#commander selfie

[sharkgirldick]

Did I mention how much I love this goddamn shirt?

[muguathepapaya]

PT!Bacara Gym selfie at VOD PERSONAL TRAINING & PHYSICAL THERAPY

No face cause the only widely spread idea for how he looks seems to be white hair.

Howzer

Fives

Waxer, Boil, Gregor, Cody

Echo and 99

Colt and bonus Shaak

Hardcase

Cody

Wolffe

Jesse

Kix

Bly

Fox

Rex and bonus Ahsoka

Neyo

This series is complete. This is just a bonus, you can blame @generalfee

[overheard-at-star-command]

ANYONE ELSE DONE THIS YET?

[colourofthekites]

brb gonna go save the citadel from the reaper invasion 😚✌🏻

featuring my biotic husband 💍

[lostusagis]

( Absolute wild, deranged concept I thought of. The 7th division having a group chat and them all sending selfies of themselves in front of a person they recently killed. )

[nikkesdesire]

Helm is of course SUPER shy when it comes to showing off her body like some of the other women at the beach. That said she still went above and beyond to buy at least two sets of bikini's to catch the commanders eye. One being a bright sea blue two piece that is perhaps a bit tight, and the other being a one piece in the same style. Sure she might wear her uniform shirt over it, but given its white it doesn't hide anything at all once wet.

[townpostin]

RAF Organizes 'Har Ghar Tiranga' Bike Rally in Jamshedpur

106 Rapid Action Force leads patriotic event ahead of India’s 78th Independence Day A grand bike rally was organized in Sundernagar, Jamshedpur, as part of the ‘Har Ghar Tiranga’ campaign. JAMSHEDPUR – The 106 Rapid Action Force in Sundernagar conducted a patriotic bike rally today to promote the ‘Har Ghar Tiranga’ initiative. The event, held on August 13, 2024, saw enthusiastic participation…

[weyounbodycount]

[alabasterandpitch]

One perk of my filthy habit is that it gets me well acquainted with the local wildlife

[mechafxr]

Feeling myself. Ignore the active warzone.

[atdutiesend]

Hi darlin's! Kyuu-chan dragged me off for one of their adventures, and I gotta say, this place looks like Mt Gulg and Elpis had a baby.

[molihir]

[goldfades]

PICK & ROLL ─── PAIGE BUECKERS

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | request: you didn't give a single fuck about sports or understand them, but the moment certain tall blonde was in your sight you were the biggest basketball fan. basketball? most interesting thing in the world. that if you knew something? pff, of course you do not know everything about it (you wanted paige so bad lmao) for @kokoch4nel

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | nothing but cute fluffiness! pining (kinda?), insta-stalking (HA), paige being a cocky gal, teasing, nothing else!

The first time you saw her, it was purely accidental. Like a bird flying into a glass window, you collided with the moment, unprepared and utterly floored. A friend had dragged you to the game, insisting, "It’s UConn! Come on, it’ll be fun!"—an assertion you immediately regretted the second you stepped into the roaring, sweat-laden coliseum of enthusiasm that was Gampel Pavilion. Basketball, you’d thought, was a game of giants and squeaky shoes, a sport you could confidently say you knew absolutely nothing about. It wasn’t your scene. It wasn’t your vibe.

Or so you thought.

Because that was before her.

She was blonde—platinum, almost—and tall, yes, but not in the ungainly, lanky way you imagined athletes to be. She moved like water, fluid and effortless, commanding the court with an unassuming grace that bordered on unfair. And her smile—it wasn’t for you, of course, it was for her teammates, or the fans, or maybe no one at all—but it lit up her face in a way that made something dormant in you stir awake.

You hadn’t asked your friend her name because you didn’t want to give yourself away. Instead, you feigned a casual disinterest, leaning back in your seat and pretending the choreography of the game made even the slightest bit of sense to you. But your eyes betrayed you. They lingered on her as she zipped across the court, her ponytail whipping in the air like a metronome to some invisible rhythm.

“Bueckers,” your friend had said, catching you staring. “She’s insane. Probably one of the best players in college basketball right now.”

You’d hummed, nodding like you understood, like that sentence hadn’t just rewired something fundamental in your brain.

Paige Bueckers.

You didn’t know it then, but the syllables of her name were about to become a prayer, a mantra, a haunting.

You spent the rest of the game feigning fascination with basketball—standing when everyone stood, clapping when they clapped, shouting when they shouted—though every ounce of your focus was pinned to her, this enigmatic golden girl who made your heart beat like a buzzer in overtime.

It wasn’t until the final whistle that you realized just how deep you’d fallen. And by then, it was already too late.

The game ended, and the rest of the night was a blur. Your friend chattered on about the plays, the scores, the sheer dominance of UConn’s offense, but all you could do was replay the golden flash of Paige Bueckers in your mind. Her quick, darting movements, the smirk she wore when she sank a three-pointer, the way her hand briefly rested on her teammate’s shoulder after a foul. It wasn’t just basketball, you realized. It was her.

And like any modern-day fool smitten beyond reason, you did what any rational person would do: you went home, crawled into bed, and stalked her Instagram.

Her page was... vibrant. Game photos, sure, but also candids, selfies, and the occasional post with captions like “locked in 🔒” or something equally infuriatingly confident. Paige had that kind of smile that looked genuine even when it wasn’t, and her comment sections were flooded with fire emojis, hearts, and people professing undying love for her.

But nothing prepared you for her TikTok.

You downloaded the app with a shameful urgency, feeling slightly ridiculous as you typed her name into the search bar. There she was. Laughing at trends, goofing off with teammates, dancing like she had the entire world in the palm of her hand. It was unfair, the way she radiated charm without even trying. You watched way too many of her videos in one sitting, spiraling into a rabbit hole you weren’t sure you’d ever climb out of.

Then it happened.

You were still half-scrolling through her Instagram, thumb moving mindlessly, when your body decided to betray you. A slip. A touch too eager.

You double-tapped one of her pictures.

You froze. The blood drained from your face as you stared at the bright red heart on a post from two years ago. It wasn’t even a basketball shot—it was Paige lounging on a couch, looking effortlessly cool in an oversized hoodie, a Starbucks cup in hand.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you whispered, your voice climbing in panic. You quickly unliked it, but the damage was done. She probably has notifications on for her posts. She’s going to know. She’s going to think I’m a freak.

In a blind haze of panic, you did the only logical thing: you hurled your phone across the room, watching it land on the carpet with a dull thud.

For the rest of the night, you lay in bed, replaying the disastrous moment in your head like a bad movie you couldn’t stop watching. Sleep came reluctantly, plagued with dreams of Paige scrolling through her phone, laughing at your desperate, unhinged attempt to lurk unnoticed.

Morning came too quickly, the sunlight piercing through your blinds like an interrogation light. Groaning, you reached for your phone, still half-buried under a pile of discarded clothes. You opened it, expecting nothing, hoping for oblivion.

But there it was.

The notification.

Paige Bueckers has followed you.

You sat up so fast your vision blurred. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Paige had followed you? And she did it first?

You stared at the screen, disbelief coursing through you. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she thought you were someone else. Maybe—

A new notification popped up.

Paige Bueckers sent you a message.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tapped on it, your hands trembling so badly you almost dropped your phone.

Her message was casual. Too casual.

Paige 💕 so are you just gonna pretend like you didn’t just deep dive my insta last night ?

You threw your phone again.

This time, it bounced off the wall.

It started small: a few texts exchanged, playful banter about your accidental deep dive into her Instagram. Paige’s messages were quick, witty, and oddly effortless, which only fueled your crush. Somehow, in the back and forth, she didn’t make you feel like you were talking to one of the most talented athletes in college basketball. She made you feel like you were talking to Paige.

You two fell into a rhythm over the following weeks—texts turned into calls, calls turned into FaceTimes, and eventually, FaceTimes turned into actual plans. The first time you hung out, she suggested coffee. By the third hangout, you’d graduated to hanging out at her apartment, something that simultaneously thrilled and terrified you.

Which was how you found yourself now, sitting on Paige Bueckers’ couch, pretending to understand basketball.

Her apartment was warm, modern, and surprisingly homey for someone who probably spent most of her life traveling or on the court. A soft throw blanket was draped over the armrest of the couch, and there was an unmistakable scent of vanilla in the air. Paige was sprawled out next to you, wearing an oversized hoodie and athletic shorts, her feet propped up on the coffee table. She looked completely at ease, while you were internally spiraling, hyper-aware of every movement you made.

The game playing on the TV wasn’t college ball—it was the NBA. Something about the Lakers and the Celtics, teams you knew more from Twitter beef than actual sports knowledge. But Paige was watching with rapt attention, occasionally muttering something about a defensive rotation or a bad screen.

You, on the other hand, were staring blankly at the screen, trying to mimic her reactions like you weren’t two seconds away from Googling “What is a screen in basketball?” on your phone.

“So, what do you think of their zone defense?” Paige asked suddenly, turning to you with a curious glint in her eye.

“Oh, um,” you started, your brain scrambling. “Yeah, it’s... really good. Like, solid. They’re covering all their zones. Defensively.”

Paige’s lips twitched, but she didn’t call you out—yet. “Mmm, yeah, totally. But did you notice how they’re switching on ball screens?”

You blinked. “Oh, yeah. The, uh... ball. Screen. Switch. Super noticeable.”

Her grin widened, and she leaned back, stretching her arms across the back of the couch. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

You flushed, your eyes darting to the screen as if it would save you. “Of course I do,” you lied. “I’m, like, really into basketball now. Totally understand all of this.”

Paige let out a low laugh, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. “Okay, Miss Basketball Expert. Tell me what a pick-and-roll is.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You searched your brain for anything, anything, that sounded even remotely basketball-adjacent. “Uh... it’s... when you, like, pick the ball... and then... roll with it?”

Paige doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met,” she managed between gasps. “Pick the ball and roll with it? Are you serious?”

You crossed your arms, trying to feign offense. “Okay, well, not everyone grows up playing basketball, Paige. Some of us have other hobbies.”

“Like stalking my Instagram?” she shot back, her grin wicked.

“Low blow,” you muttered, unable to suppress your own smile.

Paige sat up, still laughing softly as she nudged your shoulder with hers. “You’re adorable, you know that? You don’t have to pretend to know basketball to impress me.”

Your stomach flipped. “I wasn’t trying to impress you,” you lied again, though the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.

“Sure you weren’t,” she teased, leaning a little closer, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “But for real, if you ever want to learn, I could teach you. That way, next time someone asks you about a pick-and-roll, you won’t embarrass yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was racing. “Fine. Teach me, Coach Bueckers.”

“Deal,” she said, smiling like she’d just won some unspoken game.

And as the game on TV continued—now entirely ignored by both of you—you couldn’t help but think that sitting here, with her laughing at your complete lack of basketball knowledge, felt better than anything you could’ve imagined.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[driverlando]

✧.* #NUDEGATE

synopsis- Oscar accidentally posts a nude on his instagram story

before you continue: similar to the sex tape leak smau for lando! if you enjoyed please reblog and give me a follow <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

—

✧.* Oscar’s reaction

You and Oscar are lounging on the couch, enjoying a rare quiet afternoon together. The TV is on, but neither of you is really watching it. You’re curled up against him, scrolling through your phone, while he’s half-asleep, his arm wrapped around you.

Suddenly, Oscar’s phone rings, startling both of you. He fumbles to grab it from the coffee table, squinting at the screen. “It’s Zak,” he says, his voice tinged with confusion. He answers the call, putting it on speaker.

“Oscar, mate, you need to check your Instagram story right now,” Zak’s urgent voice fills the room.

Oscar sits up, wide awake now. “What? Why?”

“Just do it,” Zak insists. “You’ve posted something you shouldn’t have.”

Your heart drops as you both realise what this might mean. Oscar quickly opens his Instagram, his fingers shaking slightly. He taps on his story and his face goes pale. “Oh my God,” he mutters.

You peek over his shoulder and see it—a very revealing photo that’s definitely not meant for public eyes. “Oh no,” you breathe, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Delete it, Oscar. Now,” Zak commands.

Oscar doesn’t need to be told twice. He quickly deletes the story, his hands moving in a blur. “It’s gone,” he says, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Zak. I didn’t realize…”

Zak’s tone is exasperated but with a hint of amusement. “Oscar, you might want to double-check before you post anything in the future. Your fans probably didn’t expect to see that.”

Oscar groans, dropping his phone onto the sofa. “I can’t believe I did that.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Well, you did say you wanted to give your fans a closer look at your life.”

He shoots you a horrified look before bursting into laughter. “Not that close!”

Zak’s voice comes through the speaker, chuckling. “Look, just be more careful next time. And maybe invest in some clothes.”

Oscar rolls his eyes, still laughing. “Got it, Zak. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime. And Oscar, maybe don’t make this a regular thing, yeah? We’re trying to win races, not start an OnlyFans,” Zak says before ending the call.

Oscar drops his head into his hands, still laughing. “I can’t believe this.”

You wrap your arms around him, grinning. “At least we know your followers are getting a lot of exposure to their favourite driver.”

He groans, his face flushing again. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

You kiss his cheek. “Probably not. But hey, now you’ve got a funny story to tell.”

He sighs, pulling you closer. “Only if you promise to never let me use Instagram unsupervised again.”

You laugh. “Deal. And maybe we should stick to cute couple selfies from now on.”

Oscar nods, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Or maybe… I should make sure all my posts have wardrobe approval from you first.”

You grin. “I can work with that.”

—

—

—

—

SCANDAL ON THE GRID: Oscar Piastri’s Instagram Mishap

By: Sasha, Rumour Radar

In a hilarious yet shocking turn of events, McLaren’s rising star Oscar Piastri has become the latest cautionary tale for digital privacy and social media blunders. Early yesterday morning, fans got more than they bargained for when Piastri accidentally posted a revealing photo to his Instagram story, sending the F1 community into a frenzy. The incident has drawn comparisons to similar celebrity slip-ups, such as Chris Evans’ infamous social media mishap.

The mishap was quickly addressed in a series of tweets by Piastri himself. The first tweet, brimming with sheepish humour, read: “So… that wasn’t supposed to happen. Apologies to everyone. Lesson learned: double-check before posting. #SorryMum”

Just minutes later, he followed up with a more serious note on the importance of digital security: “On a serious note, let’s talk about digital privacy. Make sure you’re securing your accounts and double-checking before you post. Lesson learned. #StaySafeOnline”

As if the situation wasn’t already comedic gold, Piastri’s McLaren teammate and fellow prankster, Lando Norris, couldn’t resist adding his comment. “Oh Oscar mate, you need lessons on how to use Instagram properly. Always give your phone to a responsible adult if you’re not sure,” Norris retweeted Piastri to ensure the ribbing hit home.

To top it all off, Piastri’s model girlfriend, Y/N, chimed in with her own playful jab: “I literally leave him alone for a minute and this is what happens…”

Insiders close to the couple revealed that Zak Brown, McLaren’s CEO, was the first to alert Piastri to the accidental post, calling him in a tone that was reportedly both urgent and amused. “Oscar, mate, you need to check your Instagram story right now,” Brown had said, trying to suppress laughter while maintaining his authoritative stance.

Despite the embarrassing slip-up, fans were quick to rally around Piastri, appreciating his candid and humorous approach to the situation. “At least we know he’s human!” one fan tweeted, while another quipped, “This is why Oscar Piastri is my favourite—he’s real, he’s relatable, and he’s hilariously unfiltered.”

The incident has sparked a flurry of memes and jokes across social media, solidifying Piastri’s place not just as a talented driver, but as a beloved personality in the F1 world.

While the dust settles on this unexpected reveal, Piastri’s misadventure serves as a humorous reminder of the perils of social media. As the young driver himself advised, securing your accounts and double-checking before posting is a lesson everyone can take to heart.

As for Piastri, it seems he’ll be keeping a much closer eye on his phone from now on, with a little help—and a lot of teasing—from his friends and family.

Stay tuned to Rumour Radar for the latest updates on this unfolding story and more celebrity gossip.

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, logansargeant and 207,256 others

oscarpiastri me when I got a call from Zak to check my Instagram story 😅 Thanks for the support, everyone. And to McLaren for not firing me.

view all 9,268 comments

user1 I wish I was a fly on the wall during that conversation with Zak 🤣

oscarpiastri I promise I’m a responsible person btw!!

↳ yourusername sure honey, sure

user2 you’re such a grandpa when it comes to technology

yourusername Still can’t believe you managed to do this 😭

↳ user3 was he trying to send you the nude or something 😂

↳ user4 they’re kinky af, he was definitely sending her a pic

user5 where can I see this nude? 👀

↳ user6 search up #nudegate on twitter, it’s trending

↳ user5 HOLY SHIT! good to know he keeps a stubble down there 🥵

↳ user6 I don’t even wanna know how big he is erect, like that man is hungggg

logansargeant only you 😂

—

—

✧.* Y/n loves adding fuel to the fire

—

mclaren

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 187,268 others

mclaren nothing to see here, just two guys who love keeping our pr team on their toes #sendhelp

view all 2,618 comments

landonorris why he say fuck me for?

↳ user7 please you know exactly why 😂

oscarpiastri whoops, hey that’s why we have a pr team right?

user8 just a couple of besties 🫶

oscarpiastri is it roast Oscar day or something?

↳ yourusername after the stunt you pulled…yes.

user9 the best duo!! 😂

user10 mclaren pr have the patience of a saint 😭

—

✧.* Lando finally gets his payback

[malixacc]

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[theonottsbxtch]

TWO HANDS | LN4

an: something a little different while i finish up some wips, i wrote this the morning t8's song came out, beautiful song again. i refuse to elaborate on the end, its just a short thing lolsie

wc: 1,9k

The bass thumped in Lando’s chest as the nightclub lights pulsed in chaotic harmony with the music. Fresh off the thrill of his victory in Vegas, his smile hadn’t left his face for hours, and the adrenaline still hummed in his veins. His crew surrounded him, some already leaning over the velvet rope at the VIP section to take selfies with eager fans, others raising glasses in cheers that melted into the cacophony of the club.

“Here’s to Vegas!” Max shouted, clinking a tumbler of whiskey against Lando’s champagne flute.

Lando laughed, letting the bubbles fizz on his tongue as he leaned back into the booth. His head tilted lazily toward the bar at the edge of the room, a stark contrast to the table’s revelry. There she was.

The bartender’s movements were smooth, practised—a cocktail shaker in one hand, a sly smirk on her lips as she teased a customer on the other side of the counter. Her dark eyes glittered under the flickering lights, and her sleek ponytail swayed with every step she took. She looked like she belonged here, commanding attention effortlessly, the kind of magnetic confidence that could outshine even the neon glare of the Strip.

Lando couldn’t look away.

“Mate, you even listening?” Oscar asked, nudging his shoulder.

“Sorry, what?” Lando asked, his voice distant, his eyes still locked on her. She’d just slid a martini across the counter, and the tilt of her head as she laughed made something twist in his chest. He’d been in the spotlight all night, but suddenly, the only person worth impressing wasn’t in his entourage.

“Nothing. Looks like someone’s caught your eye,” Oscar teased, catching the direction of his gaze.

“She works here?” Lando murmured, half to himself. The answer didn’t matter; he was already sliding out of the booth and weaving his way through the crowd.

When he reached the bar, she noticed him before he could say anything. Her smirk deepened, like she knew she had his attention. “What can I get you?” she asked, her voice smooth and warm, cutting through the noise.

“Whatever you think I’d like,” he replied, leaning an elbow on the counter, his grin just as easy.

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that felt like a challenge. “That’s a lot of trust to put in a stranger.”

“Then make it memorable.”

She didn’t break eye contact as she turned to grab a bottle, and he could already feel the heat rising in his chest.

“Long night?” he asked, watching her pour with precision.

“Always,” she said, her tone laced with amusement. She slid the drink in front of him and leaned in just slightly, her expression playful. “But the tips are good when winners roll in.”

Lando chuckled, taking a sip. “You always this charming, or do I get special treatment?”

“That depends,” she shot back. “What kind of treatment are you looking for?”

He blinked, caught slightly off guard by her boldness but finding himself grinning wider. “When do you get off?” he asked, his voice quieter now, as if to carve a space for just the two of them amid the chaos.

She tilted her head, considering him for a beat longer than necessary. Then, she leaned in closer, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of vanilla on her skin. “Three a.m.,” she said softly. “If you’re still here.”

Lando nodded, his heart pounding harder than it had all night. “I will be.”

The hours melted away in a haze of music and laughter, but Lando’s attention kept drifting back to her. Even as the nightclub buzzed around him, the moments he spent at the bar lingered in his mind—the curve of her smile, the way she moved like she owned the room.

By the time the music started to wind down, Lando was back at the bar, nursing what he swore would be his last drink. He was feeling it now, the warm haze of celebration buzzing in his blood. He didn’t care, though. He was waiting.

And then, there she was, stepping out from behind the counter, untying her apron and slinging it over her shoulder. Her hair was slightly tousled now, but she didn’t seem the least bit tired. She spotted him leaning against the bar, and a sly grin tugged at her lips.

“You’re still here,” she said, her voice low, teasing, as she sauntered over to him.

Lando straightened up, his own grin spreading across his face. “I said I’d wait.”

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head as if sizing him up again. “Looks like you earned it.”

Without another word, she grabbed her jacket, nodding toward the exit. Lando followed her, his pulse quickening, excitement surging through him like the roar of an engine on the starting line.

Outside, the Strip was still alive, neon lights reflecting off the polished curves of his McLaren parked nearby. She paused when she saw it, her grin turning mischievous as she traced a finger along the hood. “This yours?”

Lando leaned against the car, folding his arms. “It’s my baby.”

She let out a soft laugh, glancing at him over her shoulder. “You trust me to drive it?”

He hesitated, just for a second, before handing her the keys. “Don’t make me regret it.”

She smirked, sliding into the driver’s seat like she belonged there. “Guess you’re a gambler after all.”

As he slipped into the passenger side, she adjusted the seat and mirrors with the practised ease of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. The engine growled to life, and the faintest shiver of excitement rolled through her. She threw him a quick glance, her grin sharp as a razor.

“Where to?” she asked, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

“My hotel,” he said, leaning back, his voice almost a dare.

But she shook her head, shifting into gear. “Why go back to your hotel when we can go back to mine?”

Before he could respond, she pulled onto the road, heading straight for the interstate. With a flick of her wrist, she gunned the accelerator, and the McLaren surged forward, the roar of the engine echoing across the open highway. The Strip’s glittering lights blurred into streaks of colour as she weaved effortlessly through traffic, her hands steady on the wheel, her confidence palpable.

Lando could only stare, his heart pounding harder than it had on the track. “You’re good,” he muttered, almost in disbelief.

She flashed him a quick smile, her eyes gleaming in the dim light of the dashboard. “I’ve been driving since I was old enough to walk. My old man ran a garage—taught me everything.”

The way she handled the car, every shift of the gear, every turn of the wheel, was mesmerising. It wasn’t just skill; it was instinct, passion, like she was born for this. The wind whipped through the cracked window, cool against his heated skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“You’re not scared, are you?” she teased, glancing at him as she pushed the car even faster.

“Not even close,” he shot back, but the thrill in his voice gave him away.

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a jolt of heat through him. “Good. Hold on, champ.”

The McLaren tore through the night, the speed blurring the world around them. It wasn’t just the rush of the car—it was her, the way she owned every second, every motion. For the first time all night, Lando wasn’t in control, and he loved it.

When she finally slowed down, pulling onto a quiet side road that overlooked the sprawling city lights, she turned to him, her grin still firmly in place. “So,” she said, leaning back in the seat, “did I pass your test?”

He could only shake his head, laughing softly. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smirked, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “And you’re not half bad at trusting strangers.”

Lando’s breath caught, the electricity between them crackling like the city lights outside. He wasn’t sure where this night was heading, but he knew one thing: it was far from over.

Her apartment was an unexpected mix of chic and raw, like her—a blend of sleek furniture and vintage touches that felt effortlessly cool. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering city below, and the hum of Vegas seemed a world away from this intimate space.

Lando stepped inside, his gaze following her as she slipped off her jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. She moved with the same confidence she had behind the wheel, like every step was deliberate, every motion designed to captivate. And it was working.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said over her shoulder, nodding toward the sofa.

He settled onto the soft leather, letting himself sink into the moment. His eyes never left her as she walked to the bar cart in the corner of the room. The faint clink of glass echoed as she poured amber liquid into two lowball glasses. The soft glow of a nearby lamp caught the curve of her neck as she tilted her head slightly, considering her choices.

“You always drink whiskey after winning?” she asked, her voice light, teasing.

“Depends who I’m drinking with,” he replied, a slow grin spreading across his face.

She turned, two glasses in hand, and crossed the room toward him. Her steps were unhurried, deliberate, her gaze locked onto his. When she handed him a glass, their fingers brushed, and the brief contact sent a spark racing through him.

“To the kind of nights you don’t forget,” she said, raising her glass.

He clinked his against hers. “To the people who make them unforgettable.”

Her lips curved into a smile, and she took a slow sip before setting her glass on the coffee table. Lando watched her every move, the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the slight sway of her hips as she turned to face him fully. His pulse quickened as she stepped closer, her eyes glinting with a challenge he couldn’t resist.

“You’re staring,” she said softly, her voice thick with amusement.

“Hard not to,” he admitted, his voice low, rough.

She didn’t respond, just tilted her head slightly, studying him. Then, with a confidence that stole his breath, she straddled his lap, her knees sinking into the cushions on either side of him. His hand instinctively found her waist, his fingers pressing lightly against the curve of her hips as she settled onto him.

Her lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. “Just one hand?” she teased, shifting her weight slightly to one side, her body warm against his.

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on her hip. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

She leaned in, her lips a whisper away from his, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur. “Two hands. I want your hands on me.”

His breath hitched, the world narrowing to just her—her scent, her warmth, the way her voice sent a shiver down his spine. He slid his other hand up to her waist, his fingers tracing the curve of her body, and she rewarded him with a satisfied hum that sent his heart racing.

Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, her nails grazing his skin through his shirt as she leaned in closer. “You always this good at waiting?” she asked, her tone playful, taunting.

“Not when you’re around,” he replied, his voice thick, his grip on her tightening as the space between them disappeared.

the end.