#been stuck in bed for the last 5 days

[nauticalfools]

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[agayconcept]

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[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Epilogue 2

In which Lando learns just how mean kids can be

Warnings: pregnancy talk, bullying(kinda?), time hop to two years later. Pairing: lando x singlemom!reader Word Count: 2.3k

Master List - A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - A Package Deal - Part 4 - A Package Deal - Part 5 - A Package Deal - Part 6 - A Package Deal - Epilogue 1

2 years later 

The front door slams so hard the windows in the living room shake. You’re yanked out of the deep sleep you had slipped into after Lando had left to go pick Stella up from school. 

“Lan?” You call from your place on the couch, not bothering to get up. It would take too much energy for you to even attempt to sit up with how big your bump was now. Instead you just swing your feet to the ground so you can sort of sit up to see the front door. “Everything okay?” 

From the entryway, you hear a grunt in response but nothing else until there’s the unmistakable sound of feet pounding their way upstairs. “It sounds like someone had a good day at school.” You mutter, waiting for Lando to join you in the living room. 

Moments later, your husband shuffles in, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, that was fun.” 

He flops down on the couch next to you, hand immediately finding your bump. 

“What in the world was that?” 

Lando shrugs, hand tracing lazy circles as the baby boy in your belly does a few soccer kicks in response to the sudden movement and sound outside. He had given you a break the last few hours, seemingly taking a nap with you but if there was one thing this little boy shared in common with his daddy, it was the fact that he very rarely settled down. You were used to the somersaults in the middle of the night and the feet stuck in the middle of a rib while you’d be attempting to have a conversation at work. Even the tap dancing on your bladder was routine now. 

When you had found out you were pregnant just a few months after your wedding you had been a nervous wreck. Your first pregnancy had been difficult, both mentally and physically. Getting pregnant accidentally while still a teenager had been humiliating, the people in your small town mucked up gossip about you for months. Stella’s dad had tried his best to be supportive but he was just a teenager himself and hadn’t done a very good job at being there for you. Most of your pregnancy had been spent alone, isolated, and grieving the loss of your freedom while you watched everyone else continue on with their lives. Not that you would have changed anything for the world looking back. The challenges you had gone through had brought you Stella and in some way, it had also brought you Lando. 

But being pregnant again? The old trauma and memories had resurfaced and it had taken you longer than you cared to admit to come to terms with the fact that you were having a second baby. 

Lando, on the other hand, had been ecstatic from the moment you showed him the pregnancy test the morning you had realized your period was weeks late. He had been waiting (not so) patiently to finally get you pregnant for what felt like a lifetime. Lando knew you were anxious though, he saw it in the way you shied away from talking about the future the first few months and found himself bound and determined to make this pregnancy a good one for you. You had told him about the gossip that had followed you the first time, the challenges of being pregnant and not having the easiest go of it physically so he had made a decision the morning you had showed him that pregnancy test: make this pregnancy and all of your future ones as easy and stress free as possible. 

And so far he had made good on that promise. Anything that you wanted or craved was yours. Ice cream and pickles at 3 in the morning after he’d just gotten home from a race in Brazil? Done. Chicken noodle soup followed by a giant bowl of cereal for lunch in your office? He was on it. Putting Stella to bed while you watched a movie in bed and inevitably fell asleep before he was even done reading to her? That was a common occurrence in your house these days. 

Lando wanted to do anything and everything he could to make this pregnancy miles back from your first one. Which was why you were still on the couch and Lando had made the trek to school this afternoon to pick Stella up. It was an off week from racing late in the spring so you had taken the day off from work to spend the day cuddled up in bed with Lando while Stella had been in school. You were about six weeks away from giving birth, having somehow timed it nearly perfectly with summer break. If baby boy listened to the doctors, he should make his appearance right around the time F1 took it’s annual summer break. 

“She seemed pretty upset.” You observe, listening to the stomping that Stella was doing above your head in her room. 

“Something happened at school but she refuses to tell me what.” Lando grumbles, hand slipping underneath your shirt so he can rub at the smooth skin of your belly. If there’s one thing he’s become completely and utterly obsessed with over the last few months it’s the way you look while pregnant with his baby. It’s a feeling that’s so primal, seeing you all big and round because of him. You’ve always been drop dead gorgeous to him, but pregnant? Pregnant, you were a masterpiece. 

Ever since you had told Stella you were pregnant, she had been having mixed feelings. Finding out she was going to be a big sister to a little brother had gone not gone over very well as she had wanted a little sister to dress up and play with. But lately, she had been warming up to the idea of having a baby brother more and more so you hoped this little temper tantrum wasn’t baby related. 

Reaching behind you, you pitch your weight forward, desperately trying to navigate around what felt like the biggest pregnant belly you’d ever seen, you struggle to get off the couch.

 “I’m going to need a forklift by the time I hit my due date if I ever want to sit down comfortably again.” You grumble before Lando reaches out and pulls you back. “Lan!” You whine, smacking him on the chest. “I was nearly up, you jerk!” 

“Stay where you are, mama. I’ll go take care of it.” He orders before leaning over and kissing you on the temple. 

“Are you sure?” 

Lando stands and your momentarily jealous of how easy that was for him. He looks down at you, warm smile playing on his face. “Of course. Stella’s my daughter too.” 

You grin, thinking back to the court date last month where Lando had officially adopted Stella, both of you now sharing the ‘Norris’ last name with your husband. 

“Okay. But I’m going to get dinner started in a few minutes anyway.” 

“We can order, you need to rest.” 

You roll your eyes but don’t say anything, knowing arguing with him is totally useless. 

Lando leans down to press another kiss to the crown of your head before heading towards Stella’s room on the second floor. When he had picked Stella up at school earlier, the little girl had been a storm cloud of anger and irritation, refusing to talk to Lando about any part of her day. This was incredibly unusual because normally when he picked Stella up from school, she didn’t stop chattering the entire drive home. 

Stella’s door is shut tightly but all it takes is a soft knock from Lando to have her calling out a soft ‘come in!’ Lando is surprised when he walks into the room, still tidy from the round of nesting you’d done earlier in the week. On one side of the room, Stella’s bed was tucked up against the corner of the wall, purple and cream quilt that Lando’s mom made for her last Christmas spread neatly across the expanse. A small creamy white desk and dresser are on the opposite side, Stella’s laptop and iPad sitting discarded on the desk. The only thing Lando can hear when he walks in is the soft sniffles of Stella’s crying. 

“Stelly Belly.” Lando coos, crossing the room in a few strides once he realizes she’s still truly upset. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” 

“I’m not your baby girl!!!” Stella sobs into her pillow. 

Lando’s chest tightens at her words, her wailing continuing while he sits himself on the edge of her bed. Stella doesn’t  respond when he lays his hand on the small of her back, rubbing small circles like the way he’s seen you do before when she’s upset. “Shh…baby girl. What happened that’s got you so spun up? You can talk to me, you know that.” He murmurs. 

Stella lifts her head, craning it around to look at Lando. “I’m not your baby girl.” She spits again, anger and betrayal sitting heavy on her small features. 

“Well, that adoption certificate says otherwise, missy.” Lando shoots back, pointing over to Stella’s dresser where the framed piece of paper sits beside a photo of you, Stella, and Lando from a few weeks ago. After the wedding, Lando had broached the subject of formally adopting Stella, and idea that had been fully embraced and celebrated by everyone in your lives. It had taken months to do all of the paperwork and get everything in order but that day had been just as emotional as the day you had become Lando’s wife. 

“Well, Georgia from my class says you’re not my real dad and that when the baby comes you’re going to forget all about me and only love the baby, mister.” Stella flips over before sitting up, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Lando like she’s daring him to argue with him. 

Everything clicks into place for Lando then, understanding flitting across his consciousness like a quick snap of a whip. “Stella, you know that’s not true.” He reasons. 

“Do I?” She practically wails, tears spilling over once more. “You’re not my real dad but you’ll be the baby’s real dad and only his real dad and you’ll forget all about me just like Georgia says and I’ll have to go live in the ATTIC!” 

Lando reaches out for his daughter, because that’s exactly what she is: his daughter, and pulls him close to his side. He waits patiently, something he’s had to work on in the months since marrying you. Living full time with two women, one of whom is pregnant and the other nearly a tween and also very emotional, has been a minefield that no one warned Lando about. 

“Okay, first of all, we don’t even have an attic in this house so there goes that theory.” Lando murmurs into Stella’s hair, barely suppressing the urge to laugh at how silly her worry was. If there was one thing Stella could be counted on for it was the dramatics. “And second of all, you are my baby and you will always be my baby, just like you’ll always be your momma’s baby. And you know what else?” 

Lando pauses, waiting for Stella to turn her blue eyes that match your own up at him. They’re still a bit watery but the tears have stopped for the most part when she finally chokes out a strangled “What?” In response. 

“You are my first baby, the baby that made me a dad and you chose me to be your daddy, you know that. Nothing can ever change that or take away from that fact, not a baby brother or baby sister or a stupid little girl named Georgia who needs to mind her own business.” Lando pauses, his sharp gaze softening into something that has Stella leaning against him, head burying itself into the warmth of his side. “You are my baby girl and you always will be.” He whispers as he pulls your daughter into his lap, allowing her to bury her head in his neck like she did that very first day all those years ago when she was sick and Lando picked her up from school. 

“I promise you, you will never have to move to the attic, okay sweet girl?” Lando says, the bite of laughter sitting just at the edge of his voice, toned down just enough so that Stella doesn’t pick up on it. 

“Okay.” Stella sniffles before raising her head. “I won’t have to go the basement either though, right?” 

Lando chuckles as he stands up, reaching to take Stella’s hand in his own. “No my love. You will always have your room right here, okay? No one will ever make you live in the basement or the nonexistent attic ever, I promise. Now, your momma was on the couch talking about making dinner but I bet if we hurry we can convince her to let us take her out to dinner so we don’t have to do the dishes, sound good?” 

“Only if we can go to Pizza Palace!” She declares, leaping off the bed and running for the door. 

Lando slowly follows behind, heart full of love for the little girl that came crashing into his life and heart and never left. “Anything for you, Stella Belly.” 

yourusername posted:

34,504 yourusername norris, party of four coming soon (tagged: lando) BFFSarah SQUEEEEEEE these turned out so good yourdad another grand baby to spoil rotten! lando <3 love you baby >>>yourusername <3 <3 <3 user019 the best day of my life was when @/yourusername made her insta public >>>user002 seriously!!! user001 you're GLOWINGGGGGG mama!!! mclaren another baby norris on the way! lets gooooooo!!!

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[hanahaki270]

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ “You Belong to Me” ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

・❥・ Synopsis ・❥・ Having an Uchiha as an ex doesn’t mean anything. Once you’ve managed to make them fall for you, you’re basically stuck with them for eternity.

・❥・ Pairing ・❥・ Sasuke x Fem!reader

・❥・ A/N ・❥・ I finally decided to continue watching shippuden after having it on pause for 5 years.. yeahhh so I’m having a huge obsession with it rn. Also please feel free to send prompt requests for me to write! And I feel like I definitely could have written this out better but I was in a rush and stressed out about Job interviews so mb

♥︎

You finally gathered the courage within you to end your relationship with Sasuke. This wasn’t an easy decision. In fact it was tearing you apart. You still loved him. But the differences between your priorities and his were far too different to the point where they were conflicting with each other.

You might as well have been talking to a wall that day with how blank his expression was after you just announced how you were breaking up with him. The loud silence was killing you inside, does he not care at all?

♥︎

-You wanting to break up with him was like a jab at his ego. The Sasuke Uchiha. The last prodigy of his clan and you wanted to leave him? Though this enraged him, he refused to let you know it. He couldn’t let you have the satisfaction of knowing that this actually affected him.

-After you left the apartment he started to completely trash the place. Everything in it was obliterated into nothingness. But as soon as he went out in public he acted completely fine as if nothing happened.

-Anytime you were around he would make sure you saw him with other girls. He wanted to show you that he could be with anybody he desired without a problem, at any given second. Show you that you weren’t nothing special to him.

-He was lying. Because as soon as you left his vision he treated the girls like shit and pushed them aside after they served their purpose in making you jealous.

-He tried to sleep with random women in the village to further prove that he didn’t need you. (He was really just trying to convince himself) but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. None of them even compared to your beauty. Even the thought of another person lying on the bed you two once shared disgusted him.

-After weeks of this even Sasuke couldn’t believe his own facade. He craved you. He craved your smile, your laughter, Your touch. And is willing to do whatever it takes to remind you that you belong with him.

-He sucked up his pride and begged Naruto to send you two on missions together. So you’d be basically forced to talk to each other . (Naruto uses this against him every now and then)

-During one of the missions, one of your comrades decide to get a little touchy with you. You pay this no mind since you have no interest in the guy, but Sasuke definitely notices it. What’s a worthless ninja doing talking to what’s his?

-A couple of days after that mission, the scenario of another man getting that close to you haunted Sasuke day and night. There’s no way in hell you’d ever willingly decide to be with any other man but him. Right? He needed the reassurance and he needed it now.

-It was 4 am when you opened the door to your apartment after you were awoken by loud desperate banging on the door just to be faced with your ex. He invited himself in, closing the door behind him as he slowly crept towards you.

“Sasuke?”

-He reached for your hand and held it in his, as he focused on you as if there was nothing else in this world. You could tell he developed dark circles since the last time you saw him.

“The day we got together was the day I chose you to be the one I repopulate my clan with. The only one worthy of the surname Uchiha. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

-He noticed how you were at a loss of words so he took this moment to do what he’s been yearning to. He grabbed the back of your head pulling you into a kiss. The kiss was messy and desperate. He kissed you as if you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. And to him, you were.

-Needless to say you were vulnerable to his request and took him back. How could you not?

♥︎

[incomplete-leclerc]

　𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗧, 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗧.　oscar piastri · #81

　　　your boyfriend loves to take naps, and occasionally, you decide to join him.

genres : fluff ... established relationship.　word count : 0.7k.　warnings : none.　 note : my first official f1 fic!! super excited but also nervous to be posting this :') it's the start of a new era <3　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

Oscar took the chance to nap whenever he could. The constant jetlag messed up his sleep schedule throughout the entire season, so when his body felt tired and there was even 5 minutes to spare, he would take the chance. Lando, not missing any opportunity to tease him about something, said it was because he was still going through growth spurts at twenty-three. 

Given your boyfriend’s habit and love for sleep, you often arrived to see him completely knocked out, whether in the garage, hotel room, or at home. It was endearing, and you had your own way of finding enjoyment in his habit. For instance, your camera roll was overflowing with sleepy Oscar pics; excellent blackmail material if you ever needed it, but most often, you just looked at them whenever you missed him. But your favourite part of it all was waking him up.

Tousling his hair, poking his cheek, booping his nose, kissing his forehead or lips— your methods were practically endless. A lovesick smile was permanently stuck on your face whenever you heard the groggy mumbles he let out as he woke up or saw his scrunched up face at the feeling of your touch. There was a certain charm to all his clumsy, loserish habits, contrasting so starkly with his confidence on track. There were many sides to Oscar, and you had fallen in love with all of them over the years.

It was around 2PM when you opened the door to your apartment, grocery bags in hand. It had been a day full of miscellaneous errands that you had kept putting off, one of which was stocking up on Oscar’s favourite snacks. Now that the 2024 season was finished and he was back home with you— yours for the next four months— you wanted to cook him some of his favourite meals. You had expected to see Oscar in the kitchen or living room, as he usually was. But the house was unusually quiet as you put away food in the fridge. Though, one look into your bedroom told you where he had been hiding.

After knowing Oscar since you were teenagers, it was unsurprising to you when you found him fast asleep on your bed, hugging your pillow to his chest. You smiled at the sight, figuring he must still be struggling to adjust back to the timezone. With you gone first thing in the morning, there wasn’t anything to keep him awake, either. It was no secret that Oscar was the clingier of you two (quite a problem when it came to races conflicting with your schedule), and for all the hoodies and shirts of his that you stole, he liked your pillows. 

The mere sight of your boyfriend comfortably cosied under the blankets on the bed had you starting to feel drowsy yourself. You hesitated for a second about whether to wake him up, join him, or leave him entirely and drink another cup of coffee to get through the day. But you realized quickly that more than anything, you missed his touch the last couple days. Cuddles to sleep was all you craved for. So with all hesitation gone, you climbed up on the bed, easily slipping your arms around Oscar’s waist, hugging his back. The movement was enough to wake him, and he blinked, slightly dazed as he turned around in your arms. 

“You’re back,” he mumbled, words barely above a whisper before he closed his eyes again like a cat squinting in the sun. You giggled, adjusting the pillows as Oscar nuzzled closer to you. “You smell nice… did you get a new perfume?” 

You smiled, closing your eyes as well as Oscar wrapped his arms around your waist and your hands found their way to his hair. “I did. It’s peach. You like it?” He hummed in confirmation. “Still jet lagged?”

A gentle squeeze from Oscar was all the answer you got, but it was all you needed to understand. With the scent of your perfume, your hands threading through his hair, and a soft kiss pressed to his lips, he was already falling back into his dreamland. You soon followed, wrapped in his arms; close, content, and comfortable.

[flemingology]

christmas request - you get sexy christmas lingerie and surprise leah with a lapdance (which inevitably leads to smut)

unwrapping you ─ leah williamson x reader

part of my christmas series. full masterlist here!

in which: you leave leah's best surprise for last

warnings: implied smut (18+), lap dance, language but also a whole load of fluff

wc: 3.9k

a/n: most unrealistic part in this fic is chicken soup and sandwiches being one of leah fav foods (god forbid that woman eats something colored). in other words... how does one write a lap dance????? this is not full-blown smut. i didn't really feel like including that in this series, but i hope i still did your request justice. <3

Your first Christmas with Leah had been perfect.

Your lover woke you up this morning to breakfast in bed, Leah wanting to make use of the fact she finally perfected the one recipe she knew – fluffy pancakes. You thanked her accordingly with a couple fierce kisses that soon turned into way more than either of you had planned, the two of you finally rolling out of bed a good two hours later, messy hair and flushed cheeks a testament to what you had been up to in bed.

You took a warm shower together, and then set foot outside for a light Sunday morning stroll through London's Christmas markets. You walked side by side, one hand occupied with holding Leah's, other hand nursing a hot chocolate. You took your time on each stall, admiring all the handmade ornaments, pieces of clothing and so many other things that were up for sale. You managed not to spend too much, not getting anything more than a small extra present for your sister and a cute little ornament you would add to your table decoration for the team dinner on New Year's Day.

Back home, you made a quick lunch. You heated up some leftovers from the night before, when you made chicken soup and some sandwiches, one of Leah's self-proclaimed favorite dishes that you made. You spent the rest of the afternoon lounging about, gliding from one Friends episode into the other, drifting in and out of sleep in each other's arms on the couch.

It wasn't until evening came around though, that the best part of the day took place. You had kept the best for last; the presents. Normally you weren't one to wait for the evening, but Leah claimed that it would be cozier, and you had to agree. Your apartment was coated in a warm glow from the mood lighting all around, a couple vanilla-scented candles adding to the cozy atmosphere, you and your blonde lover cuddled up on the couch, a pile of unopened presents ready to be attacked on your coffee table.

As promise to one another, neither of you went overboard. Leah had quite the tendency to spoil you, but you wanted none of that. And to your surprise, she actually stuck to her promise. There were 5 presents on the coffee table; 2 for your girlfriend and 3 for you. Unbeknownst to Leah, though, her 3rd and arguably best present of the night, was already unpacked and waiting for her under your layer of clothes.

A couple days ago, while Leah was at training, you ventured out into the busy streets of London for a final surprise for your girlfriend. You were more than happy with the two presents you had at hand, but you couldn't shake the thought in your mind that had been there for the past couple of weeks, to buy a new set of red, lace lingerie – one that you knew would drive her completely nuts.

So with that secret in mind, you and Leah started opening your presents. She insisted you opened the first one.

"For you, my love," she said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as she handed you the first of her presents, the smallest one. You inspected the envelope, not able to make much from it on first glance. It looked elegant, though, a golden glow coming from the paper. You carefully opened the envelope, revealing a light green card with pastel accents. You couldn't really figure out what it was just yet, but with a little nudging from your girlfriend in the right direction, your eyes lit up as it dawned on you. "You booked us a weekend away?"

Leah nodded, a soft hum leaving her lips. "I know you've been wanting to get away for a little while," she started, taking one of your hands in hers. "I've been busy. You've been busy. But we can take a couple days for ourselves and for us. It'll be nice." Leah had a tentative look on her face, her eyes scanning yours, as if she was gauging whether you were actually happy with this.

Leah was right. The two of you had been extremely busy lately – your girlfriend's football schedule ramping up, and it seemed like the winter months had brought an influx of people wanting to buy estate, leaving you with a tremendous amount of work that you more often than not also took home.

You quickly gave Leah a fierce nod after you realized you got caught up in your thoughts, leaning towards her and pressing a soft kiss against her lips. "Thank you, I love this. I love you. We need it. It'll be good," you mumbled against her lips, your hand cupping her cheek and giving her another peck before you pulled away.

"My turn," you said excitedly. You grabbed the smallest one, a square box delicately wrapped in an elegant-looking black wrapping paper with silver accents. "This looks neat," Leah chuckled, and you bit your lip in apprehension as you handed her your first present. Unlike you, Leah wasn't so delicate with unwrapping presents. She was all ripping and tearing, nothing graceful about her movements. She'd never been a patient one when it came to things like these, and in all fairness, you couldn't blame her. Forever a kid at heart, Leah loved presents.

You got pulled out of your thoughts when you heard a faint gasp escaping your lover's throat. You searched Leah's eyes for any emotion but you couldn't read it, your heart starting to beat a little faster. "Babe, this is...," Leah inspected her present a little closer, "this is gorgeous." She carefully lifted the golden watch out of it's holder and held it in the light, the timepiece brightly reflecting the cozy hue in your apartment.

You'd first gotten the idea when you noticed Leah was online shopping the other day, looking for a new watch. You knew she liked to have a couple, alternating between them based on what outfit she'd wear. She'd been speaking about a new golden one for a while now, the one she had had lasted its time and she wanted a new one. Ever the observer, you'd made a mental note. A perfect Christmas gift.

Leah sported a bright smile, her gaze now pointed towards you. "Thank you, I've been looking at getting a new one, this is perfect," Leah took your hand in hers and gave it an appreciative squeeze, putting the watch back in it's holder and carefully placing the box back on the coffee table. "You could wear it with the black suit you have for New Year's Eve, it'd look really good," you said softly, Leah replying with nothing more than a suggestive wink.

Your blonde lover reached back over to the presents, grabbing a little silver bag and handing it to you. "We're staying in theme," Leah chuckled. You raised your eyebrows at her before your fingers made quick work of untying the knot, revealing a fine, silver necklace with a little L on. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you took in your present, admiring the way it glistened. "I know this seems like I'm basically claiming you, but I wouldn't have bought you this if you hadn't told me about a million times that you wanted one of these."

You let out a breathy laugh, throwing your head back against the couch. "Just for the record, I have no problem with you claiming me." You locked eyes with your girlfriend and saw a little twinkle in hers, to which you surged forward and pressed a firm kiss against her lips. "Thank you. You wanna help putting it on?" Leah nodded eagerly and twisted her body towards yours, clasping the necklace around your neck. Her fingers ghosted over the L that now hung between your collarbones. She kissed your lips once more, lingering a little before she pulled away again and sat upright.

Your next present for Leah was something you knew she'd be over the moon with. Arsenal through and through, your girlfriend had been collecting vintage Arsenal kits ever since you remember. Signed, worn, match kits, training kits, your wardrobe was full with her Arsenal memorabilia. There was one missing though, Arsenal's home shirt from the 2005/06 season, their last year at Highbury. You stumbled across it on Vinted a couple months ago and couldn't believe that it hadn't been picked up yet. The shirt was in perfect state, Thierry Henry's name and number splayed out on the back of it. You paid no mind to the price and ordered it immediately, knowing just how happy your girlfriend would be with it.

You passed her your second present. She felt around a little. "It's definitely clothing." She fumbled around a bit longer with the wrapping paper, before you interrupted. "Le, baby, how about you just open it and see what's inside instead of guessing." Her cheeks blushed a faint red but she complied nonetheless, once again very ungracefully tearing away at the wrapping paper.

Leah's eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she took sight of the burgundy shirt. You couldn't really tell with the lack of proper lighting in the room, but you swear you saw a couple unshed tears in her eyes. She quickly made work of the plastic layer around the shirt, holding it up in front of her. "Check the back," you said softly, reaching out towards your girlfriend and resting your hand on her leg that was slightly bouncing, testament to her excitement.

Leah turned the shirt around and you saw her smile growing impossibly bigger. "Babe, genuinely, what the fuck." You chuckled and shuffled closer to her, leaning your head on her shoulder and admiring the shirt along with her. "Nice one, eh?" Leah turned her face towards you and she cocked an eyebrow. "Nice? This isn't just 'nice', this is incredible," Leah scoffed. She turned the shirt back around, feeling the fabric, checking the label, as if she was still not sure whether this was real. "God, you've outdone yourself, y/n. I can't top this."

A smile tugged on the corners of your lips, pressing a soft kiss against Leah's cheek. "I knew you'd love it." Leah folded the shirt neatly and put it down on the coffee table next to the watch, turning her body towards yours. She cupped your cheeks and pressed a tender kiss against your lips, saying so much more than words could grasp. "You're amazing. I love you so much."

Leah pecked your lips another couple times before she retreated and set back against the armrest of the couch. "If I knew an Arsenal shirt was all it would take for you to be so expressive with you love, I wouldn't have waited this long," you said teasingly, earning a grunt and a playful swat at your thigh from your lover. "I am expressive with my love. Don't start on me!" A light giggle fell from your lips and waved away any further protest by grabbing Leah's hand and pressing a soft kiss against her palm. "You've got one more from me," Leah announced giddily, removing her hand from yours and grabbing the final present from the table. "This one's a bit more... sentimental."

You raised your eyebrows at your girlfriend, trying to read anything into her expression, but failing. "Sentimental...," you pried. "Yeah. Just open it. You'll see." You took the present from Leah's hands, the package laying relatively heavy in your hands. You carefully unwrapped it, each tear of the paper revealing a little more of Leah's final present. Eventually, you realized what it was. A handmade book of the last three years of your relationship. The book was littered with polaroids, screenshots of messages, souvenirs from places you went together, movie tickets, little notes you left for her to find on days you were out the country, and so many more. You could feel a stray tear making its way down your cheek as you scrolled your way through the book, catching it as quick as possible before it could fall on the paper and ruin anything. "Gosh, Leah,..." you mumbled, "sentimental is one way to put it, yeah," you said, muttering out the words past the obvious lump in your throat, sniffling a couple times as the memories unfolded underneath your fingers.

"You like it?" Leah's voice sounded small, and it almost agitated you, because you didn't even know how to begin voicing to her how much this meant to you. Leah wasn't one for the big romantic gestures, nor was she very showy with her affection, so for her to do something like this, to put so much time and effort into handcrafting this, it meant the world to you. You lifted your head and locked your gaze with your girlfriend's, a small frown etched between your eyebrows. "Le, please,..." you breathed, "do I like it?" You scoffed, and shook your head lightly at how ridiculous you found the question. "This means so much to me, Leah, you know that." You felt the blonde nudge a little closer to you, resting her head on your shoulder and looking at the polaroid your fingers seemed to linger on. "Remember that night?" she said softly, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder.

"Of course I do," you said matter-of-factly. It was a polaroid you'd taken on the first time Leah slept over at your apartment. You'd been over at hers plenty of times, but somehow her sleeping over at yours felt like a step up. She'd come over and brought your favorite Italian take-away. Initially you both insisted on cooking together, but a long day at respectively football and work lulled you both into the comfort of having a meal prepared for you. You lounged on the sofa for what felt like hours, talking about everything and nothing until you settled for watching a film wrapped in each other's embrace. Somewhere during the night, though, you felt like the air had shifted a little. Touches lingered a little longer, kisses were a little sloppier, leading to the first time you made love to one another later that night. It was messy, clumsy and very nervous, but it was perfect. Perfect, because it was yours.

The memories flooded your mind and you couldn't help the jolt of arousal that coursed through your body upon remembering the events of that night. You leaned your head against Leah's, pressing a kiss against her temple. "As much as I would love to look through all of this right now, I've got one last present for you," you said softly, coaxing her head off your shoulder, carefully closing the handmade book and placing it on the coffee table. You tried to ignore the little insecurity that crept underneath your skin when you thought about Leah's final present. Deep down, you knew she'd love it, but you always felt a little apprehensive about things like this. The lingerie was one thing, the lap dance you were planning on giving her a whole other. "Another one? But it's not on the table?" Leah's eyes scanned around the room, clearly confused as to where you could've hidden another present. "It's not there, Le," you chuckled at the expression on her face. "It's upstairs. You stay here, I'll be right back," you put a hand on her chest and gave her lips a chaste kiss, standing up from the couch and making your way up the stairs before she could quip back a response.

You thanked your former self for having already put on the lingerie before Leah came home this afternoon, one less thing to worry about now in your nervous state. You slipped off Leah's your hoodie and sweatpants you'd been wearing, your girlfriend insisting that she wanted you to spend tonight in cozy clothing. You braved a look at yourself in the full-length mirror in your bedroom, and you felt some of the insecurities melt away. You looked good. The lingerie hugged your body in all the right places, accentuating all the curves you knew Leah loved so much. The longline bra was snug around your waist, the lace perfectly outlining the curve of your breasts. The thin red bottoms left little to the imagination, the waistband – accentuated with a little ribbon – just underneath your belly button. They gave prominence to your strong, tanned legs, likely your favorite thing about this set. You gave yourself an appreciative nod and pulled a robe out of your shared wardrobe, draping it over your half-naked body, giving Leah an extra layer to take off. You quickly decided to also pull a pair of red heels out of your wardrobe, putting them on and making your way out of the bedroom before you could doubt your choice of footwear. You stood at the edge of the stairs and took a steadying breath before you started making your way down. The clicking of your heels alerted Leah immediately, not able to delay her seeing you until you were downstairs.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she took in your outfit, and she put her phone down that she was mindlessly scrolling on to pass some time while you were upstairs. You could see a little glint in her eyes as you took the final step of the stairs, making your way back over to the couch at a tantalizingly slow pace. The air had most definitely shifted, Leah's intense gaze locking with yours as you slowed to a stop right in front of her. A smile tugged at your lips and you grabbed Leah's chin between your thumb and index finger, coaxing her face up towards yours and pressing a dizzying kiss against her lips. "I told you I had one final present," you mumbled against her mouth. "Why don't you discover what's underneath this robe?" You softly bit Leah's bottom lip as you let go of her lips, a lust-filled haze now clouding her eyes as she thought about what could be underneath the robe.

Leah's fingers made quick work of the knot tied around your waist, leaving the piece of clothing to fall to the ground, revealing your lingerie. "Oh," Leah's breath hitched in her throat and you would've grown insecure about her reaction if you hadn't seen the twinkle in her eyes. You were hit by a flurry of confidence and you twirled around, shaking your ass a little while your back was facing her before you turned back to face her. "Fuck, babe, this is..." Your girlfriend's words got caught in her throat as she let her eyes rake over your body once more, making sure she wasn't dreaming. You'd worn lingerie for her a couple times, after she had voiced how much she'd love it if you tried a couple sets. But never had it been a thing outside of the bedroom. You'd worn lingerie sets, worn sets underneath robes for her to discover, but it always happened in the comfort of your own bed. This, though, was a next step. A slight blush coated your cheeks as you felt Leah's intense gaze on you. She reached out one of her hands and looked up to you apprehensively, "Can I?" A smile tugged at your lips and you let out a light chuckle. "I'm all yours."

Leah's hands roamed all over your body, from your waist, to your thighs, to your lace-covered breasts, your calves, your ass, your girlfriend didn't leave a spot untouched. It wasn't long before her touches grew needy, and you put a hand against her chest to stop her, not wanting the rest of her surprise to get lost in her own excitement. "Le, wait," you said. Her eyes flicked up to yours, and you noticed how wide her pupils had gotten. A smirk made its way onto your face as to what would happen next. "You've been so good to me. Let me do this for you, okay?" You didn't await Leah's response. Instead you pulled Leah forward a little, and turned your body around, spreading your legs sitting yourself down on her lap. You couldn't ignore the doubts that crept in your mind about what you were doing, because you had never done anything like this. You'd sat on Leah's lap, plenty of times, but you'd never given her a lap dance. You did your research, naturally, you even watched a couple videos – although you had to click those off due to the abundance of secondhand embarrassment you experienced. Either way, you tried to calm your nerves by thinking how much Leah would love this, no matter how good you were at it. She never failed to voice her love for your bum.

Pulling yourself out of your thoughts, you leaned your back against Leah's chest and gave a tentative roll of your hips against her lap. The slight hitch of your girlfriend's breath didn't go unnoticed to you and it gave you the fire in your belly to continue your ministrations. You started grinding your hips against hers in a steady but slow rhythm. You alternated between moves, gently bouncing up and down Leah's lap or popping your hips every now and then, every reaction you pulled out of your girlfriend fueling your confidence. You could sense Leah was a bit unsure as to what to do with her hands, but as the time went on and she felt herself getting more and more aroused, she started guiding your body along with her hands. She aided your movements, pushing you down against her hips, loving the way your behind brushed her core with every gyration of your hips.

A couple moments passed and an idea popped into your mind. You leaned back into your girlfriend, your head resting on her shoulder as you looked up towards her and your gazes locked, a small frown etched on your face that was driving Leah wild. You locked lips with her and you couldn't hold back the breathy moan that escaped your lips at the feeling of her mouth against yours. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth, and it perfectly encapsulated the building pressure between the both of you. You tried moving your hips in an eight-figure, which pulled a groan from your girlfriend. "You're driving me crazy," Leah whispered into your ear, softly nipping at your earlobe as she kept her hands firmly on your waist.

You let out a breathy laugh that soon turned into a whimper as Leah's hands moved up towards your breasts, palming them and placing kisses against your back as you rolled your hips back into hers. One of your arms was placed on Leah's thighs, holding yourself up, and you threw the other around your girlfriend's neck, letting your nails rake over the skin on the back of her neck. Your moves grew frantic as you felt arousal building in your core, your gyrations less measured and less precise, the more Leah's hands started to wander all over your body. Any remnants of your earlier insecurity long washed away, you were more than pleased with how your final present for your girlfriend turned out. "God, Le, you feel so good," you breathed out as you let your head fall to her shoulder once again, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. A particularly harsh thrust of your hips against hers caused Leah to groan again, digging her fingers into your sides as she whispered in your ear.

"Bedroom. Now."

[aptericia]

Not proud to be here.

--

Ok, here goes draft like 5 of this fucking post. I spent 4 hours tossing and turning in bed last night thinking about this, and then this morning I found a tumblr post that really helped me understand what I was trying to say.

The post talks about how aromantic "advocates" claim that "aros don't take up resources, so there's no reason not to include them!" And if that's actually what people believe, I think I can finally articulate why it is that I feel so alienated in queer spaces.

It's because aspecs in general aren't "welcomed" by much of the queer community. We're tolerated. We perhaps get the luxury of not being contradicted on our own identities, or not being specifically kicked out of LGBTQ-only spaces, but that's the whole point: what we get out of the queer "community" is people NOT doing things, not actually doing things FOR us. And that, frankly, is not enough. We deserve conversations about us. We deserve to have others consider our feelings, even when making lighthearted jokes. We deserve varied, respectful representation in media. We deserve the active deconstruction of amatonormativity in society. We deserve to have space made for us, rather than at most being told we should "go take up more space!" ourselves.

Of course, the reality is that my being aspec is a personal matter that does not inherently affect anyone else. But the same can be said for literally any queer identity. Your being gay doesn't say anything about me, so of course I shouldn't hurt you for it, but why should I help you either? Because your happiness and comfort are important. The same goes for aspecs.

And most of the time, I don't even need anyone to make space for or expend resources on me; I can live fine in everyday, non-queer-specific places without mentioning my identity at all. But it's the queer community that claims it will make that space for me, doesn't, and then acts defensive and morally pure if I call out the hypocrisy because "we're queer too, you can't erase our identities to advocate for yours!!!!"

Again, this post isn't about specifics. I have queer friends who are incredibly thoughtful and supportive about my identity, just as I have non-queer friends who are. I find more solidarity in aspec-only communities, as well as trans/genderqueer ones, although there are still many exceptions. This post is also not about amatonormative ideology, which is extremely common from queer and non-queer people alike. This post is about the reason I've felt so betrayed by the queer community.

--

On a personal note, I remember being so excited when I started identifying as aromantic (and later asexual). Fitting myself into labels has been a lifelong struggle for me; to this day I still can't confidently say if I'm White or PoC, neurotypical or neurodivergent, abled or disabled, cisgender or not cisgender. I continue to struggle making friends because I don't fall into social cliques. To discover that I officially, certainly, was LGBTQ+ lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. And now I'm just so sad to find that despite that, I'm still stuck in the middle. I didn't get rewarded with a community. I still feel alienated from both queer and non-queer people. I know it was silly to get my hopes up when there's such vast diversity in both groups, but it really was a disappointment. Going to my first Pride parade last year was really the moment where I realized this.

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 6

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 3.0K

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexual insinuations, cursing, alcohol consumption, making out (finally!)

Part 1 | Part 5 | Masterlist | Part 7

Y/N went about her day pretending nothing had happened. She continued to read her book, which Lando had been so kind as to leave open on the same page as when he took it from her (she felt even more guilty after she realised that), and talked with Pietra every now and then. 

Lando barely spoke to Y/N after their fight, only engaging when it was necessary to keep up appearances in front of Max and Pietra. Maybe he had overreacted, but he had just been hit by the harsh truth that Y/N would never be his. He had never been this close to winning her over, and now she was shutting him out. It made him realise that it would never happen, no matter how much effort he put into his relationship with Y/N. He just needed some time to process the rejection, preferably without much interference from the woman herself.

When they got back to the hotel after dinner, Lando followed Max to his room without hesitation, not wanting to be alone with Y/N. Pietra quickly grabbed her stuff and joined the other girl to get ready for a night out. Lando could use a drink, and maybe a distraction, too.

Y/N was lost in her thoughts when Pietra entered the room, absentmindedly applying her makeup.

“So, what happened between you and Lando?” Pietra asked the moment she sat down.

Y/N froze at the sudden sound breaking silence. “What do you mean?” She asked, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. You told me yourself, he was all over you last night and this morning, and you’re barely speaking now. What happened at the beach?”

Y/N bit her lip. “It’s my fault. I ignored him and now he’s upset. I realised this morning that I like Lando, and now I don’t know how to act around him anymore. Regardless of what you’ve been telling me, I don’t believe he feels the same. I’m just trying to protect myself before I get hurt, I thought keeping my distance would help.”

Pietra smiled sympathetically. “He likes you, Y/N. I’m one hundred per cent sure of it. He’s just confused. Last night, you asked him to cuddle, and now you’re ignoring him. He’s probably just as lost as you are – doing the same thing; shutting you out so he doesn’t get hurt any more.” 

Y/N thought about it for a second, Pietra was making sense, but she wasn’t convinced. “Even if he does like me, all my relationships end badly. I can’t risk ruining things with Lando; it would ruin his friendship with Max and even if it doesn’t, I wouldn’t be able to face him when he comes over. Besides, what if he changes his mind, just like he did today? I can’t let myself be vulnerable with him only for him to leave when he doesn’t want me anymore.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Lando’s been around for more than a decade, yes? He already liked you before I met him, I’m quite sure of it. He’s not going anywhere, he’s not going to change his mind, and he’s not one to give up easily. And if he were, isn’t it worth the risk? You’re never going to be sure—in any relationship,” Pietra explains gently.

She was right, Y/N realised. Maybe she should just admit it and get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. If Pietra was convinced he had liked her for such a long time, it must be true right? Pietra wouldn’t lie to her about such a thing, not on purpose. She sighed. “I need a drink.”

“Maybe it’ll help you admit how you feel,” Pietra said, winking. She pulled Y/N into an encouraging hug, before ushering her out the door.

A cab ride later, the group arrived at the club. The music was loud, the lights dim, and the room crowded. Y/N headed to the bar straight away, immediately ordering a drink. She would need some liquid courage to confront Lando tonight, but he had already done a shot and disappeared before she could get her hands on the cocktail.

It didn’t take her long to spot Lando in the herd of people. He was dancing with a girl she’d never seen before. She seemed to enjoy the attention he was giving her, and Y/N wished she had done the same when she was on the receiving end. She watched as Max and Pietra disappeared into the crowd, a worried look on Pietra’s face when she looked at Y/N over her shoulder. But Y/N didn’t pay her any mind; her eyes were focused on Lando, and the pretty girl he was dancing with. 

She had already ordered a second drink before she had even finished the first one. She felt stupid. Lando had never liked, that much was clear, or he had gotten over her really quickly. She felt like an idiot for believing Pietra for that short moment, for wanting to talk to him and admit her feelings for him when he clearly didn’t care for her in the same way.

So, when a guy came up to her at the bar, she let him buy her a drink. If things weren’t going to work out with Lando, why shouldn’t she try with someone else? Her goal for the vacation hadn’t changed, after all. She eagerly followed Luca – or was it Luke? –  to the dance floor, ready to forget about her troubles. She looked at Lando one last time before she was pulled into the crowd.

Lando had been looking over every so often, just to make sure she was alright – or that’s what he told himself. Irritation flared up inside him when he saw her accept a drink from a man he had never seen before, again. He felt annoyed at the realisation that she clearly didn’t care to listen to him or her brother, especially when he saw her following the stranger to the dance floor. His jaw clenched in aggravation as they made eye contact – she was doing it on purpose, he was sure of it. She was taking to the floor with yet another stranger to spite him, and it was working.

He shouldn’t care about it, but he couldn’t deny his jealousy. Y/N made it clear she wasn’t interested earlier today, but still she watched him – dared him to come and do something about it, or maybe he imagined it. It shouldn’t matter, she was Max’s problem, not his. Yet, he couldn’t resist looking over every now and then. Even as a pretty blonde was putting up a show right in front of him, he was focused on the way the stranger’s hands moved over Y/N’s body, how they rested on her hips to pull her ass tightly against him, and how he kissed his way down her neck. Lando clenched his hands, needing to release some of the tension, and swallowed thickly – that was supposed to be him.

He stared at Y/N, completely ignoring the blonde he was dancing with, watching as the man’s wandering hands moved further down her body before trailing up her thighs and disappearing under the hem of her dress. He was done; he would not stand by and watch how the girl he loved was being touched by another man. He pushed the blonde away rougher than he intended. Muttering an apology, he forced his way through the crowd.

His eyes were still set on Y/N, and the man’s hand that kept moving higher and higher, as if taunting him. His jaw tightened at the crude sight, only encouraging him to move faster. When he was finally close enough he forcefully pulled Y/N’s arm, yanking her from the stranger’s grip. 

She opened her eyes, startled at the sudden contact. “Lando,” she mumbled as he tugged her along. She didn’t care to look back at Lucas or say goodbye, solely focused on the man in front of her; the man who had come to save her from a stranger once more.

Once they got to a quieter part of the club, Lando faced her. “What on earth were you thinking? I told you before, you shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers, or let them touch you like that! Let me guess, you were planning to go home with him?”

Y/N looked at him in shock before her expression faded into a frown. He had been ignoring her all day, he had made it clear he no longer wanted anything to do with her, and now he was pulling her away from another man – what did he want from her? “Why do you care? You’re not my boyfriend! You don’t even like me!” She exclaimed frustratedly.

Lando froze at her words, completely taken aback. He thought he had been very clear with his intentions from the start; he had spent the entire vacation flirting with her, paid for her food and drinks, pulled out her chair, touched her whenever she would allow him, and now she was accusing him of not liking her? She couldn’t be more wrong, or oblivious for that matter. 

“What the hell makes you think that?” He demanded, moving closer. His eyes wide in frustration as he provoked her, trying to find out where it had gone wrong.

Y/N stuttered under his intense gaze, suddenly forgetting why exactly she had concluded that. “You… You always make fun of me, and—”

“What?” Lando interjected. Made fun of her? He had teased her, yes, but he had never humiliated her, had he? He began to doubt himself, but didn’t let it show.

“You know, for a short moment there I thought P was right; that you actually liked me, but I realise now I was stupid. You don’t like me, or you sure got over it quickly!” Y/n said with more confidence. She was done with this. The entire vacation had been awkward and weird and she needed clarity; she needed to suck it up and get it over with; finish whatever was going on, even if she got hurt or humiliated herself in the process.

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked confused. At least she had gotten the hint sometime this vacation, but moving on? He hadn’t attempted it, and he wouldn’t succeed if he tried.

“The girl you were dancing with? She’s pretty,” Y/N huffed.

Lando laughed at her – so she had been watching him, too? – and Y/N flushed in frustration. “The girl I was dancing with?”

She nodded.

“You think I care about her?” He asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief; as if her assumption was ridiculous. The way she acted – her arms crossed, and the pouty expression he loved so much – made it clear she was jealous, and Lando thoroughly enjoyed it; it was about time she returned the favour.

Y/N became defensive. “You seemed pretty into her. Yet, here you are, lecturing me about who I dance with, while you were—”

“You call that dancing?” Lando interrupted harshly, stepping closer again. “You were about to fuck in the middle of the dancefloor.”

Y/N gasps in offence. “I was not! I would never do that, I wasn’t going to go home with him! I don’t even know him, I—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Lando’s lips had crashed onto hers, silencing her effectively. Her protest and apparent jealousy were enough reason for him to believe she liked him back; enough reason for him to risk it. Y/N’s body froze in surprise, but the moment she felt Lando’s lips move against hers, firm yet desperate, she relaxed in his strong hold. His hands glided over her body before one settled on her hip, pulling her closer, while the other slid behind her neck, guiding her deeper into the kiss.

Y/N’s mind was reeling, her heart pounding heavily as she gasped for breath when Lando suddenly pulled away, letting go of her body. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” 

Before he could finish his apology, Y/N yanked him back by his shirt, cutting him off with her lips. Her fingers tangled in his curls, tugging softly as her other hand kept its tight grip on his shirt, as if she was afraid he’d try to pull away again.

Lando groaned softly against her lips, his hand sliding down her side again, his touch possessive yet gentle. He pulled her closer and pressed his hips into hers, a stark contrast to the gentle stroke of his thumb on her cheek. 

Y/N lost herself in the moment, surrendering to the intensity of Lando’s kiss, her body responding to his every touch, every caress. At this moment, she would go along with whatever he wanted, enjoying it far too much to protest.

When the heat of the moment had worn off, Y/N finally pulled away, in desperate need of some fresh air. She leant her forehead against Lando’s, her eyes closed as she tried to process the situation. She’d kissed Lando, but what did this mean? Did he like her? Were they in a relationship now or would they go back to being friends tomorrow? She was incredibly confused, even more so than before.

Lando’s voice broke her train of thoughts. “We should… probably find Max and Pietra,” he muttered, softly squeezing her waist as if to wake her up from her thoughts. Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed from Lando’s penetrative gaze and, not to forget, the intense kiss.

Lando led her to the bar, hoping to get a better view of the club from there, maybe Max and Pietra would spot them there, too. His hand was back in its rightful place on Y/N’s back as he guided her through the club. A small, satisfied smile settled on her face at the feeling, but she wasn’t reassured just yet; they needed to talk.

“There you are!” Pietra exclaimed when they neared the bar, quickly pulling Y/N into a hug. Pietra eyed the girl suspiciously at the lack of distance between her and Lando but didn’t mention it right away. Although it was obvious something had happened, she wasn't entirely sure what – she would ask later, when they were alone.

Max was oblivious, however. “You guys good to leave? We want to head back to the hotel,” he said, sending a cheeky look and wink over to Pietra.

Y/N nearly gagged at the suggestive comment but nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’re good to go,” she said, her eyes flicking to Lando’s for confirmation.

“Okay, let’s go,” Max uttered before heading the group in search of the exit. Lando walked ahead of Y/N, reaching his hand behind him for her to grab. He looked at her over his shoulder when it took too long, wiggling his fingers impatiently. Y/N blushed and grabbed his hand quickly, letting him guide her through the crowd.

The group entered one of the many taxis waiting outside the club. Max took the passenger’s seat as the rest settled in the back, Y/N in the middle. She could feel the gentle pressure and warmth of Lando’s hand on her bare knee as he rubbed slow circles into her skin. Pietra nudged her to catch her attention, nodding to Lando’s hand with a questioning look, only causing Y/N to blush more fiercely.

Pietra and Max quickly escaped to their room when they arrived at the hotel. If the sneaky kisses in the elevator were any indication of what was about to go down, Y/N was happy that their rooms weren’t next to each other.

Lando and Y/N slowly walked to their room, wanting to extend the moment before they had to face the reality of the situation.

“You okay?” Lando asked once they’d entered the room. His tone was soft and gentle, matching the reassuring hand rubbing her arm. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just, so many thoughts running through my head right now. Like, what does this mean? You still haven’t confirmed that you like me too, and I don’t want this to be just a one-time thing, you know?” She admitted quietly, as if that would make the statement less intimidating. 

“I like you, is that enough confirmation for you?” Lando said teasingly, yet lovingly. He couldn’t believe she still wasn’t sure about that after the kiss they shared. “And I don’t want that either,” he continued. “You think I would flirt with you for years just to have a one-time thing?” Lando questioned, his tone equally as soft as hers.

“No. But then again, I didn’t know you were flirting, I thought you were just making fun of me the entire time.”

Lando’s jaw hung slack at her comment, surprised at how bold she could be when she sounded so sweet. “Are you insulting my flirting now?”

“Hmm, maybe…” She said, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Your name is perfect for it, Lando Norizz.” She giggled at her joke, and the fake offence Lando displayed.

“It worked though,” he protested.

“Just barely, it took a lot of intervention from P for me to realise you liked me.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough slander for tonight. Let’s go to sleep, hm?” Lando said, trying to distract her from making any more comments about his non-existent ‘rizz’.

She rolled her eyes, ready to protest, when he shut her up with a kiss. Not as firm and passionate as before, but sweet and adoring instead. She held his face gently, angling his lips to perfectly fit hers, before pushing him away.

“Sleep, you said?”

– – – – –

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[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 4: The Loneliest

CHAPTER SUMMARY:  The end of the Americas triple header brings chaos, scandal, and conflict to your relationship with Franco. And after an unforgivable betrayal, your friendship may be beyond saving.

WORD COUNT: 9.6k

WARNINGS: SO MUCH ANGST, reader is going through it, Franco is mean and lowkey kinkshames reader :( also Franco is a lil freak at the end so SMUT MINORS DNI

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824

A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS YA FREAKS (affectionate). The long awaited chapter 4 is here! So sorry to dampen your holidays with this very sad chapter, but thank you all for being so patient with me while I was away. I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter as a reward for your patience!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

You’ll be the saddest part of me

The part of me that will never be mine

It’s obvious, tonight is gonna be the loneliest

You’re still the oxygen I breathe

I see your face when I close my eyes

It’s torturous, tonight is gonna be the loneliest

The morning light was torturous. It signaled the end of Franco’s short lived unconscious peace, and the breaking of the dawn forced him to confront the fact that it was race day. He hadn’t slept well. It had been one hell of a night.

One glance to the curtained window showed that the morning light was quickly going to be shrouded by rain clouds anyway. 

But despite his tiredness, he got up. If he had laid there too long he would have started thinking too much. About the race. About what was at stake.

About you.

He didn’t have time for that. He pushed that mixed jump pile of emotions—what exactly they were, he couldn’t name—down to the pit of his stomach as he quickly showered and gathered his things so he could get to the circuit quickly.

But even in the shower, as he tried to wash the memories of last night away, he couldn’t. His own nakedness didn’t even seem to be his, not anymore. The words you had written, imagining every inch of skin, stuck to him.

A wave of nausea hit him, and he felt like he was going to puke.

And it didn’t get any better as he dressed and gathered his things. There was a journal shaped space in his bag now, hollow without the evidence of his deception. He had kept it on him always to avoid you finding out. But now, it didn’t matter. He knew every word. Even if you did discover what he’d done, he had crossed a point of no return.

The journal itself still lay open at the foot of his bed. Had he fallen asleep after reading it, or just not had the energy to return it to its spot after feeling the shockwaves of the words? He didn’t remember.

All he knew was that his head was pounding. His entire body felt disconnected from the mind that governed it. It was too damn early, and too important of a day to be distracted like this. 

But it was all his fault. No one had forced him to read it. No—he had decided, of his own volition, to steal the journal. When you ran out of his room with tears in your eyes and ignored his calls for you down the hallway, he had glanced at the open journal, teasing him to commit this unforgivable offence. He ignored it then, leaving his room, but when he returned that night the temptation had become nearly too much to bear. So yes, just as you had accused him, he did steal the journal that morning before you arrived at the track. And he’d lied to your face about it. 

And you believed him. 

That didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting to the track and doing his job, showing everyone that he could do what he said he’d do. He had talked a big game—now was time to deliver.

So when he didn’t respond to your text that morning, you let it go. You knew how important of a day this was to him. Even though he never divulged the contents of his meeting to you, you had known him too long to not be able to assume that the stakes were much higher than anyone had originally thought. 

Why else would he be so standoffish when you finally saw him at the paddock that morning, brushing you off and quickly leaving? Why else would he not speak a single word to you the morning before qualifying? 

At first, the tonal change from last night—dancing in the pit lane and nearly meeting lips to a morning of being ignored—was shocking to you. But you knew Franco. And he had promised that you’d always have a place next to him. Maybe not this particular morning, when all he needed to do was perform. But always. And you trusted him.

So you let the transgression roll off you like the rain that continued into the morning. You took your usual spot at the back of the garage to avoid the ever present watching eye of the media cameras. After last night's stunt, you knew the world would be watching both you and Franco. You weren’t very keen to give the media what they wanted, knowing every gesture or word would inevitably be scrutinized. The fans, though, had been kind so far. 

All the things that they had said—we’re rooting for you—had hit you like a ton of bricks last night, alone in your room. You, too, had been unable to sleep. 

It was the effect of the ever-present possibility of what could be. You wanted Franco. All of him. His body, yes, but also his mind and his heart. You were in love with him, without a doubt, and since admitting it to yourself only a few weeks ago, you had fallen hard and fast. But at the end of the day, he wasn’t yours. He had a goal to work towards, and it wasn’t you.

But maybe one day it could be. Maybe when all of this was done, you’d still have him. That’s what he promised.

And for once, you’d allowed yourself to really and truly trust him.

You glanced at the screen that showed him sitting in his car before quali. His back was to you, and it felt odd to see him like this, so disconnected, as if you were just another fan rooting on your favorite athlete. 

Sure, he was your favorite athlete too, but he was also your best friend. 

You wanted so desperately to trust those words he spoke when he held you as you cried. You wanted to believe that his job would never come before you. So when those familiar insecurities rose in your throat like bile, you swallowed them down and forced a smile to your lips.

If the people were watching you, you’d give them a show. And if Franco had to perform today, so would you. 

So you let that sparkle come to your eyes when the fans with paddock passes strolled in and out in front of the garage, straining their necks to catch a glimpse of Franco in his car, and you in the background. 

Until it was time for quali. You had wanted to wish Franco good luck, but he had been so laser focused talking with his race engineers and fiddling with the car that you settled for whispering a silent prayer as he expertly rolled his car onto the track. 

You were always nervous for him. Even when the stakes were much lower, you knew the skill it took for him to do this job, and how dangerous it was. And on days like these, where the rain just kept coming and coming in sheets, you couldn’t help but let your anxiety win, knowing that anything could go wrong. 

But Franco was talented, and focused. He would be okay, and he’d exceed everyone’s expectations. You had to believe that right now, on track, all that was on his mind was becoming one with the road.

Unfortunately, Franco couldn’t focus as well as he needed to. His mind wandered, of course, to you. He had brushed you off earlier, unable to look you in the eye after what he’d read. 

Maybe, if there had been more time, he would have figured out what he was feeling. But he had chosen the worst possible night to do what he had done. Maybe his manager was right, he was distracted, and now he had to live with the consequences.

Or maybe, if he had been a better man, he wouldn’t have read it in the first place.

Regardless, he had, and even now, when he needed to focus, the emotions swelled up in him, coming in waves.

The first was shock. He read each sentence carefully, over and over again, praying that something had gotten lost in translation and you weren’t really saying what he thought you were saying. The second was disgust—how could his best friend write such detailed fantasies about him?

The third wave, the one he tried to ignore, was something he couldn’t name. A pool of warmth that settled at the bottom of his stomach as he read each filthy word, and the inevitable vision of the scenes he couldn’t help but imagine. He could feel his blood pulse through his veins as he let his mind give in to everything your words had commanded him to picture.

But the fourth wave came quicker, pushing down whatever the third had been. It was anger. Anger at himself for betraying you like this. Anger at you for writing all this and hiding it from him. Anger at life for putting him in this situation. Anger at his manager because she was right—he was distracted. 

He had been driving completely by muscle memory, even going silent with his race engineers. They angrily instructed him to return to the garage. 

He obeyed, apologizing to them for being so caught up in his own thoughts. But as he pulled the car into the garage and sat, he couldn’t help but let his eye wander the garage to you, standing towards the back as always, hands over the race headphones that they gave all the VIP guests so they could listen in on the actions. 

You looked so innocent. His best friend, just cheering him on from the sidelines, so blissfully unaware of what he had done. But what you’d done, too—the pages full to the margins of your fantasies—well, no one was truly innocent here, it seemed.

You looked up and gave him a reassuring smile, and he felt like he was going to lose it. 

He darted his eyes away, and thankfully, the race engineers cleared him to quickly return to the track. He would one last clean lap to finish off Q1, then return to the garage for Q2. 

But he couldn’t get your smile out of his head, even when he coasted through turn one. And that familiar queasiness returned in his stomach as he approached turn two.

The rain, and his distractedness, was too much to overcome. He spun and eventually hit the wall.

Back in the garage, you couldn’t breathe. The seconds of silence from his end of the radio felt like years as you waited to hear that he was okay.

All he let out was a sad, “Sorry mate,” to his engineer. But to even hear his voice was a blessing.

He eventually confirmed he was okay and made his return to the garage. His head hung low, weighed down by the expectations he had failed to fulfill. As his best friend, you wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to hold him and assure him that everything would be okay. But he didn’t even look at you. 

Turning his back away from you, he just stood solemnly as he removed his helmet and fluffed up his hair, before leaving to go speak with the media. 

As his car was wheeled into the garage, you thanked whatever God was listening to you that Franco had made it back to the paddock in one piece. The carnage was bad—and with the grand prix in only a few hours, the mechanics would have their work cut out for them. 

The garage was soon becoming too chaotic for your liking, so you slipped out to make your way to Williams hospitality to hopefully catch your best friend once he left the media tent. 

But Franco never appeared. You assumed he had been dragged from meeting to meeting, trying to salvage what was left of this clusterfuck of a grand prix weekend. You watched qualifying from the screens in hospitality, wincing when Alex crashed too, and offering another prayer for the sanity of the poor William’s mechanics.

The rain only worsened into the afternoon, when the Grand Prix would have to take place even despite the monsoon that raged outside. You still hadn’t found Franco; you occupied your time by chatting with the fans that were now drenched in the general admission sections. They at least were trying to salvage some joy from the weekend, and you were too.

But it bothered you that you couldn’t find Franco, and that he had been avoiding you all day. It was an odd juxtaposition; on one hand, you had become so comfortable in the space of the race circuit that you no longer hid from the people, but sought them out, taking photos and cheering along with Franco’s many fans. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck that something between you and Franco was wrong. But your anxiety had lied to you so many times that you no longer trusted your intuition. 

So, again, you tried to shake it off. It was going to be okay. Franco was going to focus and bounce back and get points. And when he did, he’d pick you up and spin you like he always did. And his beautiful smile would be yours again. 

When it came time to return to the garage to get ready for the race, you were hopeful but nervous, your emotions a delicate balancing act of steadying your fear with your desire to support the man you loved. 

As you entered the garage, you saw him, fiddling with the cuffs of his fireproof race suit, clearly annoyed by the scrunched lines in his forehead. And then, his eyes traveled up to meet yours.

It was like time froze. You had two options: do as you usually would and go up to him and wish him luck with a hug that was too close and too long to be strictly platonic. Or, ignore him and just silently wish him luck, praying that at the end of the race, he’d come running to you as he always did. 

You didn’t get to decide, though. Franco’s eyes darted away as quickly as he could move them, a subtle expression of disgust replacing his former frustration.

It felt like a knife to your heart. You slipped on your race headphones in silence. 

He’s just having a bad day. He’s stressed. He wasn’t even looking at you. He did it without thinking. A million thoughts ran through your head, faster than the F1 car that you now watched Franco climb into, readying himself for the race. 

You couldn’t look away from him, but he couldn’t even look at you. 

All you wanted to do was go back to the hotel and cry. You’d always been too sensitive, people had said, and that was part of the reason you started suppressing your emotions in the first place. But since you’d started your healing journey with your journal, you couldn’t stop the emotions anymore. The blush, the tears—all of it was beyond you, now. 

At least, if you cried, the rain would hide it.

That’s what you told yourself as you watched his car roll into the pit lane and onto the track. You prayed to whatever God was listening that Franco would be okay.

But it seems no God was listening to you that day. 

It started almost comically, with Lance Stroll crashing into the gravel on the formation lap. A miscommunication between the FIA and the drivers caused confusion on when the race would actually begin. And when the race finally did begin, it was nothing but chaos.

You held your breath during the first spin. It was Nico Hulkenburg, not Franco. Thankfully. Everyone was okay.

You counted the laps in your head, like you’d counted Franco’s breath when he would fall asleep in your apartment during your many past sleepovers. Like you’d counted his breaths when you woke up next to him in Singapore. 

Lap 32. He was okay. 

In your ears, you heard his race engineer warning him of the wet conditions, advising him to take extra caution with all the water on the track. 

Franco asked to box for wet tires. His engineer refused. He told Franco to survive.

A wave of anger rose in you. Is surviving not exactly what he was already doing?

Franco pushed back, asking if the engineer understood what he was saying. And again, he refused. An argument back and forth. Trust us, the engineer said. 

And then, he crashed.

A hard hit on the wall and a skid across the wet road. 

You felt like your knees were going to give out from under you. Everything was spinning.

The only thing that brought you back down to Earth was his voice in your ears. “I’m okay. I’m so sorry, guys,” he apologized.

In the aftermath of it all, you’d feel sorry for the William’s mechanics. But right now all you cared about was the man you loved and if he was really okay.

You didn’t care that he had been upset with you, for whatever reason beyond your knowledge. All you cared about was that he was alive and unharmed.

Your only want was to run to his arms, feel the warmth of his beating heart against your chest, assuring you that he was okay.

But he stomped into the garage and walked right past you, as if you didn’t even exist to him, like you were an invisible burden.

Your heart was pounding as if you were the one who had crashed. You watched as Franco disappeared into the paddock, likely heading to quickly speak to the media before sneaking off to God knows where.

Again, your mind went to the familiar choice, whether to go to him or hang back. But you’d been hanging back too much. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You followed in his general direction, but the paddock was buzzing with reporters and team officials. You scanned the crowd for the familiar curls of your favorite Argentine, but to no avail; the frustration threatened to bring tears to your eyes. 

Until you saw him darting through the crowd, nearly as fast as his own car, rushing to get away from all the people with their eyes on him. You had become one of them.

You navigated your way to the crowd and back to his driver’s room, waiting until you and Franco were out of the crowd to call to him.

“Franco!” you yelled, “Franco, wait up.”

“Go away, YN.”

That familiar stab in your stomach pulsed again. “Franco, I just want to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

He reached his room and slammed the door shut, locked it behind him. You sighed.

“Please, let me in,” you practically begged. He was silent on the other side of the door.

He had never shut you out like this before—literally or figuratively. You felt the tears begin to pool. With a shaky voice, you began, “Franco, I’m your friend. I just want to support you and be here for you when things go wrong. You’ve been ignoring me all day, and I’m just worried about you.”

His silence continued, and the quivers in your voice became more intense. 

“If you want space, I’ll give it to you. But don’t shut me out forever. I want to be here for you. I… I care about you.”

Your heart beat with the near Freudian slip you had said. You were so close to saying I love you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t said it before; you were best friends, after all, but the shift in the nature of your relationship had made the words take on a new meaning. You couldn’t say it now.

It seemed as if nothing you could say would have any effect, judging by the silence on the other side of the door. You had just turned to begin walking away when you heard the click of Franco unlocking the door. 

You knew it was a silent invitation to enter. And when he carefully opened the door, just wide enough for you to enter but not enough so that anyone else could see, you saw the redness in his cheeks and the puffiness in his eyes indicating that he, too, had been crying.

It broke your heart. 

You entered and locked the door behind you, instantly enveloping your best friend in a warm embrace. You wanted no distractions—just you, the man you loved, and the silence of the room that was only broken by your collective cries.

All you could do was hold him close, burying your face in his neck, relishing the smell of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the race and the familiar smell of the garage—mechanical, yet somehow like home to you now. 

“I ruined everything,” he sobbed into your shoulder. The statement was cliche, but by the strength of his sobs, you knew he felt it was true.

“You don’t know that,” you reassured him. “So many other driver’s have crashed today. It’s a mess out there. You did the best you could.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I’ve fucked it all up. I’ve ruined it. I let everyone down.”

He clearly wasn’t in a state to be reasoned with, and you knew that wasn’t the best thing right now anyway. He just needed someone to be with him. 

“It’s going to be okay. I promise it will.” That, and a warm body pressed to his, was all you could give him.

But the thoughts cascading through his brain were much darker. He really had ruined everything. Yes, his crashes would likely lose him the Redbull seat. But what he really ruined was his relationship with you.

He had done the unforgivable, crossed the line that he couldn’t return from. Everything between you two would be different now, especially when you found out what he had done.

Part of him wanted to lie and act as if it had never happened. You never wrote those words, he never read them, and everything would go on as normal.

But he knew he couldn’t. It had only been a day and the guilt was eating him alive. And now, he had ruined his chance at securing his future.

Still, in the bottom of his stomach was again that jumbled feeling he couldn’t quite name—something like anger, or disgust, something… vile. His manager was right. You had become a distraction, through no action of your own. But the filthy thoughts that went through your head at the sight of him, all which you’d written down and he’d read… it excited and repulsed him all at once.

And these emotions all ran through him as he sobbed in your arms, a quiet solace from the world. Things were broken now.

But in this moment, Franco could act as if none of that was true. He broke the embrace and finally looked you in the eyes.

Your stomach turned with butterflies. He was so beautiful, even with his puffy bloodshot eyes and gentle blush dancing across his cheeks.

And as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, he gently cupped your chin, bringing your face to his, and kissed you.

The kiss was slow and tentative, soft, like you were something fragile. And this moment was fragile, evidenced by the silent peace between you when the kiss ended and you pulled away, staring at each other. 

Franco was about to go in for another when his manager knocked on the door. 

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath, and the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. He wordlessly got up and left with her, leaving you alone in his driver’s room.

You were scared of what would happen when he returned, so you spent the rest of the day in Williams hospitality before leaving the track alone.

You never saw Franco again at the track, but you figured he was in deep shit for his crashes, and that you should keep your distance. But sitting in hospitality, your mind in the clouds as you heard the celebrations of Max Verstappen’s win in the distance, you were haunted by the feeling of Franco’s lips on yours.

It was soft, caring, full of… no. You couldn’t say it. 

You felt like there was a stone in your throat. You needed Franco now, but at the same time, you were terrified of what would happen the next time you saw him. So you left and went back to the hotel alone. You knew your usual routine; dinner together, spending a bit of time in his hotel room, then going to bed and heading home on separate flights.

And even though your journal had long left your mind, you imagined what would happen that night in his hotel room.

Another kiss, but rougher this time, more sure of what he wanted; and what he wanted was you. Hands wandering, hitched breaths, waking up next to each other in the morning light.

You felt like you were going to faint. But he never came by that night. No text, no call, no tentative knock on your door.

And even in the morning when you checked out of the hotel and made your way to the airport, still nothing.

You had hoped when you landed and turned your phone off airplane mode that you’d find a notification from him, but your texts were empty.

A day turned into a week. One week turned into two. No word from him. All your messages left on delivered.

It took you two weeks to get him on the phone. You had to call him out of the blue; that was the only time he answered you.

“Hello? YN? Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine. Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you—”

He cut you off. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know,” you answered, slowly, as to not cause an argument. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You paused. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

He paused too, but his pause was more awkward than peaceful. Clearly what had happened in Brazil had changed things, to a point where even a phone call felt stiff and unnatural.

You continued, “Do you maybe want to get dinner this weekend? Our usual place?”

It was a neutral enough offer, something that would be absurd of him to refuse. 

“Yeah, let's do that. I’ll pick you up on Saturday.” His tone was cool, but you took any opportunity you had for connection. He had said yes to your invitation; that was enough.

In the meantime, unbeknownst to you, Franco was losing his fucking mind. 

He didn’t know why he had kissed you in his driver’s room. It was like he wasn’t in control of his body. But how beautiful was the result; his lips pressed to yours, so softly, felt like heaven. He relished every second of the slow and chaste kiss as if it would be his last.

And when his manager had ruined the moment, he realized that it might be. He snapped back into reality as he rushed down the hallways of the paddock with her. She was clearly pissed. She led him back to a small meeting room. The room was empty, but he knew soon the whole team would be there, and he walked in like a dog with his tail between his legs.

Before he had even sat, she took her place at the head of the conference table, small but imposing. He was in big trouble. 

She inhaled deeply before beginning.  “Franco, are you okay?”

He nodded. 

“Say it.”

“I’m okay. I’m so sorry, I—”

“You were distracted.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“But it’s the truth.” He was silent. She continued, “Look, I get it. You don’t have much experience driving in the rain. You wanted to switch to wets, I heard the radio. You tried your best during the race.”

He fiddled nervously with his hair like a child being scolded, not even able to meet her eyes. 

“I’m not upset that you crashed. Five other drivers crashed too. What I am pissed about is the media shitstorm that you’ve created. First that stunt last night, then crashing this morning? And I know you were distracted then, because you weren’t talking at all on the radio and then I saw you staring at YN before your last lap. What is going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” She was right. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He paused, stretching and scratching the back of his neck. He had always tried to keep his personal and professional lives separate, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that he couldn’t do that for much longer. 

“I… things are just… weird with me and YN lately.”

“I can tell.”

He gathered his courage before his confession. “I think I’m in love with her.”

His manager sighed. “I figured.”

She sat, a more sympathetic expression crossing her face. She explained, “Look, we all love YN. She’s always been there for you. I’m not trying to tell you what you need to do in your personal life, you’re an adult. But I think you know what needs to be done.”

He did know. But he was so scared. So terrified of the unknown future now. He couldn’t even speak it. 

His manager continued, “Well, after today, it’ll be hard to salvage the Redbull contract. But we have interest from other teams, too. Alpine, mostly. You still have a shot at a seat for next year. We can do this.”

She reached over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. He smiled and nodded, knowing there was much work ahead to be done.

And that work had truly kept him busy in the following days, though not too busy to reach out to you. He just couldn’t do it. He knew if he gave himself anything he’d fall too far in. You consumed his every waking thought—but he couldn’t bring himself to respond to your messages.

Instead, he spent his late, sleepless nights online, reading what everyone was saying about him. A horrible decision, in retrospect.

The commentators had thrown him under the bus, calling him underdeveloped and inexperienced. Hundreds of people calling him “crashpinto” and saying he didn’t deserve his seat. To them, maybe lighthearted, but to him, it meant everything he had ever worked for becoming a mockery on Twitter. 

When you called, he picked up on instinct. You never called out of the blue unless it was bad.

But you had just wanted to hear his voice.

Fuck.

He couldn’t do this. He knew he couldn’t do this. His manager had told him. The entire internet was telling him. But he agreed to see you that weekend anyway. 

At least, that was the plan. But Saturday came and went and no word from him, no knock on your door, no answered text. Even a call went straight to voicemail—he had declined it.

All week, you had been looking forward to seeing him. You were wearing that dress you’d always fantasized about, the one that was his favorite color, the only one you felt truly beautiful in.

You had gotten dolled up for dinner. You wanted to finally tell him how you felt.

And he stood you up.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. How could you not? Franco was sending you mixed signals and you couldn’t do it anymore. 

But when you woke up, it was worse.

A million notifications. At least, that's how it felt. Disoriented, you opened your phone to a video from last night; Franco, walking around Madrid, with an actress. He had stood you up for someone else.

And not just any someone. You had heard of this Argentine actress. She was…controversial. Older. Beautiful.

And Franco had spent the night with her. At least, from the video and comments, that’s what you would assume. They were seen outside his apartment. He was reportedly very…talkative with her. Touchy.

You wanted to puke. The comments didn’t make it any better.

FRANCO BABY GET AWAY FROM HER

How could he do that to YN? 

I know he and YN weren’t official but if a man danced with me in the rain one week and was caught with the most problematic actress of Argentina the next, I’d commit an act of violence.

He is so fucking stupid, does he really think this is gonna help his PR after Brazil?

OMG they are so cute! They could be Argentina’s power couple <3

The last comment made you cringe. The replies to it were not kind.

You read through far too many comments before checking your texts. No message from Franco, of course. But from someone else: his mother.

Call me when you can xx

You took a moment to compose yourself. Taking a deep breath, you dialed her number. 

Her voice on the other line was comforting. 

“YN, dear, how are you?”

“Hi,” you said, “I’m… I’m okay.” You lied, and she knew it.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not really okay. Franco has been acting…odd lately.”

“I know. That’s what I called to ask about. I’m sure you’ve seen the video?”

You swallowed hard, as if you could force the pain down to your stomach and ignore it. “I have.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I haven’t heard from him for weeks, since Singapore. I thought I raised him better than this. The press is saying he was covering his face in the video because he didn’t want us, his own family, to know.”

“Seriously?” you questioned, aghast. But your shock was also at the implication of the statement—us, his own family. Even his mother considered you part of the family. But you were invisible to him, it seems. 

“Yes!” She responded. “And for good reason. I’ve never seen his father so angry. He’s throwing away his whole career for some… woman. He’s distracted.”

That word: distracted. It felt more powerful now than ever before. 

“I mean, he hasn’t seemed like himself lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“I don’t either. I actually wanted to ask you to check in on him. He isn’t answering anyone, but I just need someone to talk some sense into him. Just go over to his apartment. If I was there, I’d be on his doorstep with a wooden spoon.”

You could hear the frustration and restraint in her voice. The visual of Franco’s mom on his doorstep with a spoon ready to discipline him was almost comical, if not given the context.

“I’ll try. But if he’s not listening to his own mother, I don’t think he’ll listen to me.”

“Well, if you at least try, that’s enough.” She sighed. “YN, I’m so worried for him.”

“So am I.”

The line grew quiet. You could tell his mother had more to ask, but was restraining herself. You were grateful; you didn’t have the energy to tell the insane back and forth you’d undergone with him in the past few days. You were exhausted. 

So you bid each other goodbye and you readied yourself to go to Franco’s apartment and confront him. This couldn’t go on forever. 

You were surprised that he ever even answered the door. You knocked tentatively at first.

“Franco, it’s YN. Let me in.”

He wordlessly shuffled to the door and opened it, not even stopping to greet you as he went back to his couch to scroll on his phone. 

“Hi,” you greeted, awkwardly, as he was clearly uninterested. He just gave you a small nod.

You sat down next to him. You weren’t quite sure what to say. You opened your mouth to begin, but he cut you off.

“If you’re just here to lecture me, don’t.”

“I’m not here to lecture you.” Except, you kinda were. “Franco… everyone’s worried about you. I’m worried, your mom is worried too. She asked me to check in on you.

He placed his phone down and laughed, an exclamation dripping with sarcasm and contempt. “I’m sure she did.”

“Franco—”

“No, she sent you over here to come scold me, didn’t she?”

“No,” you lied. “You’re just not acting like yourself—”

“No, don’t start with that. You’re here to tell me how badly I fucked up, aren’t you? Well you can save it. The entire internet and all my managers and sponsors and everyone else on the planet beat you to it.”

“Franco, will you let me talk?” You asked.

He ignored your question. “I already fucked up my chances at a Redbull seat, so might as well just keep doing it, right? Go big or go home.”

“Don’t you still have a chance with Alpine?” You had heard the rumors. It didn’t matter, though. Franco still had a chance at a seat, yes, but he was no longer the golden boy of F1, the perfect replacement for the driver that always crashed.

“Why does it matter? Redbull or Alpine or… Chinese F4 or whatever the people come up with. It’s over.”

In an ordinary conversation, you would have chuckled. But this was no laughing matter.

“Franco, everyone's rooting for you. We all want you to succeed, and we know you can. I know you can. I believe in you. Why are you doing this?”

He paused. “Doing what?”

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. Ignoring you? Kissing you? Or spending the night with another woman?

“Doing things that hurt your reputation.”

“What, are you worried about the brand?”

“Yes. I am. And you should be, too.”

“Oh, fuck off. If you were really worried about ‘the brand’ you wouldn’t have been acting like you did in Brazil.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was full of pain. He’d never used that kind of language or cruel tone with you before.

“Acting like we’re a couple.”

“Franco, you initiated all of that.” The truth cut through both of you, leaving you raw and vulnerable. “And I thought you meant it. Was it all just… a lie?”

It couldn’t be. The dancing was public. But the kiss had to be real. Away from the cameras, the scrutiny, the potential of what could be. Just you and him. Two people who loved in each other—but in what exact way, it was impossible for you to know.

His only response was curt. “Don’t ask me that,” he whispered.

Silence blanketed the room for a moment.

“The actress,” you asked, “Do you love her?” It was a simple question, asked while still ignoring the elephant in the room of what had really happened in Brazil. 

“Why do you care?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

You looked at him with bewilderment. “I care because I’m your friend! She has the potential to ruin your reputation, so I mean, it’s kind of different depending on if she’s the love of your life or just a quick fuck.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re so concerned about my love life. I don’t ask about yours.” 

You weren’t quite sure where his agitation was coming from, but it shocked you nonetheless. You responded back with your own passive aggression. “That’s because I don’t have one, Franco. I’m too busy flying around the world watching you race to go on dates.” It was true. But you left out the obvious fact that you were in love with him.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“You asked me to be here!” His words cut sharper than a knife. He had practically begged for you to be there. 

“Well, if it’s such a bother, then don’t come to the last three races. I need to focus, anyway.”

“It's not a bother. I enjoy being there! Franco, I’m just trying to talk to you, please don’t take out your anger on me.”

“You’re not trying to talk. You’re trying to tell me what to do, just like everyone else does. You all act like I’m a stupid child who can’t make any decisions on my own.”

Your anger grew. “Maybe it’s because you make decisions like this! You have a reputation to uphold and you’re choosing to associate with people like her?”

“You’re just jealous,” he said, with a thick venom in his voice.

Your heart skipped a beat. You pushed your nervousness down and let anger replace it. In an equally snarky tone, you rolled your eyes and replied, “Look, obviously you’re not going to acknowledge whatever happened between us in Brazil. But I am not jealous. I’m your friend and I want to help you. And besides, not every woman wants to fuck you, Franco.”

“Oh, but you do.”

If your heart had skipped a beat before, it had just dropped into your stomach now. Was it that obvious? Before you could even summon any rebuttal, Franco continued, “You know what actually happened in Brazil? You found me out. I stole your little diary when you left it in my driver’s room. And I read every fucking word.”

All the color had drained from your face. Every single word—where you had declared your love for him, and written all your fantasies about ravishing him and him ravishing you. Every fear and frustration and moment of sadness that you had poured into that journal; he had read it. 

“What, nothing to say now?” he snapped at you. 

He was right; what could you say when your best friend had crossed a line, only to find out that you had crossed the line so much further?

You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t have the strength to push them away as you had always done. What was the point, anymore? 

Your only response came out like a sad whisper. “Why would you do that?”

But clearly, he felt no sympathy for you. “Why would you do that?” he retorted. “Everyone tells me constantly that you’re a distraction. And they’re right. Because I’m trying to win points and you’re in my driver’s room writing fantasies about us fucking. And then I crash and lose everything and you want to act like you’re so innocent, just wanting to help. Well I know what you really want. And it’s disgusting.”

For a second, you really thought Franco was insane. Somehow, he had managed to manipulate the situation into making this your fault. 

But if he had truly read every word, how could he come to the conclusion that all you wanted was his body? How could he not understand how deeply you loved him?

In mere moments, a million ways to convey this went through your head, But it was no use. He was beyond the point of reason. And your friendship was beyond saving.

You had nothing to say, and it felt like if you didn’t get out of there right that second, you’d go insane. “I think I should just go…” you muttered as you turned to grab your things and exit his apartment. 

“No, you don’t get to do that! You don’t get to just run away from this.”

Your anger returned at his refusal to let you go. “If you can do whatever you want, then why can’t I?” 

This time it was him who was silent. 

Just as you were finally about to leave, you heard his voice behind you, “I’ll prove you wrong.”

His four simple words released the flood of your anger. You turned to him. “Prove me wrong? All I’ve tried to do is tell you that you’re wrong, that you still have a chance to save this if you do the right thing. But what if you don’t, Franco? What if you don’t get a seat for next year? You know what will happen? She’ll leave you. And the entire world will forget about you, everyone except for me, because I’ve always been here, even when you were nothing. But this is how you treat me, you’re mean and you lie to me and you betray my trust and you blame everything on me! So don’t come crying to me when everything falls apart.”

And so you left. And that was that. 

The next few days went past like a blur.

You could only remember small snippets. A set of emails; your VIP passes had been revoked, your flights and hotel reservations canceled. 

A video of him kissing her in a nightclub. A video of her going home with another man. Rumors. Pain. 

All of the sudden, you weren’t in his life anymore. But life just…went on.

You knew it would be best to just get off social media for good, now. Try to move on with your life. But you couldn’t help it. You watched the gossip pages, the F1 updates, his own page.

His comments were full of angry people, lambasting the actress or trying to defend you. His managers even had to issue a statement.

In your head you could hear his manager’s voice, scolding him. You knew exactly what she’d say.

And halfway across the world at the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you were right.

The few days in between the video of the actress, his argument with you, and the Grand Prix weekend felt like a century. But he was here, for better or for worse.

Still, the icy glare of his manager cut through him. He’d gotten an earful after the video leaked. The tension still hadn’t settled. 

But media day had gone fairly well; little mention of you or the actress. In fact, everything had gone smooth—a little too smooth, going into qualifying. 

One last meeting before he’d have to get to the garage. The garage itself had felt oddly…quiet, without you there. Yes, he’d canceled everything in the hot aftermath of your argument. 

But he couldn’t ignore your absence, like a hole in his chest.

He went in and out of focus—he was doing that a lot, these days—as the meeting dwindled and staff filtered out of the room one by one, until again it was just Franco and his manager.

She felt the tension in the room, and knew it was a delicate balance. The wrong mention at the wrong time could ruin everything. So she didn’t mention your name, knowing that it could affect his performance.

“Hey, kid,” she teased him, “You’ve got this. You’ve been through a lot—Hell, you’ve put me through a lot, but you’ve still got three more weeks to show the world what you can do. And I believe in you.”

He only gave her a reassuring smile before he went to the garage. 

The smile was fake. He knew it. She knew it. Maybe the fans knew it. 

You certainly knew it, watching the Sky Sports broadcast from home. It was an odd duality; you couldn’t stop watching, but every time they showed Franco, you felt like you’d been stabbed right in the heart. 

And across the world, Franco felt that same pain. His manager hadn’t brought you up, but her words were far too similar to yours. I believe in you.

Of course she did. That was her job. But you? You believed in him when he was fourteen and couldn’t figure out how to wash his clothes alone. You believed in him when he was sick and when he crashed and when he fucked everything up. 

Everything you had said just echoed in his mind, over and over, every night. He hadn’t been sleeping well. 

But this was his own fault. He had ruined it. He had read the journal. He had revoked your VIP passes. 

He had no one to blame but himself. And it was eating him alive.

When he was younger, he fell in love with racing because of the freedom it gave him. When he was in the car, it was just him and the road. No one could touch him—he could drive into oblivion if he wanted to.

But now, even in the former bliss of that sacred space of his F1 car, his shoulders were weighed down by the weight of all he had done. 

The quali session was almost over when he crashed. 

There were no words anymore. He retired the car and went back to the garage in silence.

At home, you just cried. There was nothing else you could do. 

It wasn’t long before Franco heard a familiar knock at his driver’s room door—his manager. He had spoken to the media, answered all the questions perfectly. But he had cost the team more time and money. He had let everyone down.

He opened the door without speaking a word, bracing for his scolding. 

But when his manager entered, her expression was not one of anger. “Franco, talk to me. What’s happening?” 

“I don’t know. I just lost control of the car and—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He paused, a strange sense of deja vu washing over him. He sat down and brought his head to his hands. The words wouldn’t come out.

“Where is YN?”

“She’s not here.”

His manager’s tone grew angrier. “Yeah, I’m aware. Where is she?”

“At home.”

“Why isn’t she here? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Franco said, his frustration growing at his manager’s insistence. 

“Well, obviously something happened, because she’d have to be dead or in jail to not be attending one of your F1 races.”

He looked up, furrowing his brow. “You told me to do what I have to do. So I did.”

“She didn’t take it well? That's… surprising.”

His anger was now tinged with confusion. “Well, most people don’t take it well when they’re called a distraction.”

“...Franco, did you tell her that?”

“Yes, that’s what you wanted me to do!”

“Oh my—no, God, Franco, that’s not what I meant!”

The driver got up, ready to angrily speak with his hands. His manager didn’t cower one bit. She asked, “Franco, what the hell did you tell her?”

“I told her she was a distraction and that she didn’t need to come to the last races. And I told her that she doesn’t need to scold me because you already do that enough. I did what I had to do, exactly what you told me to do!”

His manager took a deep breath. “When I said that you should do what you had to do, I meant that you needed to sit down and tell her how you feel.”

Oh.

She continued, “Yes, you were distracted because of your feelings for her. But she isn’t a distraction. She’s your friend, right? And you love her. So why would you say that to her?”

He began, “I—I don’t know. I don’t…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

“Jesus Christ, Franco. What has gotten into you?”

He couldn’t even speak. 

“Is there any chance in hell that this can be smoothed over before the race next week?”

He shook his head. No. Not after he had deliberately stood you up to go out with the actress. Not after he had spent the night with her, imagining your lips on his instead of hers. Not after everything he had said. Not after he’d rescinded his gift he’d worked so hard to give you by univiniting you to all the remaining races.

No, things were definitely not going to be smoothed over anytime soon. 

Qatar. Still no word from him. 

You’d contemplated reaching out a few times, but every time you’d gather up the courage, you’d remember what he said. There was no point anymore.

He crashed within the first laps of the race. It wasn’t even his fault, but still. The damage was done. 

The once promising young driver was now the laughing stock of the internet from all the work he’d made for the Williams’ mechanics. Unfortunately for your mental health, you’d still been keeping up with F1 news. 

Your absence hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Has anyone else noticed that since YN hasn’t been at races, Franco hasn’t been performing well?

REPLY: Yeah, he does seem kind of off, even in interviews :(

REPLY: He didn’t do well in Brazil and she was there tho

REPLY: Yeah, but Brazil was a mess, no one except Max did well

REPLY: Call me parasocial but I 100% believe that he confessed his feelings and she didn’t reciprocate them. Why else would he immediately crash twice, hook up with a famous actress, and then YN isn’t at any races?

You laughed from the sheer absurdity of it all. Their assumptions couldn’t be further from the truth. 

But time kept passing, like your entire world hadn’t been destroyed.

And again, as Franco traveled across the globe for races, his world was crumbling too.

It was becoming apparent that he wouldn’t get a seat for 2025. His time in F1—at least, for now—was coming to an end. And you were gone.

As he checked into his hotel room in Abu Dhabi, he could feel that familiar weight coming to rest on him. It hadn’t let up through the entire triple header. 

And when he was alone in his room, he couldn’t hide from it anymore.

You were just a phone call away. All he had to do was press a button and apologize. You were kind—he’d always loved that about you—you’d forgive him.

Or maybe you wouldn’t. Or maybe you couldn’t. 

He couldn’t bear the thought. So he didn’t call. Instead he tried to shake it off and take a shower, washing away the grit and grime of the airport, and the metaphorical dirt that now clung to him, the guilt of all he’d ruined. 

But even in the shower, his thoughts wandered to you, back in Brazil. You had held him, and he buried his head in your shoulder, taking in the sweet scent of your perfume and the warmth of your embrace. 

His hand trailed from his hair, where he was rinsing out his shampoo, to lower on his body, over his toned stomach and the happy trail that dotted his stomach.

He imagined his hand was yours.

No. This was wrong. But you had done it, hadn’t you?

He finished his shower in record time. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed in just a towel, he remembered that night in Singapore.

Had you thought about him like this? You must have. Yes, he remembered, you wrote about it. 

He had kept the journal. It was there, in his backpack, at his feet. 

He didn’t even think when he did it, reaching down to grab the small leather bundle of sin, letting his towel fall to the floor and not bothering to pick it up. 

Climbing on the bed, he opened the journal again. His hand gripped his aching cock, but God, how he wished it was yours. 

He read. I keep imagining that night at the hotel in Singapore, when he came out of the bathroom with just his towel on. 

Yes, he remembered. The memory of your closeness made his hard length twitch. His eyes darted further down the page. 

So I get on the bed and straddle him, the only thing between us being my skirt, panties, and the thin fabric of the towel. I can feel him, how badly he wants me.

He pumped himself up and down, slowly at first, then harder as your words got filthier. He imagined the scene; you on top of him, his hand being yours. God, how badly he wanted you, no, needed you right now. 

Then I’m in control, kissing his neck, leaving love bites up and down so that everyone knows he’s mine. 

Yes, he was yours. His body was yours. His mind was yours. Everything that he was, was yours. How badly he wished he could tell you that. But all he could do now was keep himself on the edge, denying himself the sweet release as you’d imagined. 

He moans softly into my ear, bucking up his hips into me for just a bit of friction. “No,” I tell him, “I didn’t give you permission for that.” He whines in protest, but I just smile at his frustration. “My sweet boy…”

He mimicked the scene when his hips jerked involuntarily, eliciting a low groan from his throat as he released all the pent up anger and frustration. He hadn’t meant to finish this early, but your words and the memory of your lips on his had an effect on him that he couldn’t control. 

But even as his breathing slowed and he moved to clean up the evidence of his debauchery, he couldn’t help but wonder how you’d punish him for disobeying your commands.

God, he fucking missed you. 

Even with the clarity of his release, he didn’t seem to be thinking clearly. His phone still lay open, the screen on your contact. 

One phone call. That’s all it would take. One phone call and you could be there at the end of it all, just as you’d always been there at the start.

But he still couldn't do it. 

He tapped the settings icon and hit “block caller.”

[wandasfavv]

Endless

Wanda x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve been studying and doing your homework all day without breaks, worrying Wanda a bit. And once you act up due to the pent up stress, she makes you take it back.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mommy!Wanda x Fem!Reader, dom/sub, fingering(r receiving), edging, spanking, humiliation & degradation, she’s so mean :((( but we love it

Noon came early as you sat on the couch, eyes fixated on the screen in front of you. You’ve been sitting there with your back arched in a terrible posture for hours, typing away on the computer situated on your lap. Every now and then you huffed out in irritation for not coming up with ideas quick enough to fit the minimal time you had left for this specific assignment. Luckily, it was due the next day and you had that sudden motivational rush that usually wouldn’t have come until the last minute. But of course you were still stressed for doing it so late when you previously had two weeks.

Your girlfriend, Wanda, was sitting beside you, reading over some of the emails on her phone as she found the sound of your keys being pushed down almost every second help ease her mind. However, she only felt that way when you first began this homework session… 5 hours ago.

For so long, she watched your concentrated expression with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as your eyes barely blinked. Sure she could never get tired at looking at you, but seeing you in this state of pretty much rotting as you sat made her worried and uneasy. Wanda set her phone down beside her once she finished replying. She then sat up, facing and looking at you in a small attempt to get your attention.

You still didn’t notice her, despite the movements from her causing the couch to shift you as well and slightly shake the screen your eyes were glued to. Her arm stretched across as her hand comfortingly grasped your thigh. Sighing loudly, she spoke, “Honey, why don’t you get up and walk around or something? Or atleast go to the bathroom?”

Your head perked up as you heard her voice. “What? I’m fine, I’m almost like more than halfway done with this,” you replied, dismissing her and only moving your head back down to return to the engrossed writing. Her words went in one ear and out the other. Wanda wore a sullen expression since you’d usually always listen to her. So trying again, she softly rubbed your skin with her thumb.

“C’mon, you’re a smart girl. You’ll finish it in time with a small break.”

This time as she spoke to you with a silky tone, she was only met with more vexatious typing and the side of your face. The response irked Wanda as you completely ignored her, so deciding to take matters in her own hands, she stood up before her fingers made its way to the edge of the device and pushed the screen down. Then swiftly taking a hold and lightly tossing it to the other side of the couch out of your reach. It happened all so quickly that you couldn’t have even move your tired body to prevent it.

“Wanda, what the hell? I told you I was almost done,” you said as your voice rose, looking up at her with glower. She returned the look as the way you spoke made her feel worse about the situation. She tilted her head to the side, responding to you in a deep undertone.

“Almost done? You said that like an hour ago too.”

“Ok well whatever, just let me-“

“Fix your attitude before you talk to me,” Wanda interrupted you, her voice also rising and her mouth slightly gaped in disbelief because of your behavior. You’ve never really talked back before, so this was an utter shock to her. She noticed you cower a bit and become quiet upon hearing her scold, and it only made her want to take it further. “Get up.”

“What?”

“Just listen to me,” she said, aggressively yanking you up by the arm and dragging you through the house to your shared bedroom. You helplessly followed Wanda into the room before getting pushed onto the bed as she slammed the door. “Take off your clothes.”

Afraid of what she’d do if you didn’t listen, you did as she said. Wanda sat at the edge of the bed next to you with a glare, and waited for you to be done stripping. Once you were bare, she immediately got ahold of you, and roughly pulled you onto her. “Face down on my lap.”

Again, you listened, positioning yourself across her lap as your backend was faced up to her. You nervously looked back at her, wondering what she wanted to do with you… or to you. Soon enough she spoke, only staring at your tense body instead of your face. “You’re such a brat today… thinking you know what’s best for you. Do you think you can tell me right now what I should do to you?”

You turn your head back forward, ashamed to look at her. “I… I don’t know,” you timidly respond. Wanda found it amusing, how your voice shifted so quickly and easily once she had you.

“Of course you don’t. Your dumb little head can’t even think straight. Which is why mommy has to do all the work for you huh?”

You blushed profusely as you looked down, your mind becoming fuzzy already, and you squirmed slightly as she called herself that name. Wanda looked over to you, only to be met with the back of your head. She reached with one hand to make you turn, a loose grip on your face as she squished your cheeks a bit. “You think 30 is fair?”

The question obviously pointed you to the direction that she meant spanking, and you couldn’t help but pout. You nodded slowly, accepting your fate. And the moment you signaled yes, you squeaked as there was a quick slap to your bottom.

“Count for me.”

—————-

As you progressed to finishing 30 hits, each one became worst. You weren’t sure if it was Wanda intentionally going harder, or if it was just your ass becoming more sensitive. You shakily mumbled out every number as you let out small yelps, trying your best to not miscount and have to possibly start over. However, you couldn’t help but become aroused from the pain too. And Wanda noticed that.

Your final spank caused you to cry out, gripping onto the sheets beneath you. “Mm! T-Thirty…” you felt her hand begin to rub your heated flesh, soothing it as it stung. You caught up with your breathing, tiredly resting your head on your arm as Wanda kept her hands on you. It became oddly silent besides your small pants. Waiting for her to say something, you looked back again, this time seeing her look further down with a dark look in her eyes.

“Did you get off from me spanking you?”

The question caught you off guard and made your face heat up. She then took her hand that was closest to your end to your center, gently pressing her fingers against the warm soaked area. It made you gasp shortly, and Wanda’s following words didn’t make the fuzzy feeling in you any better.

“You’re so wet, and from what? Mommy hurting you?”

You whined as she teased your pussy, probing your entrance yet not fully going in. Being desperate, you wanted to agree and convince her of giving you what you wanted, but embarrassment filled you as she spoke to you that way. “N-No…”

She smiled tightly at you, letting one finger slip in and making you moan aloud. “So what did?” She continued asking, focused on the way your pretty hole swallowed her finger. You didn’t respond, not knowing how to as you already denied the truth. Another finger went into your wet cunt and made your head pathetically fall down against the mattress as your jaw fell.

Wanda took note of your silence, letting you off the hook for now. Her fingers moved incredibly slow for your taste. You began to squirm, making her to pull out and slap your ass again. Another cry came out of you. “Stop moving,” she sternly said. You listened with a sad look, only for her to put them back in you with that same torturous pace.

“Mommy…” you whined slightly, turning your head so your cheek rested on the comforter as you looked up at her. Your face had an adorable frown, your eyebrows pulled upward together. Wanda looked down at it, and the corner of her soft pink lips came up.

“What? You want me to go faster?”

“Mhm…” you responded, nodding your head shamefully. She still didn’t go faster though, just stared at you with a certain look as if she expected to hear something. Your brows raised as you realized and corrected yourself with a meek voice, “Please mommy.

She then quickened her movements, enjoying the way your body reacted to her. With your arms in front of you, you buried your face into the crevice of a limb, between the arm and forearm, as you moaned and breathed heavily. Her fingers pistoned into you, curling from time to time and hitting that spongey spot within you. You got louder and it wasn’t long until you needed to cum, especially since you were so turned on from both the spanking and the way Wanda talked to you. As if you were just a dumb little toy to her.

Wanda kept going, never once faltering until she felt your walls tightening around her. She looked over at you again, tearing her eyes away from the view of your pussy she loved so much. “Aw are you close baby?” She questions, sounding a lot more like her usual soft self. You nodded eagerly in response, your moans getting higher pitched. “Well hold it,” she spoke blatantly, the previous tone coming back in seconds. Despite her words, she didn’t let up her fingers pounding into you, as if she wanted to see you break and cum without her permission.

“M-Mommy, no i can’t- please,” you reply with a weak voice. Your body laid over her lap still, due to her other hand’s increasingly harsh grip to your side. But letting go, she trailed across your back and down to your chest, cupping your breast before squeezing roughly. The action made you even more dizzy, fisting the sheets once again. Wanting to cum so badly you got closer and closer to that euphoric feeling without thinking of the consequences up until Wanda pulled out of you swiftly. You mewled as she slapped you again, this time directly to your drenched cunt.

“You poor thing… can’t even listen to me. Just a selfish little whore.”

Your stomach couldn’t help but flutter hearing her vile words after hitting you repeatedly. And immediately after, she thrusted back into you, and your orgasm built up again. You attempted to push your hips back for her to stay inside and apply more pressure. The act had you shakily reach an arm behind you towards Wanda’s hand, trying to get a hold of it desperately to remain in your pussy, leading to her grabbing it aggressively and pinning it down against you back. She did keep herself inside though, just not moving a single muscle. Even as you got what you wished for, it felt even worst than being empty. Your tight walls squeezed around her, trying to milk out any sort of pleasure, but it was futile and your climax flowed away.

Wanda continued and every time she denied you, your hole ached more and you wailed from the growing pain of needing her. She kept this up for what felt like hours, over and over and… over again. It was endless.

By your sixth one, you grew more submissive with your clouded head and mindless begging. Tears tried to dry on your cheeks, but more just kept coming out. “T-Too much mommy… it hurts…” you whimpered as she hit a nerve inside your sensitive walls another time.

“Yeah? It’s too much for you? Too much for your needy little pussy?” She continued, her voice faking pity as her expression mocked yours. Her lip pouted while her brows furrowed, an innocent look for someone who was spilling such dirty words into your ears. For the past six edges she kept that contradiction going. Yet, you found it so attractive.

Her voice rang in your ears as the gasping and unsteady intake of air was becoming more intense. You clenched your teeth before opening your mouth and biting on your wrist instead to muffle your sounds and focus on the pain anywhere else but the area Wanda fucked. As she noticed you doing so, she reached out with her free hand to grasp your reddened face again, the force on your cheeks a lot harder now as you stopped sinking your teeth in your skin. She tapped on one side of your face to make you look at her. “You wanna cum?

“Please, please mommy- wan cum so bad for you,” you hiccuped, responding as quickly as you could. You looked up at her with those pleading eyes, glossed over from all the constant denial and spanks. Your body was burning from need.

She smiled sickly, tilting her head before saying, “I’ll let you if you tell me the truth… admit you love getting spanked by me and that you got wet from it.” Her voice dripped with sweetness in spite of what she was really saying. You whined once more, embarrassed and flushed at the thought of saying something like that aloud.

“But that’s-“

“Hurry before I change my mind and leave you like this.”

With a sheepish and red-faced expression, you shyly mumbled within Wanda’s hold, still feeling her fingers hit your favorite spot. “I-I love it when you spank me mommy, I love it so much…” Your eyes then shut as she suddenly jammed inside, seemingly lost control of herself from how you obeyed and just said it so prettily.

“Uh-huh, good girl…” she praised, looking between where you were taking her and your cute flustered face which soon scrunched up as your orgasm was finally going to be given to you. Wanda felt your walls trap her digits inside again. The tight feeling made her groan and slam into you harder. “Mhm, keep going baby.”

“I got wet from you hurting me mommy.. mm! P-Please mommy please M’ so close,” you stammered, no longer caring about what you were saying, just so incredibly needy. All you wanted was to please Wanda and release the pent up feeling within your shaking body. Wanda looked down at you with an open mouth, turned on with how obedient you were being now.

“There you go, princess. So so good for me… you can cum now. Yeah, cum all over mommy’s hand,” she cooed, going impossibly harder and curling at your g-spot. With her permission, you squealed and finally let go. Your body spasmed as heat traveled through and made you feel bundles of nerves bursting. Needing to hold onto her, one hand came down and gripped onto her leg.

She bit her bottom lip, finding the scene in front of her so hot. Her little girl sobbing into the sheets, cumming as your body was covered in marks from her inflicted pain. She loved it.

As you came down from your high, small pants and whimpers fell from your lips. Wanda’s hand soothingly rubbed your back, calming you down more. You turned to face her and saw how heart eyed she was. She smiled down at you before helping you get up as she lifted you from her lap. You pushed yourself up shakily with your arms and got to your knees beside her. The two of you shared a look as both set of eyes glanced down her stained thigh. You embarrassed, looked away until you heard a small laugh coming from the woman.

“Come here sweetie,” she said softly as her gentle gestures pushed you to get on her lap again, except now straddling her. Her hand was to your ass again, lightly pressing into it but still making you hiss from the sting. “How are you feeling?” She asked with a loving tone matching her expression.

“I’m okay mommy…” you replied quietly, feeling a little nervous under her stare. She grinned at you, cupping one side of your face, and kissing you in a gradual manner. You reciprocated the kiss, moaning against her lips which was curved upward still.

“See? Not so stressed anymore now, huh?” She questioned once her face pulled away. You pouted at the removal, but then frowned as guilt rushed through you from the reminder of earlier when you had upset her. You nodded your head timidly to her question until your eyes parted away from hers and muttered.

“I’m sorry…” you apologized. And even though your voice was barely loud enough for Wanda to hear, she knew what you were saying. Her hand from your bottom moved up to your waist as the other one gently moved to your face to signal you to look at her.

“Look at me when you speak,” she sweetly ordered, her voice lingering in your hazy mind. Your eyes came up to directly make eye contact. Her beautiful light green eyes softened, taking in your adorable state.

“I’m sorry for talking back and not listening mommy,” you repeated with a slightly pursed lip. You shifted on top of her a bit too.

“It’s okay, I know you were just trying to do your work,” she starts, gently applying pressure to your side. “And you’ll still finish before it’s due, don’t worry. You’re my best girl.” She leans up to peck your nose, making you melt from the cute action and reassurance. You shyly smiled and wrapped your arms around her neck, kissing her again. You loved how she was being, now not worried about anything except being good for her from now on. Though, you wouldn’t mind misbehaving once in while for a punishment you loved.

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Prinzessin

My masterlist

You lay back on the deck, closing your eyes as the warm sunlight bathed your skin. The gentle rocking of the boat coupled with the sound of the waves was incredibly soothing, and you felt a sense of tranquility wash over you. You took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air and feeling the tension in your body gradually dissolve. Despite the initial annoyance of waking up before Toto, you found a strange sense of peace in being alone with your thoughts, the vast expanse of the ocean acting as a natural salve for your irritation. As you continued to recline on the deck, basking in the sun, you couldn't help but marvel at the stunning beauty of your surroundings. The clear blue sky was dotted with wispy clouds, and the ocean gleamed like a sparkling gem in the sunlight. The boat rocked ever so gently, creating a gentle lulling motion that was both calming and invigorating.

The last few days spent with Toto were nothing less than perfection. When he first brought up the idea of taking you away to celebrate your recent graduate school graduation, you were completely taken back. Toto’s lifestyle and the way he chose to spoil you was something you were still acclimating to. A romantic dinner and a movie? Sure - but to be whisked away on a yacht to the middle of nowhere was something else completely. However, you couldn’t deny that it was nice to finally have some alone time together.

Between the stress of the last few weeks of classes and the Mercedes’ team finally winning two races out of the three during the triple-header, the two of you had barely been able to see each other. After some convincing, you finally agreed to a getaway with Toto for the weekend and you didn’t regret it for a second. Wining and dining you, he had spent the last few days making sure you felt like a princess. Watching the sunset together, eating 5 star meals, taking a swim in the ocean - everything felt like it was straight out of a dream. That’s not including the white hot, passionate sex that filled every other moment of your trip. Toto knew how you treat you but he knew how to treat your body even better.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approaching made your eyes flutter open, and you turned your head to see Toto's tall figure making his way towards you. You couldn’t help but giggle at his scrunched up face and wild bed head but as your eyes trailed down his torso you took your bottom lip between your teeth. He wore a turquoise pair of swim trunks and a white button up shirt that was open in the front, exposing his chiseled torso to you.

Toto's face broke into a small smile as he spotted you lying on the deck, a relaxed expression on your features. He made his way over, settling down next to you.

"You're up early," he commented, his voice laced with a hint of surprise. "Normally, I'm the morning person in the relationship." Toto’s voice was low, gravely, and made you clench your thighs together.

“You looked peaceful. I didn’t wanna bother you.” You sat up completely, pushing your sunglasses up to sit on top of your head.

You gave him a playful smirk, still feeling a bit cheeky from your previous annoyance. "Well, even early birds need their beauty sleep, Toto," you retorted, stretching lazily like a cat in the sun.

Toto chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. "True," he agreed, his eyes studying you for a moment. "Although, I have to admit, I was enjoying having the bed to myself for once."

You let out a small laugh, amused by his comment. "Oh, don't pretend you don't enjoy my nocturnal disturbances," you teased, giving him a nudge with your shoulder.

Toto feigned a look of mock offense. “Disturbances, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling your relentless bed stealing habits now?”

You let out a mock sniff of disdain. "You're just jealous that my sleeping habits are way more efficient. While you're stuck in one position, I'm maximizing the available bed space," you teased, enjoying the banter.

Toto shook his head in amusement. "Maximizing bed space, huh? More like making it impossible for anyone to get a decent night's sleep."

“You didn’t complain much last night when I kept you up for some rather adult activities” you smirked and said. 

Toto's cheeks flushed slightly at your comment, the memory of the previous night's activities clearly not far from his mind. He cleared his throat, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, I suppose there are some benefits to your... 'bed-stealing habits,'" he conceded, his tone slightly gravelly. 

As Toto looked over to you, the sun glinted off your neck at just the right time, exposing to him that you were wearing the diamond necklace he had gotten you. A devilish grin spread across his face as he squatted down next to you and cupped your neck in his large hand, thumb tracing over the chain of the necklace.

“Here I thought you didn’t like this necklace.” Toto stated, eyes watching as his thumb moved back and forth over the crease of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that made him grin even more.

“I never said I didn’t like it.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper. The smell of his cologne clogging up your senses, making it feel as though your head was in a cloud. “Jus’ said it was too much.”

Toto's smile grew wider as he continued to toy with the necklace around your neck, noticing the effect it was having on you. He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your skin.

"Ah, so you do like it, hmmm?" he teased, enjoying how his touch was making you shiver. "You're just too stubborn to admit it, Prinzessin."

You let out a breathless laugh, trying to maintain your composure despite the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating scent of his cologne. "Maybe I just don't want to stroke your ego even more," you countered, giving him a mock glare.

“You can always stroke something else of mine.” He said while looking directly into your eyes, those hazel brown eyes slowly lured you into the wood or somewhere so magically. The way Toto looked at you had always made your heart skip a beat. You didn’t know it was possible for someone to have so much love and adoration in their eyes when they looked at someone. Toto always told you that you were his greatest gift in life and he made it his mission to ensure you felt that way. Although the attention, the love, the gifts, proved to be too much at times, there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do to get that look from him for the rest of your life.

“And you’re wearing my favorite…” A single finger ran down the strap of your swimsuit top, the coldness of the finger was a stark contrast from how warm your body felt from the sun.

“Not like I had a choice. You ripped the other one yesterday.” You teased.

Toto grinned at the memory of yesterday’s escapade. The man was lucky he was rich because he had a bad habit of ripping your clothes when they didn’t come off quickly enough for his liking.

“I’ll buy you another one.” Toto quipped.

Before you had a chance to respond, he pressed his lips to yours. Almost immediately, his tongue pressed against your lips, begging for access. You could taste mint toothpaste as he swirled his tongue around yours. You sighed into the kiss, feeling your joints buckle as they typically did whenever Toto kissed you. Every kiss you shared was filled with intensity, passion, desire, and made you feel as though you were floating on air. Instead of relying on your arms to keep you upright, you wrapped your arms around his neck and tangled your hands in his messy hair. Toto grinned, going down on one knee to make sure neither of you toppled to the ground. You felt your bottom lip become trapped between his teeth as he pulled away lightly, letting it go at the end.

“I want you to lay back. Can you do that for me, Liebe?” Toto cooed.

This time it was your turn to bite your bottom lip as you nodded, obediently laying back against the deck while you kept your eyes locked to his. As soon as you settled into position, Toto’s body was over yours and you couldn’t help but run your hands along his torso.

“I love seeing you underneath me.” Toto whispered, peppering kisses along your jaw line and tracing them down the column of your throat.

As Toto's lips continue their journey down your throat, sending shivers down your spine, you can't help but arch your back in anticipation. His hands are exploring your body, making your heart race with every touch. His fingers deftly unbutton your shorts, slipping inside to caress the warm skin beneath. He kisses a trail down your sternum, his hot breath making you gasp. Reaching the waistband, he pulls your shorts and panties down in one swift motion, revealing your glistening folds.

With a low growl of desire, Toto buries his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your swollen clit. He devours you with a hunger that borders on feral, his fingers spreading your lips wide to grant himself deeper access.

Your back bows off the deck as his tongue plunges into your aching heat, lapping at your walls with a skill that drives you wild. He sucks your clit between his lips, rolling the sensitive bud with his tongue while his fingers curl inside you, stroking that sweet spot that makes your vision blur. With a delicate flick of his tongue, Toto teases your entrance, encouraging you to arch your hips and beg for more. He plunges deep into your wetness with a gusto that has you gripping the edge of the deck

His lips form a tight seal around your throbbing clit as he suckles greedily, his tongue darting and swirling to drive you to the brink. You're a whimpering, mewling mess beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to pull him closer.

Toto's tongue is relentless, stroking and circling your sensitive nub with an expertise that borders on cruel. You're a quivering, sobbing mess, your thighs clenching around his head as he feasts on your arousal.

A sigh left your lips once more as you threaded your fingers back into his chestnut hair. It felt as though every hair on your body stood up straight as Toto flickering his eyes up to meet yours, Toto leaned forward and slow up the pace. Your head fell back with a whine as your hips involuntarily jutted toward his mouth.

"Please, Toto, more.." you gasp, your hips bucking against his mouth as he ramp up the intensity. His purring vibrates against your clit, it served you so well right now.

“Oh god.” You groaned, arching your back and pushing your cunt further into his face.

Toto's tongue flickers over your clit, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. Your toes are curling and your legs start to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you over the edge. He pulled back slightly and gathered your folds between his fingers and squeezed them together.

“Such a pretty pussy, Prinzessin. Love seeing the way it’s dripping for me.”

Immediately he was diving back in, letting go of your folds to hold your legs back in place. The obscene slurping noises coming from between your legs had you moaning in pleasure. The feeling of his tongue prodding at your entrance made your hands fly to his hair and your legs lock over his back.

“Go on, Liebe. Use me. Fuck yourself on my tongue.” Toto mumbled, sticking his tongue out and allowing you to rock your core over it.

“Shit, shit, shit. Oh fuck, Toto, I’m-I’m gonna cum.” You squealed, increasing the speed at which you ground yourself against him.

Just like that, you felt the white hot pleasure of your orgasm rip through you, legs shaking slightly as you clenched your thighs around his head. Instead of pulling away, Toto doubled down and dug his fingers into your hips as he pushed his face further into your core. He lapped up your orgasm like he was put on this earth to do so.

The sensitivity from your last orgasm made you jerk away from him, but Toto had no intentions of letting you go.

“Come on, Schatzi. Give me one more, I know you got one more for me.”

Toto pulled back and quickly replaced his tongue with his middle and ring finger, curling them upwards as he thrusted them. At the same time he snaked his hand over the front of your swimsuit top and yanked your breasts free, making sure to pinch and tug on your nipples as he continued his rough pace.

There was no holding back the scream that erupted from your chest as you came for the second time. The orgasm that ripped through you was one that was so intense you could swear your eyes rolled all the way back into your head. Toto placed light kisses over your mound as you came down from your high.

“Good job, Schatzi. You did so good for me.”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly as Toto crawled back over you, grinning at your fucked out state. His nose traced the curve of your jaw as he waited for you to come back to. Licking your lips you pushed on his chest, signaling for him to let you up. As he sat up you followed him, only to push him down to the floor. Toto grinned at you proudly.

“Schatzi you know you don’t have to—“ Toto’s sentence was cut short with a low groan as you ran your hand over the length of him through his shorts.

Quickly ridding him of his swim trunks you took the length of him into your hand and pumped up and down a few times. You’d become wholly familiar with his anatomy in the time you’d been dating, but each time you saw his cock always felt like the first. Toto groaned, lips slightly parted as he looked down at you. Maintaining that eye contact, you leaned in and swirled your tongue around the head.

“Fffuck.” Toto breathed, gathering your hair at the top of your head so he wouldn’t miss a single view of you wrapped around his cock.

Moving down toward the bottom, you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock before taking as much of him in your mouth as you were able. Toto grunted loudly, doing his best to keep his hips from bucking up into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ. You feel so good, Liebe.” Toto praised.

You looked up at him from under your lashes as you continued to suck his cock. The blissed out look on his face made your core throb. There was something about the way you made him feel so good that you absolutely adored. You took your time, taking as much of him as you could as slowly as you could. Other men you were with liked their head messy and fast, but Toto always commented on how much he loved the way you took your time with him.

Pulling away, you continued to stroke him with your hand as you moved down to take his balls into your mouth and suck on them gently. As you began to do so, you felt his cock jump in your hand and a grin spread across your face.

“Fuck, Liebe, stop, stop.” Toto grabbed you and pulled you up.

Crashing his lips to yours, the kiss was needy and messy. Toto held your face tightly in his hands as you scrambled onto his lap. You pushed the shirt off his shoulders and Toto shrugged it off, pulling away to look at you.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me one day, Schatzi. You make me feel so fuckin’ good.”

Positioning yourself over him, you sank down slowly on to his cock. The stretch was something you still hadn’t gotten used to, but god did it feel incredible. Each and every time you wondered how it was possible to feel so full. Toto grabbed your face and pulled you into another kiss as you allowed yourself to get used to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled away from the kiss.

“Please move, Toto.” You panted.

Toto’s hands found their way to your hips as he slowly started to help you move back and forth. A long groan came from you as you leaned your head back. Toto took the opportunity to nibble gently on your pulse point. The rock of your hips back and forth had his pelvis hitting your clit each time, causing a surge of pleasure to shoot through your body.

“More, I need more.” You moaned out.

Toto wrapped his arm around your waist as he flipped you onto your back. The moment your back hit the floor, his pace increased tremendously. The lewd sound of slapping skin filled the area and you were grateful you were out in the middle of nowhere.

“You were fuckin’ made for me weren’t you, Schatzi? Goddamnit, you fit me like a fucking glove.” Toto growled, pushing your leg back even further so he could drill into you at a different angle.

You wrapped your hands around his forearm as he held on to your hip. The drag of his cock against your velvety walls had your eyes rolling into the back of your head once more. The hand that rested on your hip moved to rest on your lower abdomen right above your pelvis as he continued to piston in and out of you.

The movement only made the pressure in your abdomen increase tenfold and you could feel yourself starting to clench around him involuntarily.

“P-please, I-“

“You need to cum, hmm? My pretty girl gonna cum?”

“Please!” You yelled out as he snapped his hips particularly rough into you.

Toto placed both hands on your hips as he lifted you slightly off the ground, pounding into you with all he had. As he did so you reached your hand down your front and rubbed your clit in fast circles.

“Oh fuck, yeah. Rub your clit Liebe. Cmon, cum for me.”

After a few more snaps of his hips you felt yourself tensing up, toes curling as your third orgasm washed over you. This time your legs were shaking visibly and you groaned loudly.

“So fuckin pretty when you cum, Schatzi. Fuck.”

It was obvious that Toto was close. You could feel him twitch inside of you as well as the way his hips were beginning to falter.

“Want you to cum in me, Liebe. Wanna feel you cum in me.” You whimpered up at him.

“Fucking Christ!” Toto fell forward, hands on either side of you as he shoved his hips forward, painting your walls with his spend.

Toto remained leaning over you, pressing his forehead to yours as you moaned in tandem. Breathing in each other’s breath, you reached up and cupped his cheek. Toto wrapped his fingers around your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, biting down on the flesh of your hand slightly. You giggled, watching him grin at your noise.

Toto pulled away from you, using the towel you had been sunbathing with to help clean you up. Toto laid down against the deck and you curled up against him, pressing a kiss to his chest as you tangled your leg with his. He stroked your hair with his hand as he pressed a kiss to your crown.

“Yeah,” he started, twirling your hair around his finger, “I’d say you deserve the moon.”

You laughed, hitting his chest for his dumb joke. Toto chuckled, taking your hand in his and lifting it up to his lips for a kiss.

“I love you, Schatzi. And I’m so proud of you.”

You could feel your heart swell at his words. Whenever you were with Toto, all you felt was love.

“I love you too, Toto. Thank you, for everything.”

The two of you remained tangled in one another while you regained your strength. The boat was quiet, the soft crashing of the waves once again soothing your senses as you let your eyes closed.

“So…” Toto’s voice brings you back to reality, “how about a round two?”

[pinkslaystation]

No longer a memory [Simon 'Ghost' Riley]

You are reading: [Part 2] Read [Part 1] here! Word Count: 1.4k You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he did feel the same.

When Ghost was asked about his emergency contact, he mentioned Soap's name.

"You can't put down another soldier, mate. Gotta be yer ma or summit." His higher-ups informed him.

"Why no'?" He grumbled, leaning against the wall in the dingy office.

"Wot if you're on a mission with 'im? Wot if he's injured too? Hm? Just do me a favour and put down yer missus, will ya."

Ghost rolled his eyes in annoyance, slamming the door shut as he walked out. With an important mission coming soon, it was vital that everything was in order before they left.

He just doesn't get it. Why does a skilled killer like him need an emergency contact? He's only been fatally injured once, and when they contacted his previous emergency number back then, was it really a big deal with someone at the nearest Maccies picked up?

Gaz frequently laughs at him, "Tried to call your mother, ordered a quarter pounder instead." It's a running joke in the team.

Ghost skims through his phone contacts, and he's embarrassed to see how few numbers he has: 5 being his teammates including Gaz, Soap and Price, one being KFC, one being his mother which he had saved under Slag. He scrolls up and down rapidly, debating to himself, should he just give them a fake number?

No...they'd find out again.

He clicks under the spam numbers.

His eyes shift to a familiar number.

It was yours.

The monotonous ticking of the clock paired with the irregular typing of the keyboards were burnt into your brain unknowingly. You've lost count of the number of days you've been in the menial job now, your first job since graduating university. How long have you been with that company, 2 years? 602 days now? You're counting the days 'til the weekend but even during that, you've got no one to come home to.

What a pathetic life.

Sometimes you wonder what Simon was doing in that exact moment was he working like you? Was he also in London? Did he...think of you, the way you think of him? It's possible he's forgotten, I mean after 5 years you've lost contact with the majority of your classmates- so much for best friends for life.

You check your phone, 9:28 P.M. 2 more minutes and you're running out of there.

By the time it hits 11 P.M., you're tucked away in bed a movie playing the background as you're aimlessly listening to reddit stories on TikTok whilst watching a minecraft speedrun.

You switch to using Instagram, by that I mean stalking. Your friends seems to be growth further away from you, one sending you an e-invite to their wedding, one welcoming their 1st child into their families, and yet you're still hung over about the last day of secondary school. The way the last time you had seen him had been in form, when he glances at you walking in late. The way his hands would purposely linger against yours when you were asked to hand out sheets to the class.

The mere thought of him jolted you. That, and the sound of your phone ringing.

It was an unknown number.

There's a hitch in your breathing. Was this a sign? What's the phrase, speak of the devil and he has appear? Was it perhaps...Simon?

You wait for a minute before picking up, not wanting to come across as desperate.

"...Hello?" You murmur.

"Hey." The voice is harsh and cold. It reminded you of Simon.

"Simon?" You whisper, a smile appearing on your face.

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"What? No- Alan. From Accounting. You left some documents here at work, they seem important. You gonna pick 'em up?"

You blink. Once again your're stuck in another fantasy. In what world would it be Simon? The man who couldn't even reply to your texts in summer holidays. The man who wouldn't even attempt to return a full smile when you locked eyes in the corridor. The man you shouldn't have feelings for. Because, well, it's not like they were ever reciprocated.

What a pathetic life.

Alan, the dickhead from Accounting interrupts yet again. "Yo, you there? Wan' me to bin them?"

You sit up in your bed, sighing deeply uncomfortable, "Pull up your pants man, I'll be there in 30, Jesus. Just leave them on my desk."

Question. What's short but intense, most people dislike it, but you find it thrilling? One would think a conversation with Simon. But the answer is: London traffic.

You'd assume the usually busy roads to be dead and empty at 11:30 P.M. ish, but you're heavily mistaken, my friend. Seems like London nights are the life of the party. Driving past busy clubs and lit up pubs, whilst listening to One Of The Girls by The Weeknd [SUCH A GOOD SONG-] made you feel like a movie star in a coming of age film.

One where the guy gets the girl.

Of course, the majority of the drive you've being beeped at, or you're doing the beeping, but it's what really appealed to you when making the move to the heart of London. Life moves on whether you want or not, might at well be at the capital of England. Though sometimes you feel you're more likely to run into Simon in the north...

By the time you reach the entrance of your workplace, you begin regretting your outfit decisions, making eye contact with yourself in the reflection of the glass doors: A black hoodie and flared joggers. Nothing wrong in the clothing of course, but compared to the Data Analysts and Investment Bankers that are judging you right now, it makes you feel like the smallest person in the room.

Just a elevator ride up, grabbing your shit, another ride down, brisk walking to the car, and you can go back to the comfort of your bed. Easy, no?

You're in the elevator finally. The weird look from the receptionist really was the cherry on the cake.

Soon enough, the doors open again at the 9th floor, and you're met with the dark room of your department, which only had 2 of your colleagues slaving away at their desks, one which you're 99% sure is rotting away as they type on their keyboard.

You briefly nod at the two as they look up from the elevator doors opening, to which they returned.

Where's that file, where's the fucking file. You mumble to yourself, sifting through all the papers from your desk. The rotting lady looks up to you, shushing you for the noise.

Yeah, if only you had the courage to shush your toxic-ass husband...You think. Soon we'll hear your reddit story next to some trashy ass run on Subway Surfers on Tiktok...

The way down the elevator was excruciatingly slow, which was odd considering it was working perfectly fine 5 minutes ago.

The doors open again, at the 8th floor and 3 analysts walk into the once quiet elevator, and now you're face to face with the loud chatter of clients, and business meetings and...who left a mess in the men's toilets...

A phone rings again, and the analysts all search their coats, thinking it was theirs.

Not me.

Neither.

How is there service in this elavator-

Someone coughs, and you open your eyes from drowsiness, the 3 business musketeers silently urging you to pick up your from and rid them off that irritating ring tone.

Silently apologising, you bring your phone out of your hoodie pocket. It's another unknown number.

With no hesitation this time, just pure frustration and fatigue, you pick up the call, "Alan, I swear to God, if you're calling me again-"

Correction. There is service in the elevator. It just wasn't good.

The line breaks at the other person on the phone speaks.

"He- Co- It's an emergen- He- -mon Ril- -jury-"

"Huh?" You respond, partially not hearing as the line breaks every now and then. but also because the other 3 people decided it was okay to talk on full volume.

You try once again, "I'm sorry I can't hear you."

"Missi- crash- 3 dead- -husba"

You snort, you wish these 3 analysts were dead right now-

"-Rile- Come- t- -ocation- sen- -by text- -sband-"

The line goes dead, and you're stuck staring at your phone with more confusion than you had started. Husband?

What was that? Wrong number? No, they had addressed you by your full name. You couldn't hear much, but from what you gathered...an emergency? I mean, that alone you could tell from the shrill from the speaker's voice.

The elevator door opens again and this time, it's the ground floor and all 4 of you walk out. It looks like the scene where the rich, popular characters make a grand entrance, straight out of a K-drama, except one person clearly missed the memo about dressing formally.

You check your phone's call log, debating whether to call them back.

Before you can lock your phone and shove it back into your phone, it dings again, a text from the very number. They've given you a location. A quick search on your phone, shows you google images of an army training ground. You check the time. It's just past midnight.

Looks like you're going on an adventure.

The drive to the army grounds was shorter than Google Maps had said, and now you're parked on the side of the roads waiting for the gates to be opened.

Theories are racing through your head right now, who do you know that's in the military currently?

Your coworkers? No.

Your university friends? No.

Your secondary school classmates? No.

Simon? Can't be.

The gates open, and you drive to the 2 men standing by the doors to the building, one is dressed like a doctor, the other? Like Stalin.

You get out of your car worried, "Hi, someone called over the phone?"

"Aah, yes. Mrs Riley. A pleasure to meet you. I mean I didn't think you were even going to come." He turns to the doctor.

You don't fail to hear the words exchanged between the both of them.

"What if she works at Maccies as well...she's dressed like it-" he murmurs, smiling at you widely.

The doctor on the other hand, seems to be more tense about the situation, "Sir, can we just send her in already, it's 1 A.M., I got a family to go home to-"

"Wasn't your wife cheating on you though-"

"Sir- How do you know- Okay, Miss. Mrs... Riley, was it?" The doctor turns to you.

You raise an eyebrow at him, "No. Um, no. My first name's not Riley, it's-"

"Will you just follow us. Please."

The inside of the building was almost the opposite than the outside, a loud brightly lit environment with crowds of doctors and nurses rushing around, compared to the silent dark grounds.

"Sorry, where are we going exactly?" You question, as the two men walk in front of you.

"You're handling the news better than I expected, Riley." The military leader (?) notes.

What news?

"What news?"

There's no follow up answer, instead they lead you to a quiet corridor, just outside a room, to which they gesture you to open. The doctor reads from a file, "He's going to be fine, just a few cuts and bruises-"

You interrupt, "I'm sorry?"

"What he's trying to say- we found him unconscious, seems like he inhaled too much of the gas. Thought he was in grave danger. Wasn't responding to anything. Broken rib cage, but he'll be fine. He always is, this man."

The doctor agrees with the solider.

"Indeed, a few months of bed rest, and he's be back in better shape."

The two stare at you, as you look at them with an unreadable expression.

"...And...I'm here because?"

They share a confused look.

"You're his wife, no? His emergency contact? That's what Simon said at le-"

"Si-Si-Simon?"

One second you're at home, the next you're a work again, and now you're in the bathroom with your head in your hands, sitting on the toilet lid, panic pulsating through your blood. For some reason, you can't find it in yourself to tell the truth, that you're not Simon's wife, so instead you pussied out and excused yourself to the nearest bathroom.

The good thing is, the 2 men believe you're crying over Simon's injuries, the bad thing is that he's awake. And he's been made aware of the call to his emergency contact: his wife.

"Good to say you mate. Called your wife. Sensitive one, that. Rushed-"

Simon breaks out of his dazed look. "Wife?" He barks.

The doctor shares a knowingly glance to the solider, Simon's higher up. "Yes...the one under your emergency contact?"

"Wot- Oh. Er- Yeah." Simon clenches his jaw, rubbing his temple, "Did she pick up or sum-"

"No Simon, she's here. In the bathroom."

The minimal colour in Simon's pale bruised face drains out in a click, and he's staring dead straight in front of him. For a second, no one talks, there's no movement, not even a breath is exhaled. Simon's not religious but he prays the 2 can't hear his beating heart thumping rapidly.

How was do when he sees you? A smile? A wave? A 'haven't seen you in so long'? No...he selected spouse when he put your number down for his emergency contact, if anything, he's got a role to act in front of the staff and higher-ups.

There's a knock on the door that breaks the silence. The door creaks open awkwardly, and a small head peeps out.

Simon's breath hitches.

When your parents instructed you to get out fairy land, you did. You were called delusion by your friends throughout adolescence, and you're teachers feared your expectations in life were always too high.

You remember the first time your parents told you the story of how they met. In your mind it was a romantic story, two doctors meeting together for the first time in the hospital, locking eyes and blushing furiously when their fingers touched through gloved during a high-risk heart transplant surgery. So when they mentioned that it was mere 'marriage of convenience' type relationship to you, your belief of love at first sight hit the iceberg of reality and sunk. Sunk deep.

So mustering the courage shouldn't be that difficult, right? Love doesn't exist...

The first step into the hospital room felt like walking into every exam hall you've ever entered in your entire life merged into 1...times 10. Nerve-wracking was an understatement.

Your goal was to just lie and act at his wife, play pretend and hope Simon plays along with it. It's all acting.

A marriage of convenience, you could say.

"Hey, Si-"

Your breath breaks, cutting off your own words as your eyes lock with Simon's. The room seems to shrink, and the bustling noise from the hospital corridor fades into the background. Simon's gaze is intense, his usual stoic expression softening for a brief moment. It's something the doctor and the soldier haven't seen, given the 5 years of knowing SImon.

He reaches an arm out, without speaking a word.

"Oh, erm." Taking his hand, he gently drags you, motioning you to sit on the chair beside his bed. Small electric shocks course through his fingertips and into yours, a warm feeling bubbling through your chest, and you can't help but smile at the way his eyes lock onto you, as his fingers gently caress your hand.

Simon’s grip tightens ever so slightly as you sit down, his touch simultaneously reassuring and questioning. You swallow hard, nerves prickling your skin. It feels like a minute has passes by the 2 spectators in the room feel like their watching a slow-burn romance movie.

The soldier clears his throat, breaking the silence. "We’ll give you two some privacy," he says, gesturing for the doctor to follow him out. As the door clicks shut behind them, the heavy silence continues to fall over the room.

Simon’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gesture that feels both foreign and familiar. His mask of stoicism cracks, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath. "I didn’t think you’d come," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. Your heart rate increases with every word he speaks, the hints of his northern accent peaking through the harshness of his voice.

You smile. "Well, here I am," you reply, attempting to sound casual despite the thundering of your heart. "Guess I couldn't ignore the call of duty." Your attempt of a pathetic joke makes him grin.

Simon interlocks his fingers with yours, and you swear your body changes to manual breathing. "SImon...You don't have to act, they're not here..." You mumble.

Simon chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually so guarded, now seem to search yours for something unspoken. "I'm not acting... and...I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What for?" Both of your hands gently hold Simon's and you notice the way just one of his hands dwarf both of yours.

"That day...the last day. I tried to come, I swear, love. I was late-"

"I waited for you Simon." You blankly state. Simon freezes at the slight frustration in your voice, "I waited so long for you, hell, the teachers nearly kicked me out."

Simon nodding understandably, grinning slightly at the thought.

"I know. I asked our form tutor, missed ya by 15 minut-"

"Then why didn't you call me Simon? Hm?"

The lack of response let's you continue, the heat from your hands warming Simon's.

"I called you, I texted, I reached out to your friends-"

"-but it's difficult when I had none, right?" Simon cuts you off, his eyes urging you to look at the situation from his perspective, "The moment I saw you in that classroom on that first day, you were the only person that smiled at me. When I forgot my lunch, it was you that shared with me by your desks. Fuck, it's always been you, and I was too fucking embarrassed with myself to even be around someone as perfect as you."

Simon squeezes your hand as he continues.

"I didn't want you to be seen with me, because...you deserved better, love. You've always had. Good grades, good school, good life, didn't was you to be dragged down by a dick like me." He huffs out, turning away, "Signed up for the military that day, y'know. Remember when you said you wanted to just give up on your dreams of uni and jus' join the army. Just use all your frustrations on a gun or sumthing... I bulked up over that very summer."

You stifle a warm tear as it escapes and runs down your cheek.

"Wanted to be someone for you, swear down. So I signed up for the military...and I- that day. I was going to tell you...and ask you out."

Raising your eyebrows, you feel the atmosphere shifting, he continues.

"Yeah," Simon chuckles, reminiscing, "Wrote a letter cos I didn' know how to get my feelins across. But uh, I was too late. And when I asked your friend, and they told me you were moving out for uni...I just thought it was better to let my feelins die out. Didn't wan to drag you down any further..." He mumbles the last part.

A mix of emotions flood through you as Simon's words settle in the room. The weight of the years apart, the misunderstandings, and the unspoken feelings hang in the air. You take a deep breath, wiping away the tear that escaped earlier.

"Simon," you begin softly, your voice trembling with a blend of sadness and hope. "You never dragged me down. If anything, I felt lost without you."

Simon's gaze shifts back to you, eyes searching for any hint of resentment or anger. Instead, he finds warmth and understanding, a look he's not seen in years. "I thought you'd be better off without me. That you'd move on and find someone who could give you everything I couldn't."

"But I never wanted someone else," you confess, your voice firm despite the quiver in your heart. "I wanted you, Simon. Even when you weren't there, I kept hoping you'd come back. Do you know how many times I've looked at my phone hoping it was you that was calling me?"

Simon laughs, moving ever so slightly closer to you, his thumb continuing to stroke your hand, his touch grounding you both in the present moment. He takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.

"I'm here now," he says finally, his voice steady. "And I'll call you ever chance I get. Don't want to waste any more time."

You squeeze his hand in response, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Neither do I."

Simon presses a chaste kiss against your forehead and you lean against him.

"The name Riley really does suit you, y'know." Simon whispering into your hair.

"One step at a time, Si." You whisper back, burying your smirk into the crook of his neck.

Maybe your parents were wrong, maybe love at first sight does exist.

Outside the room, the 2 men straight in awe at the couple. The doctor sighs, "No more trouble in paradis-"

The solider nudges the doctor, "You wish that was you, huh."

me rn

tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @chessecakelover, @owkittie, @cheomain, @corvusmorte, @k4es, @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese, @yyiikes, @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk, @spankmydepression, @yourfavbabigirl

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 5/7

summary: part 5 of the naive series baby!! you and mandy get some one on one time bc she’s going thru it until she sends you and hamzah off on an adventure of ur own ;)

contains: SFW and NSFW content… it’s going down.

w/c: 3.4k-ish

a/n: ik yall hate me atp but listen. listen. uhhh.. yk what just read it!

~

Hotel breakfast is really good. It's even better when you can be an annoying vacationer and sit in the dining hall to eat while wearing your pajamas. The dirty looks from the well-dressed staff does nothing to deter you from going to town on a plate of scrambled eggs and toast with assorted spreads. The one thing that is ruining your appetite, however, is your gloomy friend prodding her food with her fork.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you ask for what feels like the hundredth time that morning.

"Mhm."

Mandy continues moving her eggs around her plate and never taking a bite. She's been in a near catatonic state since last night. By the time you'd taken a shower and gotten unready, she'd already passed out in your bed without so much as an explanation as to what happened. You exhale loudly and she looks up.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

She drops her fork. "I think Martin is hiding something from me."

"Oh!" Your eyes widen and you try to look confused. "What makes you think that?"

"He's been acting so weird," she says, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head in her hands. "Even before we came on this trip... I don't know. Something's off."

"What d'you mean?"

"He's being so secretive," she says. "I don't have proof of anything, but he's, like, really bad at acting innocent."

"Is that why you guys have been fighting?"

"Well, I don't exactly want to fight with him!" She tosses her hands in the air. "I wish he'd come out and say whatever it is. It drives me crazy that he acts like nothing is going on."

In that moment, you consider blurting out the truth. Talking about Martin's proposal idea would be so much easier than sitting back and watching the couple get into trivial arguments from Mandy's growing paranoia. But alas, you've sworn to secrecy and you really don't think it would be your place to ruin the surprise, even at a time like this.

"Have you asked him about it?"

"Yeah. He just deflects. I thought I could get him to talk last night, but I ended up crying because I got so frustrated with his cryptic bullshit."

You're stuck on what to say. It breaks your heart to see Mandy like this, but there's not much you can do without giving away her soon-to-be fiancé's plan. It's not exactly a conversation you thought you'd be having to mediate.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think Martin is doing all of this to deliberately hurt you," you say, reaching across the table to hold her arm. "He loves you. A lot. He's just an idiot sometimes."

Mandy smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you."

"I mean it, Mandy. What you guys have is really good. Don't let a bump in the road ruin the rest of the journey."

"When did you become such a beacon of wisdom?" she asks sarcastically, looking down at the table.

"I'm trying my best here. Be grateful." You begin to laugh and she joins in.

You bring your plate back in front of you and gesture for her to do the same. The two of you chow down and talk between bites, discussing what other places you could visit before your inevitable departure from Curaçao. Despite the challenges, it's been an experience for the books and you take a moment to reflect on the joy that it's brought you.

As you take a sip of your tea, your phone buzzes in your pocket. When you unlock it, you open up the message notification and bite your lip to hide your smile.

i see u

"Is that Hamzah?"

You look up at Mandy and your face flushes. "Huh?"

"You remind me of when I first started talking to Martin." Mandy points at you with her knife.

"Shut up," you groan. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Yeah." Mandy nods. "Plus I saw his name on your screen."

You glare at her and she giggles at your expense. Over her shoulder, you spot him. He's in the buffet line, also in his pajamas, and you stare for a little too long at his grey sweatpants. When he turns his head in your direction, you duck behind Mandy's figure.

"He's coming." You use your phone camera to quickly assess your face. "I look rough. Fuck."

"Girl, you look fine," Mandy says, rolling her eyes, "and you've literally slept next to each other. It's nothing he hasn't seen before."

"Wow, uplifting. Thanks."

When you dare to raise your head again, he's making his final few strides towards your table. You smile and wave, and he attempts to do the same. He shakes his hand that's holding a cup of coffee and it sloshes around, nearly spilling all over him. Mandy gives you a funny look before greeting him.

"Good morning," Hamzah says cheerily.

He places his plate and cup next to yours. You scoot over so he can sit down, but he moves to sit so close to you that the sides of your thighs are pressed up against each other.

"Good morning," you reply, slightly taken aback by his chipper mood. "Sleep well?"

"I slept great," he says. He takes a bite of his eggs with bacon and looks between you and Mandy. "So... was it a breakup?"

You slap him on the arm and scoff. "Come on."

"'M just asking!" he all but shouts, earning the three of you a couple more dirty looks. "Last night looked serious."

"No, we didn't break up," Mandy mutters. "But I'm considering it if it means not having to deal with you anymore."

"That's mean," Hamzah says, taking another bite of his food. "I'd stay friends with you if I broke up with Martin."

"Don't talk while you're chewing," Mandy warns.

"Thorry." He swallows his mouthful. "So what are we supposed to do if you guys are still fighting?"

"I don't know, Hamzah." Mandy sighs. Then she looks at you. "I don't really feel like going out today. Maybe you two could do something."

Your eyes narrow and she shrugs innocently. "Where would we go?"

"Google some nice places. Walk around the city. It can't be that hard."

"I'm down," Hamzah says. "I'm in charge of directions, though."

He smiles mischievously and you mock him, making him laugh. You turn to Mandy, noting the way she's picking at her food again.

"Will you be okay? You can stay in my room, but I don't know what time we'll be back."

"There's free WiFi and room service. I'll be fine. Go have fun."

Mandy was right. Finding something to do in such a tourism-centered area isn't hard. The difficult part is spending time with Hamzah with no social buffer to avert the tension between the two of you. You hope it's not too apparent that you're staring at him every chance you get, but you can't find it in you to care about getting caught anymore.

"Now we go left," he mumbles, placing his hand on your shoulder to direct you to the crosswalk.

You know he tends to be touchy with his friends, but with how awkward he usually is about it, this feels different. Even when you hung out as a group back in Toronto, you could always sense that Hamzah was a little more hesitant around you. You chocked it up to not knowing him that well, despite having mutuals. Being close with each others' friends did provide an entry point for your friendship to blossom, but this trip has done more for your connection than all the time you've known him previously. Maybe it's because you're in such constant, close proximity now that your initial attraction to him has finally taken shape, unavoidably so.

"Alright, it's down from here," Hamzah says, gesturing at the beach you're nearing.

"I didn't bring a swimsuit," you say, furrowing your brows.

"We're not swimming." He shakes his head. "Over there."

You look to where he's pointing and take notice of the mountainous landscape surrounding the beach. Their overarching coves reach the edges of the shore where the waves splash against the rocks.

"I'm not cliff diving. No way."

You stop in place and cross your arms. He turns and walks a few steps back to you.

"We're not doing that either, my gosh," he grumbles playfully and takes hold of your hand, "follow me."

Hamzah leads you through the sand to the bottom of the ridges. This beach isn't nearly as busy as the one near your hotel, so the silent walk with your palm in his feels all the more intimate. The sun is less harsh under the arch, but the sand is still warm beneath your feet. The soft earth easily gives way as you take a seat in the deeper parts of the rocky expanse.

"How'd you know this was here?" you wonder.

"I found it before the trip," he says, stretching his legs out in front of him until the waves are barely licking at his skin. "I didn't think I'd get the chance to visit, though."

"Guess it's a good thing for the fight then," you joke. Hamzah looks at you with his face scrunched up and you share a laugh. "Sorry. Too soon."

You stare out at the horizon, absentmindedly cupping the sand and letting it pour down between your fingers. The waves are crashing, but there's a quiet serenity inside of the cove that makes you feel at peace.

"Nah, I just think we talk about them enough, right?" He leans back to rest his weight on his palms and your eyes flicker to the sight of his shirt stretching across his pecs. "Wanna talk about us."

"Right," you agree. "I never really expected this."

"What?" he asks. You become aware of how close his body is to yours.

"'Us.'" You make quotes in the air with your fingers. "I didn't even think you saw me that way."

"Really?" he questions, tilting his head. "I thought the same thing."

"Hm. Funny."

You move to lay on your back. You'd decided against changing out of your pajamas—the two of you look infinitely more out of place in such beautiful scenery—but it makes for great cushioning against the ground. Hamzah stays unmoving, looking straight ahead.

"Do you see us being the same way? When we go back home?" He speaks outwardly, eyes on the view.

"I don't know. Do you?"

"You answer first," he says, smiling at you from over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes and try to push yourself further into the sand, as if it'll provide a protective barrier between him and the words you're going to say next.

"I hope so," you answer honestly. "I don't see why it’d change."

"What if it doesn't feel the same?" he asks like he's talking to the sky. "What if it's just because we're here, y'know? Isn't it usually a 'what happens in Vegas' thing?"

"Oh, so you've done this before?"

Hamzah groans and you snicker, flicking sand into his pocket. He doesn't notice so you continue until it's full, giggling to yourself.

"Of course not," he says, shaking his head. Some of the sand trickles out. "I guess what I'm saying is...I hope you don't feel that way."

You take a deep breath to calm the butterflies that erupt in your belly and sit up. You look at the impression your body has left in the sand before turning to completely face him, criss-crossing your legs.

"I won't," you promise. "I couldn't."

"Good." Hamzah's eyes finally meet yours. "I don't think I'd be able to handle it."

You grin and let your fingers trail up the side of his neck, not wanting to hold your affection back any longer. He closes his eyes as you trace his cheek, the charming acne scars and slight stubble on his jaw acting as a roadmap for your fingertips. Then, you cup his chin and lean in. His lips move softly against yours. He places his hands on your thighs and runs his fingers across your bare skin where your shorts have ridden up. It's almost like the whole world goes on mute, and all you can possibly focus on is the way his touch awakens every cell in your body.

Without breaking the kiss, Hamzah pushes you down into the indented sand until he can comfortably slot himself in the middle of your legs. He holds himself up with a hand by your head, the other resting on your waist. The gentle caresses turn heated, and pretty soon the two of you are full-on making out, pulling each other closer and closer until his body fully surrounds yours. You love how he hums when you wrap your arms tighter around his neck and run your nails across his shoulders.

You can't get enough of him, holding his hips in place with your knees as your tongues entwine. When his hand strays below your hoodie, you pull away momentarily to slip it over your head. He helps tug it off you when it gets stuck, the two of you giggling quietly before tossing it away and locking lips again. His fingers trace a path up your torso, clad in nothing but a thin tank top. His palms slowly find their way higher up, and you moan when he gives your chest a testing squeeze. Upon hearing this, he squeezes again before running his thumb across your nipple, making you shiver.

His hoodie comes off soon thereafter, except he's completely bare underneath. You run your hands down his chest and his stomach clenches under the ghost of your touch. When you reach the edge of his boxers, he breaks apart to leave kisses from your cheek down to your neck.

"I-I didn't really prepare for this," Hamzah whispers against you.

"You didn't shave?"

"No, idiot," he scoffs, making both of you giggle giddily. "I, um, didn't bring condoms..."

You breathe out as he continues kissing your skin. "That's fine. We don't have to do anything."

Your fingers are tucked in his waistband against his happy trail, but you make no effort to move them. If it wasn't evident already, his erection presses against you painfully, a reminder of how close yet so far you are from what you're craving. Still, he seems determined to make the most of the moment. He sucks on the spot below your ear, making your mouth drop open in a breathy moan.

In a hasty decision, you take your tank top off and lay back down. Hamzah's eyes follow along your newly exposed skin and he leans down to kiss a trail from your collarbone to the valley between your breasts. His hands leave a wake of heat everywhere he touches you, yet goosebumps rise on your arms when his lips reach your lower stomach.

"Can I?"

He looks up at you, his eyes half-lidded and his hands on your shorts. You nod and raise your hips so he can pull them off. When he sees your underwear, he raises an eyebrow.

"You wear boxers, too?" Hamzah jokes, tugging on your waistband and letting it snap against your skin. You flinch and he laughs.

"They're comfy!" you defend, blushing. "I wasn't exactly planning for this, either."

"I'm kidding. Why would I care?" He leans up on his forearms to peck your lips. "They're coming off, anyway."

He reaches under your final layer of clothing and you gasp when he touches you where you need him most. His lips part as he dips into your wetness, bringing it up to circle your clit deliciously. You grasp his bicep and your other hand holds the back of his head as he continues his delightful assault on your throat.

When you feel his fingers inch into you, your hips jut forward. He whispers praises in your ear as he fucks his fingers into you, first slowly then relentlessly. You can't contain your moans. Your fingers tug at his curls lightly when you feel the knot in your stomach forming. All too suddenly, he pulls his hand out of your underwear and you whine.

"As much as I like 'em, they gotta go," Hamzah says, leaving one final kiss on your jaw before dragging your boxers down your hips.

He flings them aside and you breathe heavily as he descends to your lower body, situating his head between your legs. He plants kisses on the inside of your thigh teasingly, dipping his head down only to start back at the top with the other thigh until he has you squirming under his grip. Just when you think you've reached your limit, he bites at the swell of your thigh and connects his mouth to your core. Your lungs spasm as you feel his tongue flick your clit, struggling to catch your breath at the surreal sensation.

He sucks on your bud and has you a complete mess of moans under him. Loosening his grip from your thigh, he makes eye contact with you as he brings his hand back to your center and his fingers penetrate you steadily. Your back arches and he groans when you clutch at his hair. He suctions his lips, watching every reaction and noise you emit without once coming up for air. It's a dizzying sight, and your head lolls to the side as your moans get louder. He works harder, curling his fingers, toying with you in all the right ways to make you fall apart.

"Just like that," you cry out, "Hamzah, please."

You're panting at this point, yearning for a release that's sure to send you reeling.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs. "Cum for me."

The quickening of his pace has you clenching around his fingers, and as soon as he speaks those words, you screw your eyes shut and let your climax overtake you. Your jaw slackens and you throw your head back. Your legs shake uncontrollably as you call his name out in broken gasps while you ride out your high. The scent of saltwater and moss fills your nostrils, and all at once your vision clears when he lightly kisses your sensitivity. You sharply inhale and white-knuckle the sand below you. Your other hand wraps around the side of his neck to hoist him back up so you can be face-to-face.

Hamzah's arms cage you in and you pull him down to lock lips. He tastes sweet. Then, he rolls the two of you over so you're sitting in his lap while he lays flat.

"All good?" he asks, holding your cheek.

"Perfect."

You lean in to kiss him again, propping your hands on his chest. Teasingly, you grind your hips against his and he groans.

"Stop," Hamzah grunts. "I don't wanna cum in my pants."

The friction makes you shudder, but feeling how hard he is makes you not want to stop. You laugh and do it again, making him squeeze your hips. He halts your movements and grins, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That's it."

Without warning, he sits up and you wrap your legs around him, latching onto him like a koala as he stands straight. The swift switch in positions makes you squeal. His palms cup your ass as he walks out from underneath the cove.

"What're you doing?!" you screech, clutching him as tight as you can.

"I asked nicely and you didn't listen!"

He cackles maniacally as he wades deeper into the water. When you're up to your hips in the waves, he turns backwards and sends the both of you plunging into the ocean. In an instant, you're soaked to your bones and springing up to the surface.

"You bitch!" you nearly scream as he re-emerges beside you. "I'm butt-ass naked!"

"No one's here, don't worry," he says, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "Look. Just us."

Hamzah lifts you in the water and swings you around to show you the entirety of the vacant beach. He's laughing above you while you smack his arms to let you go.

"Okay, I get it! Put me down."

You plummet into the depths once more.

~

a/n: sorry to disappoint w the lateness again this would’ve been updated sooner if california didn’t literally go up in flames around me and half my roof tiles got ripped off my house from the crazy ass wind (another one flew off as i typed this). also my dumbass friend deleted tiktok off his phone and we lost our 231 day streak bc he can’t get it back no matter what we tried. also elon did the hitler salute?????? what is going on. anyways lmk if u enjoyed or want me to rot for eternity <3 love yall sm

[asapeveryday]

SHOCK FACTOR ★彡PART 5

Prev. Next.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Summary: a lot of media attention and some solo time isn’t enough to keep paige away from you.

A/n: one more chap after this then we done 😛

YOU WAKE UP with a pounding headache, not as engulfing as last night but still enough to induce a groan as you lift your head from your pillow.

The hotel-white pillowcase is smeared with residual makeup and your hair feels tangled and unruly. It was surprising how well you slept, seeing as multiple things had happened the night before that should’ve kept you up till morning. You look around to see the hotel room is empty, then check your phone for the time. It’s 1:34pm, you’ve slept into the afternoon.

Your phone is absolutely filled with notifications.

JUJU-KINS😘

U up?

Coach is lit tweaking rn

U bouta be getting media trained FOR LIFE

ELAINEY 🤞

hey

can we talk pls?

ur only in town for a couple more days

it’s not as bad as it seems i swear

i was drunk

COACH

Call me when you see this message.

I hope you already know what you’ve done wrong so I don’t have to waste my time.

You’re smarter than this!

Collapsing on your bed again, you bury yourself in the sheets. Being in Connecticut had just turned out to be a nightmare, you’ve barely interacted with your teammates, your friendship with Elaine was ruined, you’ve had the most confusing relationship with Paige and you’ve made a fool of yourself online.

You shoot a quick text to Juju as well as some other teammates who’ve checked up on you, being sure to ignore Elaine’s texts. You find yourself re-reading your messages with Paige, thankfully your drunk brain hadn’t texted anything too out of pocket, and though you clearly remember her typing after your last message she hadn’t responded since then.

Your call with Coach was the most dreaded of all, you truly respected and feared her, so sitting through an almost half-hour phone call about your responsibilities, failures, expectations and repercussions was awful.

In short, you were to be off of social media until back in state, live privileges were fully revoked, if you were to be found partying and clubbing you’d be in massive trouble, you had to issue a statement on Instagram and twitter (which was pre-written by some professional), and the next practice you participate in will be the worst practice you’ve ever experienced in the history of bad practices. Most probably an insane amount of sprints.

You release your statements on Instagram and Twitter, but before deleting the apps you check out Paige’s comments. She’d obviously received a similar order. Her Instagram story consisted of a black screen and a small box of text, simply entailing how spreading love and positivity while uplifting other players is an obligation she intends to follow from this point onwards.

Her twitter had two new tweets:

paigebueckers1 : Me and (Name) have had some truly special experiences in college basketball. She’s an amazing player who is only gonna go higher and get better as she grows. When I was a junior I was stuck in crutches hoping for the chance I have now. (Name) as a junior herself is absolutely killing it on the court and I for one will always be rooting for her, competitive comments online or not. Keep doin what you’re doin @yourusername !

paigebueckers1 : God is good! 🙏

Turning your phone off, the only thing you’re thinking is ‘you’re so full of shit.’

You wonder if she wrote that herself or if somebody wrote it for her and made it seem like it was her own typing. Regardless, it didn’t matter anymore. You’d had your experience with the Big East Champion, and it was enough for a lifetime.

The amount of content coming out regarding you and Paige was insanely overwhelming. Debates online regarding your skills, looks, personality and basically anything the public can grasp were rampant. You and Paige had been a bit of a scandal ever since she shaded you on that panel, and the media had been seriously following you two back and forth between the seemingly friendly interactions and more hostile ones.

Eventually you stumble upon something different. A video of you and Paige in the background of KK and Ice’s live that day in the coffee shop. You can see yourself fumbling with napkins, and Paige approaching. It’s almost entrancing to see everything play out from another perspective, to see how her face eases into a smile at your smartass comments, to relive your own amused emotion at her stare, to watch Paige speedily write her number on a napkin before the camera shifts and the live ends.

You’re unsure how to react to all of this. No matter how close or far you could get with Paige, would it ever amount to anything? To the slightest bit of trust? Her lips were almost on yours that evening in the street, but just an hour earlier she had lied to your face about knowing Elaine.

You recall what Elaine drunkenly spat out during your argument outside the bar.

“N’ I’ll tell you what. She’s going to play your ass and you’re never gonna get over it, cus that’s what she does.”

Was this spoken out of experience, or a mixture of jealousy and intoxication? Had Elaine once been that girl on the street, inches away?

You can’t help but think it wasn’t the case. Paige bit her tongue around you to stifle a laugh or to hold back a rebuttal to your teasing. When it came to Elaine, Paige bit her tongue in a different way. A loathing way. You couldn’t explain it.

Plus, Elaine had said herself that you were not Paige’s usual type. If she meant you and her were not alike, that was the truth. You and Paige had more of a history, more similar lifestyles and experiences, more. At least you assumed so.

Finally, you decide you’ve done enough thinking for the day. It was time to line up some plans, maybe meet up with the team for a couple hours and then hoop solo in the evening. Anything to distract from the situation.

-

The sound of a basketball against the blacktop, the hollow bounce that always found itself back to your hand. It’s sustenance to you, it’s breathing.

Storrs had been blessed with a hotter Sunday then usual, even in your shorts and t-shirt you were sweating, shooting hoops the same way you’ve been doing since you were a child.

The court was empty and outdoors, perfect for you to hold the ball for a moment and admire the scenery, the changing colours of the sky as afternoon fades to evening.

You hear the bounce of a ball again, but yours is secured in your hand.

“Hey.”

You’re not surprised to see her. The sink in your stomach as you meet her eyes in almost predictable.

“What are the chances.” You scoff. “Don’t you have like, the entire UConn gym to hoop?”

“I come to this court all the time.” Paige narrows her eyes. “It’s usually peaceful.”

“I figured.” You say curtly, turning your head to see the setting sun. It was very peaceful, even with the impending silence between you and the blonde.

“How drunk were you last night?” Paige asks.

You spin around to give her a look. “Drunk enough to get on live,” You scoff. “but sober enough to read a text and send it without regrets.”

At the mention of your short conversation with Paige over text, you can see her cringe. She obviously hadn’t been expecting you to find out about her relationship with your friend, let alone be so upfront with it.

“I never fucked her in my car…just so you know.” She finally manages to breath out.

You almost bark out a laugh at this. “You think I’m mad cus you fucked her?” You ask, walking towards Paige and lightly dribbling the ball. She simply stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

“Are you not?”

“Is the blonde fucking seeping into your head?” You snap, mentally celebrating as her lips forms a straight line. “If you don’t know, you better figure it out.”

Paige brings a hand to her face, rubbing her forehead as if it’s aching. Her eyes are wide and analyzing you, thinking of the best way to respond.

“Go on,” you tease her. “tell me why I’m mad.”

You’re close to her now, too close for comfort. You can see her smile lines, her plush lips, her silver chain glinting beneath the black long sleeve she’s wearing. The sleeves are rolled up, and you can’t help but noticed how veiny her arms are, how her long fingers are holding the basketball against her body.

Biting her lip, Paige finally responds. “You’re mad because I lied.”

“Smart girl.” You scoff, almost choking on your breath when her jaw clenches at your comment. “I’m mad cus you lied to my face. And cus you went on live and shit talked me again for no reason.”

You and her stare at each other for a long moment before she breaks a smile. “That was my bad.” She murmurs. “I was uh, Ion’ know. I was in sum kinda mood.”

“The mood to lie?” You raise your eyebrow. “Or the mood to be a bitch?”

“Don’t call me a bitch.” She scowls, and you’re reminded of the last time you called her that, at the end of your game against UConn.

“That’s what you are, Bueckers.” You say with a smile, eyeing her down and getting in her face just a little more. “Bitches lie, bitches make problems out of nothing.”

Her eye is fiercely trained on you, on the way your lips move as you degrade her. You can’t tell what she’s thinking in the slightest.

“(Name), I’m sorry.” She says softly.

Once again you two are staring in silence. The proximity is intoxicating, you can practically smell her clean clothes.

“Are you still fucking Elaine?”

“Hell no.” Paige shakes her head furiously. “That ended a while ago. We haven’t talked in like months.”

“She still has your location.” You grumble. “That’s how she knew I was with you at the restaurant.”

“Shit.” Paige groans, immediately pulling out her phone. “She interrupted us on purpose then? Psycho.”

You watch as she turns off her location for Elaine and blocks her before slipping her phone back in her pocket.

“We didn’t hookup for long.” Paige says, obviously feeling the need to explain herself. “Jus a couple times. I broke things off, she couldn’t accept how busy my schedule was.”

You shrug, not knowing what to say.

“Guess she couldn’t accept you and me either, huh?” Paige smirks, shooting you a ‘forgive me’ type look.

Ignoring the swell in your heart at the stupid comment, you just chuckle and shake your head.

“Do you wanna 1v1?” She asks almost sheepishly.

You think for a moment.

“You sure I’m on your level?”

Paige looks embarrassed for a moment, remembering what she said on her live. “Quit playin.” She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, show me what you got.”

-

You’d be lying if you were to say you knew the score.

Was she taking score? You and Paige were equally insanely competitive, but this wasn’t a true test of skill. This was a test of endurance. A test to see who would break first.

You knew this when her hand grazed your waist as she darted past you to the other end of the court, or when she stared you down, tongue between her lips as she blocked your shot. You retaliated yourself, letting your hand linger a bit too long as you helped her up from the ground after tripping her up, or whistling at her as she makes another three.

The heavy breathing, the piercing stares, the cold air as the sun disappeared. You were in a zone you’d never been in before, somehow equally focused on the game and the girl.

You manage to steal the ball from Paige in a swift moment, but suddenly she’s in front of you again. Her hands dart for the ball, attempting to smack it out of your hand. She almost manages to steal it back, but your grip tightens just at the right moment.

She’s stuck to you, her hands attempting to pry the ball out of your own. You can hear her breath, you can see the beaded sweat on her forehead, you can feel her blue eyes watching you, watching your chest widen and shrink with every inhale and exhale, watching your lips.

It’s a replay of the college game that started all of this.

You struggle for a moment longer before the tousle is not longer controlled, the ball slips between both of your sweaty hands. You and Paige both scramble to save it, but it bounces out of your grasps and away from the court.

Neither of you chase after it.

She’s still up close to you, face flushed from the game.

“What was the score?” She huffs, out of breath. Paige’s voice is raspy and tired. You feel something spark inside of you.

“No clue.”

Paige’s face breaks into a small smirk as her hands find your waist, uncertain and soft, just barely ghosting your frame. “That was my ball.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, your heart hammering at the feeling of her eyes exploring every part of you, lingering on your lips before she finally leans in.

Paige’s lips are rough against yours, but fit perfectly as if moulded for your own. She melts into you, her hands finally tightening around your body, her face tilting just right so she can finally taste you. It’s something you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. She kisses with a million emotions, with urgency, passion and the slightest bit of control. It’s electrical.

When you need to break the kiss to breath, you simply tug on her ponytail. You were not expecting the slight whimper as your lips part.

“M’ not done.” She mutters against you, catching her breath.

“I want you, P.” You whisper, looking up at her. Paige’s face immediately changes at this, lips tilting upward in an annoyingly charismatic way.

“I know you do, baby.” She murmurs. “Let me take you home.”

[ludwig-van-gaythoven]

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader) Part 2

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Underage smoking, underage drinking, ED mentions.

Parts

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6

Regina doesn’t say a word to you, or even glance your way.

She storms in and throws her bag down onto the bed next to yours, sweeping your clothes onto the floor with her hand. You open you mouth to protest but she cuts you off.

“Not a word, loser.”

Loser means she hasn’t got anything specific against you. No blackmail material, no weird rumours. Loser is a good place to be.

You sit on your bed and watch in silence as she starts to replace the pillows on the bed with her own pink pillows and satin blanket. She takes up over half the drawers for her own clothes, moving yours into a single pile at the bottom of the shared wardrobe. She puts her makeup and toothbrush, both varying shades of pink in the bathroom. She’s marking her territory.

“Don’t touch my shit.” She scowls, flips her hair and swiftly leaves the cabin. Her faint vanilla scent lingers in the air. It’s both intoxicating and sickly.

You wait a few minutes before you leave too, just to make sure you don’t accidentally bump into her and make yourself a target. The last thing you want is to be Regina’s plaything of the week.

Todays activity would be orienteering. You stand around the campfire pit, avoiding the crowd, waiting for instruction on where to go.

“Please stay in your room groups, follow the map you’ve been given. You’ll be taken to where your group will be starting, just follow the map back to camp. Everyone understand?”

There are excited chatters as everyone groups up with their friends. Unfortunately for you, the crowd parts to reveal Regina who’s giving you a look like she might murder you in the woods and leave you there.

You wait, in silence, next to Regina, for a camp member to pick you up in a jeep and drive through the forest to your particular starting point.

“Please don’t make me, don’t leave me here. I’m too pretty for this” Regina whines as the keep drives away, leaving you both stranded in a clearing.

Against better judgement you decide to speak. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go with Karen and Gretchen.”

“Whatever, just give me the map.” She snaps and snatches it from your hands. Wordlessly she stomps off through the trees. You have no option but to follow like a lost puppy.

As it happens, Regina isn’t a great map reader. And lots of the forest looks identical which makes it even harder. Your feet start to ache, you feel like you’ve been walking in circles for the past couple of hours.

“Can I please just look quickly, I trust you know where we’re going but I think I should still just look at the map” you try to reason which was clearly an awful move because she starts to turn around slowly to face you.

She moves,she’s stalking you like prey as she comes towards you.

“Are you calling me dumb?” She growls.

You shake your head, suddenly unable to speak, afraid that any sound past your lips would make her pounce.

“I’m reading the map, loser. I don’t want to be stuck out here any longer than necessary.” She spins around and continues her forward march through the forest.

This is going to be a long day.

It’s been hours since you or Regina said a word to each other, and hours since you started walking. You hadn’t stopped for a break. You managed to eat an apple while you walked, throwing the core into a bush but Regina hadn’t taken her hands off of the map to eat, drink or give you a look at where you were going.

You felt for your box of cigarettes in your pocket. Regina probably wouldn’t turn around or notice, and you needed one now, Regina is really starting to test your patience. Just as you put the cigarette to your lips ready to light ,Regina’s knee buckles and she trips slightly, heading straight for the ground.

Instinctively you go to catch her, both hands under her arms.

“Get off me weirdo.” She barks but it comes out a little more strained than usual. She’s gone pale and there’s a sheen of sweat across her perfect forehead. Somehow she’s still effortlessly beautiful.

She pushes herself up and tries to keep walking but her legs start to falter again and you rush forward again and catch her as she faints.

You try calling her name, shaking her gently, offering her water but nothing brings her round. Her hands feel cold.

Fuck.

In a panic you call the emergency number a teacher had given you and someone says they’ll come to collect you both in a jeep and administer first aid.

Regina comes round before the jeep arrives and you can feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off her. You try and think of something to say. She doesn’t speak to you the entire way back.

Everyone stares as they see you both come back to camp after being picked up but Regina plays it off well, bragging that she even gets treated like royalty here. You admire her ability to make quick excuses, and to be honest she still looks like royalty. Beautiful blonde hair cascading past her shoulders, icy blue eyes, sweet vanilla scent, outfit still perfect. Only you noticed the lingering sweat, the nervous look in her eye and the slight grass stain on the back of her jacket.

When the car stops Regina gets out and immediately goes to find Gretchen and Karen to sit together for dinner. Half of you is glad she’s gone, she was starting to get irritating, but you also want to make sure she’s okay. You go back to the table you were at before, you can’t help but watch her again.

Just making sure she’s okay, you repeat to yourself.

This time you watch her eat closely, notice she picks up food and when her friends aren’t looking and drops it under the bench onto the dusty floor. You wonder if that’s why she fainted earlier. You’re not sure why the thought of that makes you angry, and a knot forms in your stomach. It makes it hard to finish your food.

When dinner is over the teachers watch the three girls closely, making sure they go back to their newly assigned cabins. All three comply which means there’s a moody Regina heading your way.

You sit on your bed and pretend not to hear the door open, and keep your eyes fixed on your phone, pretending to read or maybe scroll social media.

The giveaway is that you forgot to let out the breath you were holding.

“If you tell anyone what happened I will ruin your life.”

You just nod, not daring to look up at her until you hear her lay on her bed and roll so she’s facing the wall away from you.

Then you allow your eyes to look at the sleeping lioness, her breathing seems slow. Maybe she’s asleep.

Your eyes trace down her curves- that is dangerous territory. You look away sharply just incase somehow she knows you’re looking.

She’s probably asleep.

You reach over to your bag and try and pull out your switch as quietly as possible. Mario kart, that’ll take your mind off of Regina.

You’re on your third lap when you feel the bed move and smell that addicting, warm vanilla scent.

“What is that you’re playing, dweeb?” It’s like she can’t even ask a normal question without it being insulting.

“Mario kart? Have you never played Mario kart?” You question her, meeting her gaze which seems slightly less intense than usual. To be honest, you can’t really picture someone like Regina playing a dorky game like Mario.

You disconnect the joy cons and throw one at her. She gives you a wary, icy look and picks up one of the controllers, scooting closer while still maintaining a large gap between you both.

You’re disappointed for some reason.

She obviously picks peach, and the pinkest cart, completely ignoring its stats which makes you giggle to yourself. You play as Bowser.

The first race you explain the controls to her, she picks it up quite quickly but you have years of experience on her and win.

She pouts and sends a glare your way. You stick your tongue out.

She giggles, Regina giggles and it might be the best sound you’ve heard. You definitely want to hear more. She doesn’t seem threatening like this. How much of Regina was an act?

The second race, she loses again, you win but not by too much, she’s definitely getting better. When you look over at her, her brows are furrowed and she’s completely lost in the game now, determined to win. The way she licks her lips when she’s concentrating makes you blush, and you’re glad she doesn’t look up.

The third game is nearly neck and neck but you beat her again. She finally snaps.

“What the fuck, you gave me a shit controller! I could have beat you!” She yells.

“Not my fault you suck at Mario kart.” You quip back bravely. She also sucks at losing apparently.

Suddenly she springs up and pounces, desperately trying to grab the controller off of you, but you hold on. You nearly forget why you’re holding it, mostly you’re squeezing the controller to distract yourself from Regina’s hair tickling your face, her lips being so close, her knees either side of your thighs.

She puts up a good fight but you start to see that familiar sheen of sweat and she seems cold and clammy all of a sudden. She must notice this because she huffs out a whatever and gets up, wobbling to her bed.

You miss everything about her suddenly, that one hit of the real Regina was enough to have you addicted.

She lays again, but this time face up, trying to control her breathing. You realise she’s on the verge of passing out again.

“I have a cereal bar in my bag, I don’t want it, you’re welcome to have it.”

She huffs and looks at you.

“I’m not accepting food from anyone after that stunt Cady Heron pulled. Who knows, you might be giving me a bar of lard.” She spits, but you can tell even speaking is hard for her now.

“It was just an offer.” You reply quietly.

Once she’s steadied herself again she stands and rummage through her bag, pulling out a half empty bottle of vodka and 2 plastic cups. She pours 2 shots worth into both and fills it with a fizzy orange mixer. She hands you a cup.

“You better not get too drunk and puke and get me into trouble like Karen.” She says as she takes a sip.

You both drink in silence for a while. The alcohol makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and a little too calm in Regina’s presence.

“Why don’t I know you?” Regina suddenly breaks the silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not a new student, so why don’t I know you, I don’t know what you’re about.” She leans towards you like she’s inspecting you.

“I don’t know I just stay out of the drama.” You answer truthfully.

“Huh, boring answer.” She says taking another drink. “You’re friends with Pyro Lez though, that’s not exactly staying out of it.”

You shake your head “I only started hanging with them after that whole mess. Me and Janis have a mutual interest.”

“Is it girls?”

You stutter for a moment and see a glimpse of intrigue flash across Regina’s face.

“It’s art.”

You haven’t lied. That’s what connected you and Janis in the first place, it was a lucky dodge to the question.

She’s staring at you with an unreadable expression and you decide to stand awkwardly and get your cigarettes. You need a break from Regina, this feels all too much like she’s trying to uncover your weak spot.

It’s hard to tell what’s genuine or not.

You sneak outside to your spot from last night and light the cigarette, inhaling deeply, mostly from the butterflies in your stomach, bouncing around your rib cage.

Obviously you noticed Regina at school, who didn’t? But you’ve never had this much interaction with her. You can see why people fall victim to her so easily, there’s a side to her that seems so real, Is this part of her trap? Maybe you’re just easy prey but the chase is feeling all too thrilling.

Everything about her draws you in, golden hair, soft lips, even her scent. Are her lips as soft as they look?

Before you can register, the cigarette is pulled from your lips as you see Regina take a drag and then place it back between your fingers.

You skin burns where her hand brushes yours.

Suddenly she reaches to grip your hand, steadying herself. She clearly feels faint again. She’s swaying slightly and she looks like she’s losing focus.

“You need to eat something.” You state bluntly.

“Whatever you don’t know me.” She spits back, but she’s still gripping your hand. She starts to lean a bit too much.

“Fuck, Regina. Okay we’re going back inside.” You have to half drag her back inside the cabin and prop her up on the bed.

You check the cabins mini fridge, you brought enough food to sustain you that week. You didn’t know if the camp would have vegan food so better safe than sorry. Luckily the cabin had a mini fridge, probably for drinks but you stored some meals in there to keep fresh, and there was a microwave in the small kitchen.

You grab a pot and throw it in the microwave. Hopefully Regina doesn’t mind mushrooms.

She’s still laying on the bed, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get the room to stop spinning. You feel momentarily guilty for drinking with her, you knew she hadn’t eaten, it was a bad idea.

The microwave pings and you grab a fork and take it over to Regina.

“I’m not eating that, it’s probably processed shit.” It comes out as a defeated sigh.

“I made it, just eat something please, passing out wouldn’t be a good look” This makes her think, and she picks up the fork and takes a bite. The whole time she’s glaring at you so you decide to sit on the bed and play on your switch again.

You don’t look up for a good half an hour. Worried that Regina will stop eating if you so much as move. Clearly the whole thing with Cady has made her wary of food. The thought makes you feel sick. The plastics may rule the school but the constant insecurity that seems to come with it is too big of a price to pay.

A quiet voice breaks the silence.

“Thank you.”

You smile slightly but still don’t look up from your game until you hear shuffling and Regina is holding your sketchbook before you have time to snatch it back.

Your heart is in your throat, you’re not sure why her possible criticism of your sketch bothers you so much.

“This is beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, you idiot why don’t you see it, you think, but don’t say it out loud.

She tears the page from your book. Great, Back to cruel Regina, tearing up anything she doesn’t see as worthy.

What you don’t expect is her folding and placing the sketch under her pillow.

“I’m tired now.” She yawns and climbs into bed, flicking the lamp next to her off.

You’re left in the dark, confused, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps across your lips.

[4everhyucks]

— 01:29AM

cw. age gap, creampie.

jisung had been crushing on your since you both were kids. well, more like him being the kid, and you being a teenager. you’re 5 years older than him. if you think about it, it is kind of weird for a 12 year old to have a crush on a 17 year old.

the first time jisung laid his eyes on you, you were over at his house, on the couch of the living room, giggling with his older sister.

“is that your brother?” he heard you ask his sister. he found your voice so soft and sweet, the total opposite of his sister’s.

“yeah! sung come here and say hi,” she waved for jisung to walk over so you could take a better look at him.

it was love at first sight for jisung. you looked so different from the girls in his class. the way your hair falls when you brush them out of your face. the perfect smile you flashed at him when you introduced yourself, the soft pat on his head when you called him cute.

jisung thought his crush on you would be over after awhile, but it didn’t. he found himself wanting to be stuck around you 24/7 when you were over. when his sister held sleepovers, he always slept beside you, all cuddly on the king size bed with you slotted in between the two sibling. not that you minded, in your eyes, he’s just your best friend’s younger brother.

“sung get out! it’s supposed to be a girls night.”

you laughed, telling her it’s alright to have her younger brother in the room (again). jisung’s heart bloomed when you pulled him into your embrace, having him sat on top of your lap.

“you’ve gotta stop babying him all the time,” she rolled her eyes, glaring at jisung, “this is the last. time. you hear me?!”

when jisung reached the age of 16, he realised that it was no longer a simple crush. during his sister’s 21st birthday, their parents were out, which lead up to her throwing a house party. she allowed jisung to invite a couple of his friends over so he wouldn’t feel alone.

on that very day, jisung and his friends stayed in his room all night. he only saw you once, when you peeked into through the door of his room to say hi.

“fuck! i lost again,” jisung’s friend—jeno, cursed as he threw the controller on the ground lightly, “the game is fucking rigged.”

“i won jisung earlier so i’ll just say that you suck at the game,” haechan, another one of jisung’s friend chuckled, taking a gulp out of the giant coke bottle on the floor.

“whatever, i’m gonna go grab some snacks from the kitchen. y’all want anything?” jisung got up, dusting his pants.

“anything’s fine.”

“ice cream.”

as jisung turned around the end of the stairs, he was faced with your back leaning against the kitchen counter, with a guy chatting you up. jisung might be 16 but he’s not stupid. he saw the way the older guy eyed your body. jisung doesn’t know if he was being possessive over you or if he was just jealous, could be both. but he couldn’t do anything about it. he quickly rummaged through the fridge for ice cream. the sound of that might’ve been louder than the songs being played on the speaker, because you noticed his presence.

“ji!” you called out. he pretends not to hear you, with a tub of ice cream in his hand, he went back upstairs after shutting the door of the fridge with his foot.

“who’s he?” the guy in front of you questioned as he watched the kid disappear up the steps.

“birthday girl’s younger brother,” you answered.

jisung’s 18 when his body went through his second growth spurt. many girls fawn over him. he had grown much taller than before, his features are more defined now, and his muscles are super obvious too. not that you realised, you’re practically with him the entire time his body went through changes.

for some reason his sex hormones are shooting out the roof after turning 18. jisung had spent plenty of nights jerking off to dirty thoughts of you, to the point where he doesn’t know if he’s capable of holding himself back anymore. he’s not even slightly interested in the girls that practically throws themselves at him.

through multiple years of having a one sided crush on his older sister’s friend, he no longer knows what to do about it.

currently jisung is in his room, playing computer games with his friends.

“left! on the left!” jisung flinches when he hears haechan’s loud screams through his headset.

“fucking hell.” jeno utters, spamming the keys.

all three of them groan when the screen announces their loss. before jisung could say something about their last play, his door swings open as you walk into his room, flopping down on his bed. jisung takes his headset off, leaving it on the table.

“i’m bored ji,” you lay down on your side to face him when he turns his gaming chair to face you, “your sister went grocery shopping with her boyfriend.”

he hums, “why didn’t you tag along?” he doesn’t even care about his sister or her boyfriend, whatever it is, not when you’re on his bed with the tightest tank top and the shortest shorts he’s seen in his entire life. you’re not even wearing a bra. thats how comfortable you are with him. he bets you don’t even see him as a man.

“don’t wanna be a thirdwheel,” you sigh, but it came out sounding like a soft moan. jisung’s body tenses up seeing you flip over on his bed, your ass on display for him to gawk at. no way in hell you’re this naive he thought to himself.

he can feel himself getting harder underneath his sweats. “y-y/n, i just remembered that i have something important to work on, and i kind of need my privacy.. to focus.” jisung didn’t sound convincing at all, you quickly got up and sat on his lap, which causes jisung to bite on his bottom lip. it has become a normal thing for you to sit on jisung’s lap. the first time consisted of you telling him it was normal since he always sat on your lap when he was a child. you didn’t take it weirdly when you were sat comfortably on his lap.

“what’s so important?” you turn the chair to face his pc.

jisung grunts when you shift your ass closer to his crotch. he didn’t mean to stare down at your ass but, as a man, he couldn’t control himself. his heart starts to beat faster and he can feel his boner sticking uncomfortably on his sweats.

“ji is your phone in your pocket or something?” you ask, hands moving behind to grab his phone but you pull back when you realise that it’s something else.

“shit- sorry,” you quickly got up from his lap, excusing yourself, wondering why he had a hard on, “i think your sister might be back soon so i’ll wait for her downstairs.” you try to not sound too nervous, because why in the world would you be nervous and flustered?

your hands are already turning the doorknob, but before you could step out of him room, jisung slams the door shut. his tall figure hovering behind you, your back facing him.

“noona, i- i need you.” he admits as he grinds his cock against your ass, hands gripping your hips so tightly.

you gasp at the feeling of him rubbing his hard length on your core through your underwear. “fuck- ji.. we- we can’t do this, it’s w-wrong.”

“just once.. wanna feel you, please.”

you feel jisung’s hot breath hitting your neck, moments later he’s sucking and licking on your shoulders, nape, up to your ear.

you know you shouldn’t. you know. but you can’t help it. you know you’ll never be able to see your best friend without feeling guilty anymore, for wanting to fuck her younger brother. the little boy that you took care of all these years, grew up to be so.. alluring.

you whimper when jisung pushes your panties to the side, “wait ji- you’re gonna regret—”

he cuts you off, “no. wanted you for so long, wanted to fuck you since forever, wanted you all to myself, but of course you’d never see me that way, not back then, not now, and probably not ever. i’ll always be a little brother in your eyes. isn’t that right? i’m going to fuck you now, i’m going to make sure you’ll never forget it.. forget this. shit— never forget me, gonna ruin you for all the other guys out there, you’re mine. you’re mine noona, you hear me?”

his words are so intoxicating, so dirty, you wonder where he learnt how to talk like that. your breath gets slammed out of your lungs when he plunges into you, hard.

“fuck! ji!” you slap your palm over your mouth, trying your best to contain your noises. afraid of your best friend coming back early, and hearing your back being blown out by her younger brother.

“let me hear you noona.. let me hear how good im making you feel.”

to be honest, it’s impossible to not make a sound, not with the way he’s fucking into you. so good, so fucking good.

“pussy made for me, you’re made for me.. aren’t you?”

you nod, “y-yes.. yours, only yours ji.”

“shit- taking me in so well, fucking love you.”

jisung feels the way your walls flutter around him, “close?”

you nod again.

“cum for me.”

and you did.

so did jisung, painting your walls white.

you shiver, feeling full and warm.

—

“we’re home!!” your best friend announces when she walks through the front door with her boyfriend behind her, “y’all having that bonding time or something?” she says, noticing you and jisung by the counter.

“yeah.” you smile at her, thighs twitching as you sense jisung’s cum leaking out of your hole.

thankful that he allowed you to put on your underwear at the very least.

—

bonus

“holy shit. he really fucked her.” haechan chuckles in shock.

“didn’t know he had it in him,” jeno says, jaw dropping.

“i think i’m hard.”

“you think?” jeno laughs light heartedly, switching his tab to incognito mode.