of you were too many times to count, just friends.

You feel goosebumps rise as Quinn's head tilts, his eyes meeting yours just as the calloused pads of his fingertips graze the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt.

"You wore this that time we fucked in my car after a game," he mutters, pushing ever so gently until his hand slips beneath the fabric, "Did you think of me when you put it on?"

"No," you gulp, your tone entire unconvincing.

The guys had all gone out after a win, and Quinn had texted you his location - meeting you outside the bar so that the rest of his teammates didn't see you and him together - and had driven you out to some random parking lot, had you crawl over the centre console into his lap, and had pushed this exact skirt up until it bunched at your hips and he could watch himself disappear into you.

It was so hot and sticky that you remember swiping little jagged finger marks against the fog on his window, and you wondered the next day when you saw him and he pretended that none of it happened if he had just wiped them away.

You'd remembered the incident as you were getting dressed, earlier, smoothing your hands down your hips and picturing the way his knuckles whitened as he took the skirt into his grip.

You don't get how he can so easily pretend the two of you are nothing when he remembers, too.

"So you wore it for him?" He doesn't push any higher, but his hand forms an authoritative grip around the back of your thigh, squeezing until they part by instinct, and he uses the leverage to slot his own leg between yours so that you can't fully close them again.

He knows how to work you like it's second nature to him.

He brings his other hand up to shift your hair back over your shoulder, clearing a path from your neck to your collarbone where he can trail his knuckle along the smooth skin just to make you shudder.

You shake your head, again, an unconvincing response, but what else can you do? You're too breathless to speak when he crowds into your space like this, and all you can smell is his cologne, and all you can feel is anticipation of his touch.

"Does he know you like being kissed right here?" His thumb presses down on your pulse point, the pressure firm in a way that makes your spine stiffen, and he tilts his head again as you meet his eye, his smirk condescending and so so sexy.

"We haven't kissed yet," you blink slow, trying to shake the daze he's put you under.

"Ahh," the grin Quinn gives now gives a flash of teeth, and you gulp at the visual it brings - said teeth sinking teasingly into the plush skin of the thigh he's still holding, and it's only then that you notice how his hand has moved, how his fingers are now curled into the leg of your panties. "So he's not taking care of you?" And then he pulls, and you gulp as you feel the fabric fall in his clutch, loosening once they're not flush around your hips anymore and dropping when he's pulled them down enough.

"Quinn," you warn, and he waits, to give him credit - his dark eyes narrowing in on yours, pupils blown, his tongue swiping out against his lips, and it takes you back to another night, a few weeks back.

Quinn turning up at your apartment late, his game having gone into overtime and then a subsequent shootout, and he looked exhausted - hair a mess, eyes sunken, shoulders slumped. The team had lost, and the first place he thought to go was to you, and maybe this was the delusion your friends kept warning you about when it came to him, but it had been the first night things between the two of you had been slower and softer.

The way he kissed you was different - it wasn't a rushed fumble into more, it was intentional and tender, he took his time advancing it into something more, and when he finally backed you into your bedroom, the two of you laid together far beyond the two rounds he managed before tapping out.

He let you stroke at his hair, and kiss at his skin, and see him beyond the cold and unattached version of himself he so often gave to you. And he didn't leave until the next morning.

And sure, that was the last time you saw him, and every text you've sent him since has gone unanswered, entirely, but you can't help but think something changed that night.

Something he doesn't want to acknowledge, now.

A loss of control, or a surrender to his feelings.

You can only hope it's finally the latter.

And because of that blind hope, you can't bring it in yourself to push him away - not if this is the only way he's going to let you have him, teasing and detached.

You swear he sees the moment you give in, when something shifts in his gaze, and he slowly, tormentingly drops to his knees before you.

He looks up at you from the lower position, palms caressing your thighs as he pushes them both up, your skirt following his ministrations and bunching at your hips until you're bare to him, and it's only then that his eyes shift - somehow you feel the intensity of them as much as they stare at your very core than you had when he was looking back up at you.

"Please," you whimper pathetically as he admires the way your legs part even further without prompting, the way your body crumbles and you lean back against the counter, arching to reveal yourself to him entirely.

"Look at you," he mutters as he brings one of his hands to the apex of your thighs, using his fingers to swipe through your folds and pulling them back to show you the sticky mess that now coats them, "So wet, already."

"Quinn,"

"For him?"

You shake your head as he repeats his actions, running his fingers from your entrance and bumping them teasingly against your clit, looking up at you again with a raise of his brow, prompting a further response and pressing lightly at the bundle of nerves until you answer.

"For you," you breathe, your hips stuttering forward to try and increase the pressure - but he knows you too well, anticipates your impatience and lightens his touch even more. "Only you."

"Good girl."

You gasp the second his mouth makes contact with your core - tongue pressing flat between your folds until he can lick a firm stripe upward, his lips closing sloppily around your clit until he sucks it into his mouth, the pressure of his kiss divine and mind-numbing.

Your feet stumble a little against the floor, and he braces his hands against your hips, pulling them firmly against his face so that he can hold you in place, and all you can do to maintain your balance is curl your fingers into his thick hair, pulling and tugging as you please - as he pleases you.

And God, you can't believe you thought you could just give this up. He's so good. So fucking good it's insane. And you really considered leaving things alone with him, for what - some nice guy from work who barely knows how to flirt with you?

Quinn's fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, the pressure firm enough it'll probably bruise by the morning, and he's nipping and licking at your pussy like he can't get enough - the sound of it alone is obscene enough to make your legs feel like jelly, and you're pretty sure you're going to collapse if he carries on like this.

You tug a little harder on his hair until he parts with a wet pop, the sound making your throat go dry so that all you can do is pant down at him in response.

And his eyes are clouded over, entirely, a hunger you've never seen before taking over him. His lips are parted and slick, and his chest is heaving like he was depriving himself of breath, and the sight of it takes your breath away.

You heave yourself up onto the counter behind you, parting your legs again and leaning back a little onto your hands - all without saying a word.

You don't need to say anything, though. Not to Quinn.

He's diving straight back in as soon as you're situated like a man starved, and from where you are now, you can shuffle into him a little, grinding against his tongue as it works against you - works inside you, even, and you slap a hand to your own mouth in a last-ditch attempt to conceal the moans and whines before they carry way beyond the locked door of the bathroom.

Quinn's displeasure with that fact is obvious when he pinches and smacks at the side of your ass, his hand shooting up until his fingers curl around your wrist and he tugs it away from your mouth, pulling away from your pussy to glare up at you from between your legs.

"Don't you dare," he huffs, "I'm putting in the work, I wanna hear how much you like it,"

"But Quinn-,"

The press of his finger into your entrance cuts you off, and the squeaky, surprised moan you let out seems to echo off of every wall, heat creeping up your neck as you hear how pathetic you sound as he pushes the digit all the way in, pressing as far as it will go into your spongey walls until your back is arching and he's straightening up with it still inside you.

"You think you can hide from me?" He asks as he crowds back into your space, your faces level and his other hand coming down onto the counter beside you. "You think I don't know how to make you scream for me?"

He presses another finger into you, and the slow stretch of your walls around him has your eyes fluttering shut, your head lulling forward until it bumps into his, and your clammy foreheads press together. He shakes against you with a dark chuckle, allowing you a moment to adjust until he's thrusting them in and out, stroking up until he presses into your g-spot.

You haven't been with anybody since you were last with him - you haven't been with anybody since you were first with him, however many months ago that is, now - and you're pretty sure he knows that, for as much as he's been teasing you about your date.

"You think you can walk around in this skirt, bending over pool tables, looking this pretty, and I'm just gonna sit back and watch you with another guy?"

"No," you whine, your hips bucking and your hand reaching out to clutch at his shoulder, nails digging in through his shirt until you hope they leave a mark, too. You hope there's something left behind to remind him of this tomorrow when he wants to pretend you don't exist, again.

"No, that's right," he patronises, his lips nipping at your jaw when he leans in and brushes the bridge of his nose against your temple. "'Cause you're mine, aren't you?"

You nod frantically, chasing something more from him, as if he could possibly give you anything else - your back arching until he retracts his fingers, ignoring the instant whine you give only to push three inside, your mind going blank at the pressure of it all.

"Oh my God," you throw your head back, giving him access to the front of you, your neck bare all the way down to the low cut of your top, and he takes full advantage of the space.

You can't even bring yourself to care about marks, as stupid as it is to let him touch where someone else might see - and there's a voice in the back of your head that tells you he wouldn't risk it, anyway.

Quinn doesn't want anyone talking, not about you.

He'd rather keep you some dirty secret confined to the back bathroom of a dingy bar, the front seat of his car in the middle of some random parking lot, or the privacy of your apartment on the other side of town.

But that was before Justin, who's voice carries through the thick wood of the bathroom door accompanied by a few bangs and a call out of your name - and Quinn is the first to react, his movements more vigorous and intentional.

You grab at his wrist in some weak attempt to slow him down, but he won't budge, and then you're too consumed by how good it feels to actually get him to stop.

Your jaw goes slack as Justin calls your name again, and you can't move, can't breathe, can't blink without your space being consumed by Quinn.

"Are you good? You've been in here a while, your shirt isn't ruined, right? You can cover up with my jacket if you need to!"

You press your hand to your mouth to try and conceal the moans he's eliciting from you, his pace unrelenting as your eyes go wide, and you hate how much it spurs you on to see him enjoy this.

“Tell him you’ll come in a minute,” Quinn mutters into your ear, his fingers relentless in their movements as they curl inside you, his palm firm against your clit.

“I’ll come-,” you squeak, arching into his touch as his lips press wet, hot kisses into your neck, “I’ll come out in a minute!” You call, a little steadier though still breathless. "It just needs to dry off a bit!"

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Justin calls through the door, and you feel the vibrations of Quinn’s groan into your skin.

“Tell him I’m helping you just fine,” his mouth moves against your jaw, the low hum of his voice carrying all the way down to the base of your spine in a persistent, dizzying vibration. He starts to shake his hand with his fingers still inside you, and the pressure inside you builds to the point you think you might burst, your thighs trembling and your hips stuttering against him. "Go on, tell him you're all taken care of,"

"Tell-," you stutter mindlessly, your only thought to repeat him, not even considering what you're repeating. "I'm-,"

Quinn chuckles darkly against your throat, his teeth nipping into the sensitive flesh - and you swear you can feel him everywhere. He's relentless, he's unforgiving, he's determined to get you to come with Justin on the other side of the door, and you're in no fit position to stop him.

"I'm fine," you call out in one last attempt, praying to whatever god is up there that he finally gets the hint and leaves.

There's no way you can be quiet about this.

"Alright, I'll get you another drink!"

"You're gonna need one, aren't you baby?" Quinn asks, his grin smug and his tone teasing as he parts from your neck, your faces level again as he juts his chin to catch your drooping gaze, the pet name doing little to rouse you from your stupor as he draws you closer to an orgasm. "Gonna make you come so hard it fuckin' drains you," he promises, "Gonna make you walk back out there and sit in a mess in your panties while you talk to him, and all you're gonna think about is this."

"Quinn," you cry out, the mind-numbing pace of his fingers rubbing into your pussy bringing tears to your eyes, and your bottom lip pops out in a pout as you try to chase him for a kiss. "Please, please, please," you beg as he evades you, keeping up the fervour with his hand. You need something to occupy your mouth so you don't scream out, and he hasn't kissed you yet - not tonight, not properly.

"You think you've been good enough for a kiss?" he taunts, his fingers curling inside you just when you're at the brink, "You think that a naughty girl who's letting me fill her pussy with her date standing just outside deserves a kiss?"

"Yes," you whine, "Quinn," and plead, and you bat your lashes in one final attempt at convincing him, your eyes watering, lips trembling, spine tingling as he considers it for a brief moment.

"Come," he commands, "And then I'll kiss you."

You groan, throwing your head back as he brings his other hand into the mix, swiping at your clit with a feverish speed until you really feel like you're about to scream, gripping onto him for dear life as his three fingers plunge all the way into you, to the bottom of his knuckles, his touch pressing against the deepest part of your core until you fall apart.

And it's a mess.

The counter becomes slippery beneath you, your thighs coated in your own slick, and the way you hear Quinn remove his fingers makes you wince more than the feeling, itself.

He's still looking down at your pussy when your vision comes to, blinking away the white spots in your eyes until all you can see is him - in a daze at the way you can feel your walls contracting still, missing the way he had them filled just seconds ago.

You think you're shaking all over, too weak to move - to lift yourself onto your legs, to even lift your arms to do anything about how bare you are to his hungry glare - and you're struggling a little to catch your breath, if you're honest.

You feel hot all over, too. In your head, on every visible surface of your skin - and you can't tell if the flush is from the physical activity or the sheer mortification of the fact you just squirted in front of him.

Your last shred of dignity probably disappeared as soon as that drink fell into your lap, there's no use in denying it now.

And just as he said, Quinn bends to retrieve your panties from where they hang from one of your ankles, bending your leg to slip it in the other side and pulling them up until you can shimmy your hips into them despite how wet you feel all over. He puts one hand down beside you on the counter once they're in place, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a little lighter but stormy, nonetheless, a million unspoken thoughts swirling behind those cloudy irises.

"You said you'd kiss me," you mumble, feebly, leaning into his touch when he pushes a strand of hair back out of your face.

"Did I?" he smirks slowly, those same eyes now tracing your lips.

You nod, your tongue swiping out against them in preparation.

He hums, teasing as he leans in, and he brings his free hand up to your mouth, hooking one of the fingers that had just been inside you against your lips until they part, pushing the digit in until it's pressed against your tongue, and you close your lips around it by instinct.

He watches as your cheeks hollow, satisfaction in his stare, and the slight upturn of his lips causes your chest to puff with pride, opening your mouth again so that he can slot the other two fingers in.

"Maybe you are a good girl," he mutters, and you nod, humming around the taste of your own release until he pulls his fingers out with a pop, using them to grasp at your chin and pulling you forward until your lips collide.

It's almost like he's trying to chase the taste of you, his tongue licking into your mouth and then he's actually sucking at yours, your hands clutching at the chest of his shirt to keep him close, letting him do whatever he wants for as long as he wants, because you're trying to get your fill.

Him using you like this seems better than the alternative - him ghosting your for days or weeks at a time, making you feel like you don't matter to him in the way he matters to you, or that he'll never feel the same way.

But there's something desperate in the way he kisses you - you think that's why he tries to deprive you of it, like you'll be able to read him through the taste on his tongue.

And you get a little greedy with his affections, probably, your hands sliding down until they meet his belt, and he pulls away before you even realise, stepping back completely so that you can't reach and running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Or maybe not."

"I just thought-,"

"You really are naughty, huh?" he chuckles, "What were you gonna do, make him wait out there all night while you tug at my cock? Get on your knees for me while your sweet little boyfriend buys you drinks and sits alone?"

"No," you pout, "He's not my boyfriend, he's just a guy from work."

"Just a guy you're using to make me jealous."

"Don't flatter yourself," you scoff, suddenly finding the nerve to stand up to him - the smirk he sends your way a touch too deep, and lasting a second too long. "I didn't even know you'd be here. Not everything is about you."

"Not what you were saying when my face was just between your legs." He shrugs as he takes another step back, and the grin you found so sexy mere minutes ago now makes you want to smack him as you watch him retreat. "I'll see you around, pretty girl, don't forget to clean up after yourself before you go back out for your date."

He winks before he leaves completely, leaving you alone in your own sticky mess, feeling dirty and used just like you always do when he disappears.

You find yourself wishing he stayed as you shuffle completely off the counter, pushing your skirt back down and grabbing some paper towels to clean the spot you were just sat on.

He'd stayed that night in your apartment, and you really thought things might change after.

But you should know by now things will never change with Quinn.

Especially when you head back out into the bar and find him speaking to Justin, shaking his hand with the exact same one he'd just used to bring you to a screeching orgasm, a crooked smirk stretching across his lips as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before he leaves for the night.

Especially when he texts you moments after, your screen flashing with his name until you press through and read, He'll never be good enough for you.

And especially when you're answering the door of your apartment to him again a week later, falling back into the same pattern and letting him charm his way back in, no matter how shitty you feel when he disappears afterwards.

[ghostykapi]

three times (you got a charm)

misamo & fem! reader // spicy pt. 2 of three against me

UHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

anyway minors dni // NSWF UNDER THE CUT TURN AROUND NOW

you and momo never really defined who is the leading person within you four

sana and mina also don't care, but for some reason they are really good at getting what they want, which is usually having control

it's balanced

kind of

there's never really been a dynamic within your relationship with them. no definitive answer to who 'wears the pants' or who tops or who leads or who is simply in control

each with their own charm, you never really gave it much thought. well, not until nayeon was asking over beer and burgers night at a diner you frequent.

"nayeon, why are you asking me? you're literally friends with them, just last week you were over their apartment just so momo can cook you food after your nine to five"

buzzed and giggly, nayeon's eyes hold the curiosity that might not kill her, but sustain her. it makes you a bit scared, you should be more scared

"it's funny that you think i haven't asked them. momo says she doesn't care, sana just laughs and tells me that what matters is everyone is satisfied and mina just turns red and never answers the question"

sounds like them alright

"well" you had dreams, maybe one too many thoughts, of one of them pinning you down and fucking you to oblivion. you haven't done it with them yet, but the image of mina holding momo's collar, all while she's bent over her table getting pounded over that pink strap is forever gonna be in your head. sana is just giggling at your flushed expression over the door frame, clearly pleased at how your 5th date turned out

"you can just watch for now baby, but when you want it, come tell us okay?"

you have dreams, maybe aspirations. doesn't matter what position it is, all you can say is that

"well?" nayeon prods a bit more, despite the teasing tone of her voice, you know she only wants to know how well you have adjusted to the three "don't tell me you haven't had sex with them after six months of being together"

silence

"no"

you don't even acknowledge her at this point, deciding that the wall looks so interesting. hey that's a new wallpaper! that's so nice the old one needed to change after five years

"y/n!" nayeon is shocked, well she has almost every right to be shocked "last time you got into a relationship you told us it only took you 2 months to get your brains fucked, don't tell me that those three dumbasses did something bad—"

"it's not that!" you cut her off, her blush in your face spreading "it's just–uhm how do i say this–they are a lot"

"expand a lot"

"they offered to take turns to get a feel of how they are but i said i wanted the three of them there. so now we're playing this game of they wait patiently for me to make a move but i have been suuppperrr busy so"

more silence

"at least they are letting you decide" nayeon also decided that she doesn't need to break in their apartment to tear them apart "you trust them y/n?"

"yeah i do"

"ok good, because if they do something stupid to you i'll personally break their knees"

"what"

before nayeon can even start again, jihyo appears right beside her, shoving the older girl at the other side of the seat

"hi guys what did i miss"

"jihyo why are you always late? don't you and y/n end your meetings at the same time"

"nayeon unnie stuffed her face with all the fries that was supposed to be for you"

"UNNIE!"

you don't really think about it after that

not until dahyun and chaeyoung came to you during one of your night outs, one is wearing a turtleneck, the other just casually showing her tattoos and bite marks off

"really?" you can't really be stern with them, these were the girls that you took under your wing since high school and they just followed you up until here and probably until wherever

"what?" chaeyoung teases, clearly unfazed despite the other is beet red "jealous?"

"as if" you try not to think of it more, but your head is replaying each gaze they give to you when their needs take over

the couple look at each other

"no way" "holy fucking shit"

now both of them are asking too many questions, leaving you more flustered than it should. even as you walk faster, both keep up, intent to make you suffer for the rest of the evening out

so now you contemplate life choices in the back of jihyo’s car with nayeon blasting the songs too loud, chaeyoung yapping your ear off and dahyun playing soupsoup on your phone

it’s still quite silly to you, because you know that tonight is the night you decide that wearing a suit to drinking dinner was an ok idea. your reasoning being that you had just finished your thesis presentation, and you are just too damn tired to even change outfits. curse that timetable for putting you last on today’s schedule

it’s alright, because the moment you enter the place, heads turn, but that unfortunately mostly contained men who like you. seriously how many are they?

you clutch your messenger bag at the amount of men who look at you like some kind of prize, ready to bash it to their heads on command

“hey losers over here!”

until you shifted your attention to jeongyeon and tzuyu at a table, ready to waste a good 2 hours of the night before everyone decided that it was wise to not get so drunk tonight

as you settle in and try to look away as jihyo starts giving tzuyu one too many kisses, you also take in the setting of this restaurant. as the only one that served coffee, matcha and alcohol on tap, it made a name among college students and other young working adults, thus it’s popular status brought many familiar faces tonight.

in fact in one corner you see your girlfriends conversing, probably discussing their next vacation. sana happily yapping, mina typing everything down, and momo leisurely drinking a shake

wait

what?

you stare at them, trying to figure out if the plans have changed and they forgot to tell you or you talked about it the night before and you completely forgot

they don’t notice, but it seems like they were there since the afternoon, taking their sweet awful time to finish their drinks

so maybe plans haven’t changed, you’d still celebrate with them, have dinner, kiss and finally beat them in mario kart (hopefully!)

well that is until momo spots your eyes across the room and suddenly all three of them seem brighter after they all turn towards your general direction, intent of maybe stealing you away

dinner is still on sweetness?

it’s a text from mina, and you still try to tune out pda from your friends

mhm! i just have to make sure these losers get home safe. me and jeongyeon are babysitter duty today

the three of them huddled over mina’s phone and you think it’s a cute site despite their serious demeanor

ok sweetheart we’ll wait for you back at home. sana says you look incredibly good in that suit

thank you honey, you all look very good today. i’ll show you later how much?

you close your phone before you can see their reactions and see that the entire table is still in chaos

“gross” tzuyu comments beside you, despite having lipstick stains on her neck and jihyo leaning on the other side while reading the menu

“you have one too many lipstick stains, i think we are in the same boat”

even though you agreed to meet later into the night, they stay and watch over you and your group of friends. eyeing anyone that tries to get too close and practically burning that flirty waitress by your table, who is practically eye fucking you. everyone but you can see it

“i’m gonna rip her head off”

“me too”

“girls keep your composure”

each time your orders and drinks come in, she basically gets too close to you, as far to get nayeon, who sit beside you, to glare at her. the entire table makes jokes about it but it flies over your head, just happily munching on some fries and nursing a tipsy tzuyu to simply not mix drinks

“sana if we don’t leave i’ll rip her head off”

“mina don’t you dare, momo grab her and let’s go”

“owkai, cmere my minari”

before they leave though they pass by your table, and you visibly perk up at them. before you or your friends could say anything though, mina grabs your tie and pulls you for a kiss. it shocks you and you don’t recover until momo also does the same thing, earning more gasps from your friends and nearby tables.

“oh!” basically the entire table when momo pulls away, leaving you speechless at their bold moves

“you are ours” sana smiles and gives you a kiss, softer than the two but it leaves you with stars in your eyes “and we want the world to know that”

even after they leave, the rest of the night you are dazed, despite barely even touching a drop of alcohol. thankfully dahyun didn’t drink, so she managed to help you and jeongyeon shove a bunch of drunk young adults into jihyo’s subaru

“unnie it’s ok” dahyun smiles at you while she’s trying to get her very much drunk girlfriend into the car “you sit down in front with jeong unnie before you sit beside any of them and endure their teasing”

even when jeongyeon is yapping beside you and the rest is causing chaos in the back, you still think about those thoughts that you are so desperately trying to stop but failing. you still think about each one’s kiss and how much you crave for more. you think that you want them to do more

even as when they drop you off with hollers and whistles, you think about how dominating mina was with how she pulled you close, how momo simply just wanted you to know how much she wants you, and how sana’s eyes drink you in, inviting you to the world you have been dreaming of.

“you’re home”

as you look through your keys in your bag, you failed to notice the apartment door was open, revealing mina who’s still wearing that suit

you don’t know what came over you, what ever it was that you were thinking fueled you to push mina in, dropping your shoes and bag before kissing her, letting her pull you closer

she pulls away before she does anything more, and you fight the urge to whine and pull her back in

"words my love" mina coaxes you, and it takes so much will power to not give in to your needy eyes “give me words to continue”

“kiss me, fuck me, i—” you are so impatient. you want to feel her love and her touch “show me how much you love me”

she doesn’t hold back, once more using your tie to pull you into a kiss in the hallway, feeling two pairs of eyes from the living room watching

“minari” momo calls over, sana simply content watching you, already loving how the night is turning out “i think you need to bring y/n to our bedroom”

mina pulls away, taking in your needy stare before she drags you to the bedroom, momo and sana in tow, pulling you on the bed. you let mina sit you down before anything goes anything further

“if anything gets too much” mina cups your face, her tone loving but serious “you tell us ok? we want you to feel safe”

“ok sweetheart” you say, looking at all three of your girlfriends, who you trust and love “i trust my girlfriends to love me tonight”

whatever you thought about, it becomes real

momo dives in for a kiss, both of you knowing that everyone wants to do something more

"this is ok?" momo asks one more time

“please” you pull momo close, desperate for another kiss and mina gets rid of your suit, lips immediately locking in to your breasts the moment she removes everything but your panties

“you guys look so good” sana sighs and hugs momo from behind, setting aside her needs to simply watch you get taken care of “you look to pretty for us baby”

and you do, so much that you have to pull away from momo when mina starts to travel down with her kisses, leaving marks in her wake. the possessive side of her peaking through with how many she left on your skin until she reaches between your legs

"can't believe only we get to have you like this, only for us right?"

mina teases you by lightly touching you through your panties, the wetness gathering up and soaking it through

“sweetheart please” you beg, hips rising up to try and get more friction but mina pulls away each time, clearly enjoying the way she’s teasing you

“answer me sweetness”

“fuck yes it’s only the three of you who can do this to me”

mina seems happy with that answer, so she gets you out of your panties before kissing you anywhere but where you need it. you were about to complain until she starts to slowly lick first, before transitioning to fully eating you out

"just keep going darling, you look so hot getting what you want" momo coos right beside you, opting to hold your hand and sana kisses her body and remover her clothes as well

you are becoming delirious, with how delicious it feels for mina to eat you out like this

“more” you demand, and mina will give what you want “give me more”

“everything for you sweetness”

and she holds you down, her fingers entering you as she dives in deeper. she can’t get enough of your taste, moaning at how good you taste, slurping and eating you out like you are her dinner

your thighs are almost crushing mina who is in practically pussy heaven, and momo whispers in your ear the words that send you to your tipping point

“cum on mina’s mouth oh i know you want it baby, that’s what you need isn’t it? for our girl to show you how good it feels to be worshiped like that? mhm i know darling just cum for us”

you snap, chanting mina’s name like a mantra as you cum. mina? fuck she thinks she just died and this is heaven, despite her head being crushed. you just taste so good for her to go like this

“i wanna” you catch your breath, as mina lazily licks and kisses your pussy, helping you calm down from the high “make someone feel good too”

“me me me” momo is ready, simply pulling you to a kiss to confirm it “fuck me darling”

and so you do, after much kissing and teasing momo with your thigh, you find yourself fucking her with two fingers and your other hand rubbing her clit. her lips chanting your name and a bunch of curse words

"keep your fingers in me darling, i need more"

momo’s physique is too good to be viewed like this. her hazy eyes, muscles flexing under the warm lights, her hands gripping the sheets to try and hold back. it’s too much

“that’s it darlin’” she moans out, her hips moving, trying to meet your thrusts

“please” you moan, your face right in front of her pussy and the view momo is getting is making her get closer and closer to her peak “please cum for me”

it doesn’t really take long, with sana coaxing her to cum by doing what she did to you, momo’s back arches of the bed, her moan so loud you briefly think if anyone heard that through the walls

“fuck” you let her ride her high before pulling you fingers out and putting them in your mouth, moaning at the taste of her. knowing that in the future that you might spend hours on end on your knees eating her out

momo watches, cursing at how good you look while licking her juices off your fingers

“my turn”

sana smiles as she’s suddenly on top of you, while momo moves to lay beside mina to watch you both for a bit, still trying to catch her breath

“i want” sana is seductive, too good at making you putty in her hands “you too feel good just as i feel good so what we are gonna do is this”

and so, with much teasing sana can do and take within 10 minutes, you find yourself losing your mind as sana grinds her pussy unto yours. she has been soaking wet since the start and she is desperate to make you cum on her

you try to keep up, you really do, but with how much sana is in control and how much weak you are with the way she looks at you with those vixen eyes, you find yourself moaning and clutching the sheets for dear support

“you—” sana’s high pitched whine makes everyone in the room breath hitch “keep grinding on me baby i wanna cum on you too”

each time your clits touch, you can feel the pleasure electrify you, hands trying to grab anything else. that’s mina and momo’s cue to go beside you both, ready to help you both reach that high

“you’re taking sana so well sweetheart”

“fuck doesn’t she look so good being fucked like this for us minari?”

“yeah she does and sana is such a hard working girl isn’t she baby? look at her grinding on you like that”

you are so losing it right now

in between praises and the teasing, you find yourself reaching your second climax for the night. sana sees your thighs start to twitch and she grids deeper

“cum with me” sana is a demanding girl and it doesn’t take long for you to grant what she wants. bodies in synch as you cum together, mina holds you as you let go just how momo holds sana as she cums as well.

you take a while to reign bearings again just to find yourself being peppered with kisses, being wiped down with a towel, and hearing praises of how well you took it and promises that dinner will be fixed up after a shower

"that's our girl"

when you look up, they coo at your love struck daze

“love you sweetness”

“i love you my darlin’”

“thank you pretty girl, i love you”

“i love you guys too”