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eccentricwritingbaby · 3 months

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baby finn series, preparations

lando norris x mom!wife!reader

series masterlist

summary - lando and y/n begin their quest to prepare for their baby on the way, while their first baby is just happy to be included.

masterlist

“baby? do you have everything?” you called out to your three year old, attempting to teach him some independence with his attire, yet regretting it instantly. finn walked into your view wearing a bright red ferrari t shirt, purple shorts, mismatched socks, and a papaya mclaren baseball cap to top off the look.

“well don’t you look dashing?” your husband laughs out from behind you towards his son.

“tank you, dada!” finn happily screeches back, “i pick it by myself!”

“you did?!” lando fakes his surprise to the young boy, holding his chest and raising his eyebrows for the emphasis, “you’re such a big boy, finn!”

“i am! i big like you dada!” finn jumps at the praise and begins to clap, excited by the attention and thrill of being compared to his father. you couldn’t help but join in on the laughs and allow finn to go out as he was dressed, even though you really wanted him to be a bit more coordinated - you couldn’t be bothered with the day ahead of you.

you and lando were preparing the nursery today, and the first stop was shopping. although you had the large items such as the crib and changing station from finn, you wanted this baby to also have newer items and ones that were their own. especially since after finn grew out of most of his things, lando had just donated them in order to clear up space in the home.

there was also another reason - the sex of the baby. you and lando had found out yesterday, and wanted a fresh nursery.

yesterday - doctor’s office

you were lying back in the chair, gown on and ready for your ultrasound. lando’s hand had not left yours since getting out of the car on the way in. his grip was tight, as was your own. you were both riddled with nerves to find out the gender today.

“i’m so excited,” you squeak out in a whisper to your husband, giggles filling your voice due to the butterflies filling your stomach.

“me too, y/n. i hope it’s a girl,” he breathes out, joining in your quiet laughter, attempting to tame the nerves.

“i think it will be, i had a dream two nights ago with a pink nursery in it,” you relay back to him, lando just stares back at you with a wide smile, a hand coming up slowly to stroke your stomach.

and it was a girl. a strong, healthy girl the doctor said would be the size of a bell pepper at five months along. you and lando were absolutely giddy for the shopping trip and so was finn. to welcome little baby girl norris into this world in a few months was all the buzz in the home. finn was absolutely raving about having a little sister as you and your husband were so happy he was taking it well.

“alright norris family, time to go!” lando calls out from the front door, “let’s go!”

“i coming! i coming!” finn yells out, wobbling out of his room and towards lando’s legs. he stops an inch before the crash into them, but not without losing his balance and tumbling into your husband’s sturdy hold. not trusted by his own two feet anymore, he’s now perched on lando’s hip as you walk towards the door.

“i think i’ve got everything,” you sigh out, looking into your bag one last time.

“snacks?” lando asks, to begin your routine of a verbal checklist ever since your baby brain had kicked in.

“goldfish and pretzels,” you reply, hearing a quiet ‘yay’ with a clap from your first-born.

“wallet?”

“yes,”

“keys,”

“you have those,”

“right, wipes?”

“yes, i think it’s all here,”

“okay, we can always stop back if we need anything,” lando assures you as he pulls you closer for a quick kiss to the lips, “now let’s go if we want to get back a bit early,”

“right, right,” you move to kiss your son’s head and give him a quick tickle, “we’ve gotta go before dada’s in a mood, right baby?” finn giggles at your antics as lando rolls his eyes with a laugh, pushing his family out of the door.

“momma! this one!” finn yells out into the store, leading you to turn around and see what he was presenting you with.

“oh, honey,” you chuckle in amusement, “lan, look what our lovely son wants to purchase for our daughter,” you grab lando’s attention and he just groans beside you.

“really, finn? ferrari merch for my daughter too?” lando playfully scolds his son as finn just pushes the little red onesie closer to your filled up cart, “nuh uh, back it up mister,” lando grabs the onesie from finn and places it back on the rack, instead trading it for a certain papaya one.

“is that better for you and your ego, lan?” you ask with a laugh, poking his stomach to tease him further.

“i can handle finn being a fan, but this baby? she’s gonna be full on papaya,” he swats your hand away with a chuckle and scoops his son into his arms, “no more ferrari for baby girl, got it?” lando waves a warning finger in front of finn’s face, but his son just gurgles in happiness at his dad’s attention, continuously trying to grab hold of his hand.

“alright norris boys,” you announce to the two, “i think we have enough clothes and toys for baby girl until she’s four so let’s get going,” happy cheers erupt from the duo as you head to pay for your items.

your little growing family arrived home close to dinner time, you carrying two babies and a diaper bag as your husband dragged the multiple large bags of purchased items into your home.

“do you want to just throw those all into the nursery and we can sort it all tomorrow, lan?” you ask in his direction as you gently drop your son to his feet. with finn’s newfound freedom, he immediately runs over to his playmat in the living room, beginning the fairytale escapades of a three year old and a large amount of toy cars.

“yes, love,” lando answers your question and heads towards the nursery, but not without placing a kiss to your awaiting lips.

“i’m gonna get started on dinner,” you call back towards your husband as he starts towards the nursery.

“spaghetti?” your husband suggests with his signature puppy dog eyes.

“‘pageti!” his young twin cries out from the opposite direction, clapping his hands together for strong emphasis on his dinner choice.

“alright, spaghetti it is,” you giggle in amusement, “easier for me anyways,” you whisper the last part to yourself as you head into the kitchen and begin preparations.

shit. you think to yourself as you turn uncomfortably in bed. who forgot to close the curtains last night? as you think, the culprit himself opens them further and you groan at the blinding light cascading throughout your bedroom.

“lannnn,”

“i know, baby,” he laughs at you, proceeding to walk over towards you in bed, “but we have so much to do today in the nursery,”

“love, i know you’re excited to get this done,” as you look at him through squinted eyes, he takes a seat next to your horizontal frame, “but we do have four more months,”

“i know that,” lando begins, reaching his hand towards you to move your bed head out of your face, “but love, i’ve wanted to do all of this since you were seven weeks pregnant,”

“okay, fine,” you groan as he silently cheers, “help me up though,” he laughs, reaching both his hands around your body and lifting with ease. once stood on your own two feet after a few goodmorning kisses from lando, you head to the bathroom in order to wash up.

“our other baby will be up soon, so let’s knock out as much as we can before interruptions, yeah?” lando suggests as you start to brush your teeth. you simply nod in his direction and he happily runs over to give you a kiss on the forehead, “i’ll be in the nursery, come join me once you’re done,” with a light tap on the bum and one more kiss to the top of your head, your giddy husband races out of the room.

“it’s just you and me baby girl,” you caress your bump as you whisper to her, “we live in a house of crazy boys,” you laugh quietly to yourself at the memories, “but we all cannot wait to meet you,”

a/n - pls pls comment some baby girl names you'd enjoy to see! next couple chapters and she's hereee

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packsvlog · 24 days

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☕️⌇ ◜ OFFICE HOURS ◞ ⠀⠀⠀

╰⠀boss!nanami x secretary!reader where . . . nanami kento can’t let people know the reality that he, under no circumstances, belongs to them. in fact, is quite the contrarie. everyone in this job is a puppet willingly letting him pull the strings. you more than anyone. after committing the bizarre mistake of telling nanami your true intentions with him, your boss is more than eager to comply your desires and just maybe, forget he first input of no belongings.

cw. too much swearing, fingering with others present (not caught), fem!reader, reader keeps daydreaming w. nanami, slightly age gap but non-important all legal, public sex, overstimulation, they both keep failing to hide, possessiveness, love bites, he slap her thigh once, bit of blood because of self lip biting 4.9k words, english is not my first language.

an. hi, hello, i want everyone to know i’m this man wife. this is, in fact, our love story, i used to serve his coffee, now i’m serving my puss— anyways, enjoy it. FYI nanami smells like either tom ford tobacco vanille or byredo bibliothèque.

There are certain events in the workplace ── a sequence, if you may ── that serves as a warning to everyone that Mr. Nanami Kento has arrived.

Not many months ago, you were clueless to the symphony of presentation he had, even before stepping into the room. Now, though, it’s engraved in your mind. Much like he is. It is, also, a dirty secret to have that you eagerly wait for it, everyday.

Halting the tack-tack of your fingers on the keyboard, your ears pick the first signal ── rushed footsteps. All opening space so he can pass without the need to raise his eyes, hidden by sunglasses, from his cellphone. The second is the whispers and swooning. Some, more brave than others, compliment him out loud. Always about his peculiar ties, and always he smiles back. Lastly, when Nanami is in your sight of view, he is accompanied by his signature scent that greets you before he even does.

The most raw way to describe his smell is by saying that you wish you could crack him open, and lay inside of him forever. It’s comfortable and addicting and it makes you want to kiss him until it can permanently fixates on you.

In more proper synonyms, Nanami Kento smells like caramel, wood and a bit smokey. He is hot to the touch, one can admit. You don’t fall far from these thoughts, but sometimes, when you are not eye-fucking your boss, you think he smells like a cozy cabin in the woods.

Perfect place to fuck him, though.

Is easy to imagine such a thing. You can picture him with thick sweat covering his body, like a second layer, as he comes inside with a hatchet and wood for the fireplace. And you can, also easily, imagine yourself on your knees sucking him so good, as way to thank him for keeping you warm.

It’s a Kento effect. Everywhere he passes, people tend to have a heat stroke. You are no better than the others. Probably worse. He, however, does not need to know that. Nanami’s plate is already filled to the brims with people gazing him as a snack, he doesn’t need his personal assistant to do the same.

Not in front of him, anyways.

So, when he comes near your table, and stop to take whatever you have for him (work related, honey, even when you wish it was your pussy), you present the calls he need to answer with a compliment for his shoes and a black coffee with pretzels.

He adores you.

You want to fuck him senseless.

A perfect imperfect balance of clashing feelings. His are professional, yours are not even close. He only steps over the boundaries when it’s to call you “Darling” and you only do so in your head, when you think of laying on his table and letting him feast on your dripping cunt.

He is gentle and caring.

You wouldn’t mind chanting his name loud enough for everyone to understand what’s happening.

He departs ways and you share a trembling sigh with your inner turmoil of emotions. He makes you have a constant fever. In fact, with him, everything is constant. You want to fuck him everyday, you touch yourself with his voice in your mind guiding you. He gets pretty out of character in your alone mind, though.

Real Nanami is a sweetheart. Your Nanami would make you cry while on his cock.

“── and the meeting room needs to be ready by eleven, you can do all that, darling?” He asks. He asks! He is talking with you.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kento,” You stutter before shifting your attention from your computer screen to his charming understandable smile. “could you repeat, please?”

“Sure, darling.”

You need to put extra neurons to work when eyeing his pink lips moving gracefully. Is it the same shade as his cock? Oh, you hoped so. That would be your favorite color, would paint your nails, your hair, anything.

“Got it now?” Nanami curls his lips as he question you. You can’t lie to him, so you sign that No, you did not payed attention. He chuckles and comes closer, resting both hands in fist on your table, letting himself down so he can be face to face with you. “I need you to order mine, yours and the lunch for the usual gentleman I talk about the finances, ── you have that noted, right?” You nod, and he proceeds. “Then, I want you to decorate the meeting room, the way you always do.” You nod again, and he moves back. You want to whine. “Good girl.”

Pause.

That’s new. It’s like achieving a new item in a game. A new level. That’s a prize, the greatest form of enlightenment one could have. You feel warm in your chest and cheeks, but dare not to sway your eyes from his twinkling ones. You wonder if he knows what you are thinking, or if he knows the power he has over you ── over everyone.

That’s Nanami Kento. The man with a dazzling aura, it touches all in proximity, no one survives him. If he wants, you are his. Hooked like a worm, willingly ready to be devoured by a fish, and the thing is no one knows if Nanami is said fish or the fisherman.

The secret about his success is not only the sweet talk he does, but the way he can easily take it away. And no one wants to be away from his warmth. You’ve seen it before, how he controls people ── some more powerful than your mind can comprehend, they all are puppets for him to pull the strings. He touches and praises them when they do what he wants, but Nanami grows cold and absent when they don’t.

Everyone wants to be loved by him, so everything this enterprise does, it revolves around Nanami.

He can be a scary man when he wants, and you’ve heard the tales, from time to time. With you, fortunately, he is just your nice boss. And a part of you wish he would cradle you into his arms and play with you like a marionete. His doll. Yeah, you want to be his fucking doll.

Tempted to ruin this lunch and be ravished by his famine, you shake your deranged thoughts and focus on ordering the food. Also asking for red velvet cookies for you and Mr. Gojo, the owner of this whole enterprise.

A cocky young man, that likes to devour your physique whenever you come inside the room. He is rich and beautiful and his name is always on the newspaper with gossip mostly involved. You could fall for him, could fuck him, but he is not Nanami.

He doesn’t boss you around gently, nor he makes you crave his scent on lonely nights. He makes you shy, but not timid and horny. In fact, you don’t even think about Satoru Gojo unless you are balancing his persona with Nanami’s. That’s sad for him.

You keep doing that ── the thoughts, the sexual dreams ── while preparing the meeting room with a charming decoration. Black glasses, black plates, all with golden details. Satoru Gojo himself payed for it, not that he knows or care. You commented once, Nanami liked, and moved his toys in favor of buying the expensive kitchen utensils you wanted. He even made sure to get some for your own house.

The last part is closing the thick black curtains around the room, for privacy. Someone comes inside the second you step back from the last tapestry, and when you turn, Nanami is there.

“How’s everything?” His fingers press on the table, moving swiftly with him, closer to you. “You’ve got cookies?” There is amusement in his question.

“Mr. Gojo’s secretary, Suguru, told me he was craving something sweet.” You turn back to the table behind you, stacking the sweet in a small mountain. “He always gets fussy if he doesn’t get his daily large intake of sugar.”

You grabbed one, knowing that half of it was rightfully yours, and twisted on your heels. Nanami scared you in two sequential situations after that. The first being his looming presence right in front of you, piercing gaze on you, shifting between your eyes. He was searching for something in it, so, you tried the hardest you could to give him something back. Eyes that said “please, fuck me.”

Maybe it worked. The next thing he did, that scared you, was bending down and biting your cookie. Eyes never leaving yours. You gulped, he smirked.

“Please, fuck me.”

He chocked.

See, your eyes were supposed to be the one speaking for you, but Nanami also has this super power that no one can lie to him. He wants something, he gets it delivered in a silver plate. He knows everyone’s secret, and yours were never safe, just happened to be hidden in a line of things that weren’t priority for him. Not until now, at least. He wanted to know what you were hiding, and you gave it to him.

“I ──” The words are struck behind your teeth. Nanami eagerly waits for them. “I’m so sorry.”

And with that, you leave him.

In a perfect world, he would have grabbed you by the wrists and fucked you against Satoru’s side of the table. But it’s not, because he lets you go. He has to let you go, even if you know that’s not the end of it. He will get you later, and like a little kid in science class, he will dissect everything you said. Therefore, during the thirty minutes of freedom you are granted in the bathroom, before the meeting starts, you try and fail and try and fail to conceal your thoughts into a perfect lie.

It doesn’t work. Not even a bit. Because Nanami knows you like the back of his hand, as much as he knows everyone that works with him. He knows when you lie and when you are truthful, and thanks to that, your work relationship had always been good ── you’ve never lied to him to stroke his ego. You were too busy wanting to stroke something else. Nanami let you slide your nasty comments about others, and he would share them, granting you some of their secrets.

He was a gossiper. He knew everything. You knew right there that lying would never work with him, so you just avoided to let him reach that horny part of yours that burned for him. Give him something else to sink his attention into. Your neck, you wanted, but rather you would feed him with gossips from your college classes, or what you got from Suguru Geto, your friend and Satoru’s assistant.

Now, you had already run out of distractions. Maybe that was his plan all along. If the world is correct, and it all falls down to Nanami’s desires, then maybe he was just waiting for you to crumble and admit. You had never been subtle with your eyes, anyway. That’s why he had been so fascinated about it, staring from time to time, trying to catch a glimpse of your true self, like a wishing star in a starry night.

The stars have gone dark, burned and busted away, when you come back to the meeting room and sit down on your designed chair, by his side. Nanami is focusing at you, again, like he needs more of your secrets at this moment. You have never gave him something so largue before, he is addicted.

But you, stubborn, appalled, stoic and all, think your plate of pasta is the most interesting thing in this whole world. You don’t eat much, because your throat is filled with all the words and screams you want to let out. You fear if you so much breathe loud, it will all come flooding this room.

“Are you annotating all of this in your head?” Nanami whispers in your ear, referring to the meeting now in progress. You sign no, and he sighs. “Your mind is far away, today.”

“Sorry.”

“What should I do with you?”

Someone coughs. An old man, standing by the edge of the table. He wants Nanami’s eyes on him, the praise, the goodness. Kento grants him half a smile, and that is not enough. Never will be. Everyone always wants more.

The lights are turned off when the projector is brought by Suguru, he comes and goes quickly, not before stealing a cookie from Satoru. That’s the first smile you present since the incident, and Nanami is back at staring at you with an intensity your heart fears but your pussy drips for. Are you scared? Petrified. And still, you are fucking horny.

He knows your secret, he is devoting his eyes to you, no matter what anyone else wants. He, in this moment, wants you. It might be because he needs to know what you meant, it might be because you are stroking his ego, finally. Or, you dare wonder, he is debating throwing you on that table and fucking you. Old men and Satoru aside, you wouldn’t mind. At all.

You take courage to look at him, and instantly you stare at his lips first, before his eyes. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You go back at eyeing the projector. He does the same a long beat later. An even longer one, he slowly puts his hand on your exposed thigh, skirt raised since you set down.

You try to not fail in your stoic face, but you do so anyway. Because, for fuck’s sake, Nanami Kento has his hands on your thigh, his thumb in circular movements. Your lips instinctively curl up, he snorts by your side before going back to his serious demeanor.

You thought he would just keep his hands there, as if testing the water but deciding to stay near the shore. That’s not his case, though. Nanami loves to go to the beach, to swim far away beyond the waves, he likes to get damped. His hand move closer, and you open your legs absentmindedly. He wants, you give. As much as you have wanted, and now he is giving you.

When his hands are pressing against your lacy underwear, you hear a little “Fuck” coming from his mouth. You’re soaking wet.

It’s hard to keep your breathing pattern steady when he is near you. Even more harder when he has one finger slowly penetrating you. For the outsider viewer, everything is normal, and the two of you are just concentrated on the projector screen. The truth is you have no idea what’s going on, and maybe neither does him. You want to moan, and tug his hair until he groans. And you want him to replace his finger with his cock. You stare at the annotation book, empty of your handwriting, and use the opportunity of your head down to hang your mouth open and close your eyes.

Nanami shifts his eyes to you, and he drowns himself into your fucked gaze, even more so when he puts another finger. He can’t linger much, or others will notice, so he decides to keep his movements fluid and calm, and to stare at you from time to time.

He can multitask. Of-fucking-course. He asks questions, answers, he acts as if he is one hundred percent into whatever is going on. The reality is different. The truth is all about his curling fingers pressing themselves in a place inside you that will forever mark his presence there. Like a secret plaything only for him, no one, not even you, will ever reach that. It’s like he is signing it with either his name only or a “Nanami was here.”

You want him to stay, forever. Stay inside you, slow pacing, curling, sensitive.

He can’t, because what feels like hours later, turns into minutes. Everyone is raising up to leave, and he moves out of you so fast, you clench around nothing ── had you been quicker, grabbed his fingers, they all would know. You don’t give a fuck, you want them too know.

“Go to my office.” He whispers before going the opposite direction of the exit, and staying back to talk with the others. You walk without a goodbye, creating an excuse when Satoru wants some of your time.

Inside his office, you feel like breathing for the first time. It’s confusing, like your lungs are new and not fully connected to your esophagus, so it comes up weird ── in a mixture of laugh and relief, salted with a “what the actual fuck”.

You want to stop and think of what’s happening or what’s to happen, but you never had the chance. It’s a second later, and you are being pressed against his, now, locked door. His arms holding your hips, his head resting on your neck, sulking your scent much like you do with his.

“You meant it, right?” He asks, bringing his face up to yours. “You want me to fuck you. Please, darling, say you do, because I need to fuck you now, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Yes, please, please.” Midway through your desperate nod, Nanami lunged at you, catching your lips in his and conducting the rhythm, the strength.

He was so, so good. In all ways. His slow fingers had your legs shaking and his eager kiss has your mind fogged. All that he does seems to be professional, but you know deep down, this effect is all because is made by him. Just his presence alone could have you hot and bothered, but to actually be touched by him, it’s like adding the fire to your gasoline self.

You had always been meant to be burned by Nanami.

He hoist you up against the door, for a quick second his hands kept clawing your thighs, until he walked you both to his desk. He let you down on it, and at the same time, his kisses moved to your neck and shoulder. You could feel the scrape of his teeth, tempted to mark you with a significant bite ── tell them I’m yours, you thought.

He groaned against your flustered skin, because he knew he couldn’t do that. Mark you, that’s it. Fuck you? Oh, that he can, that he will do.

“I need you to be really quiet for me.” His hands are quick on his belt, dropping it with a thud against the floor. He raises your skirt to your waist, Nanami grumbled under his breath with the sight of your underwear. He had touched the elaborate details earlier, but to see it was another story. White, see through, a pink ribbon on the top. “I’m going to rip it.”

“No, you’re not!” Raising your leg, you pushed him away. Eyes still hypnotized by your clothed cunt. You removed the piece with a satisfied smirk. It had been months since you started to wear those type of under-wears, hoping one day this situation would come.

No one wants to fuck their sexy boss with granny’s pants.

The cold table coming in contact with your intimacy made you moan a bit, and Nanami’s attention was back on you. There you were, beautifully waiting for him. Fuck-me eyes, pleading mouth, hands gripping the edge of the desk. You were at his mercy, had been for a while now. And he? Well, Nanami was yours now, that’s what matter.

One of his fingers, the same one he had penetrated you earlier, came back inside you. Smearing itself with your wetness. His other hand gripped your hips, bringing you closer, and making him go deeper. There, right fucking there. He curled, and thrusted, and another two more out of nowhere.

Cruelty was not on the way he was ravishing your cunt, but the biting of your teeth on your hand. You have to be quiet, follow his orders, but Nanami seemed to want to make you scream. Let everyone know that he is fucking you. Nearly fucking you.

Combining this movements with the ones of earlier, you feel your insides getting tighter. He senses as well, and raises his peace once more. But, again, your legs push him away. Nanami doesn’t like that, he comes back quick, wet fingers anxious to reclaim their place inside you, but you sign no, and he halts. That’s it. The man that controls everyone, and he is at your mercy.

“I want to cum on your cock.” Maybe is the sweet and diabolical way you say, or the tilting of your head with a charming smile. What matters is, he complies right away. His pants fall, he takes off his blazer, and not a second later you are presented with what you’ve been craving for months.

Like a pregnant lady, you almost cry and fall on your knees, finally having your desire attended. He doesn’t want that either, instead Nanami takes a condom from his wallet. Before he puts it, his waiting fingers touch your cunt again, grabbing a bit of your liquid and smearing it on himself. You nearly ask him to throw the condom away.

Is a sinful sight. All of this. You on the desk, legs wide open. He in front of you, adjusting himself on the condom. Both groaning when he, fucking finally, align with your entrance, and slowly gets in. He is largue, and thick, and preparation might have been necessary had you not been daydreaming of this moments months ago.

Had he not been himself, that man that makes you drip with just a “good morning”, this might have hurt. Instead, it’s exhilarating to be parted by his cock. The condom does not stop you from feeling his veins tickling your walls, or his tip finally setting near your cervix. That was fucking new. Pleasant and scary, and fucking welcome as well.

“Say it again,” He asks, hands on both your hips and eyes looking over yours. Waiting for the stars to fall over the two of you. “tell me to fuck you.”

“Fuck m──” He doesn’t wait for you to end before he removes himself, and going back with a gushing sound. You nearly scream out of pleasure, but in the last second, you bite your lips strong enough to draw some blood. “Mmh, you fucking a-asshole.” He snorts at that, before slapping your thigh.

Seems that Nanami can do all the noises he wants. He groans against your skin, head hanging low to stare at the way you pussy suck his dick in and out. You have always been a good girl ── his good girl. Taking all the he gave you. Mostly work related, and now his cock. You truly were made just for him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” A moan scapes your hands, and he doesn’t bother spanking your leg again. He called you baby, and you’re strangling his dick perfectly. You can shout at this point, he is pussy fucked.

Removing your hands from your mouth, you decide to do something much better than guarding your pleasure. Instead, you open his button-up blue shirt. A dream come through, is what this day will be remembered as. Specially now, where he lets you do as you pleases, and you have the sight of his pecks ── bronzed from a beach trip he took last week, and glistening with sweat for your recent activities. You moaned again, before going for it, and marking him.

Nanami allowed you to do so. He only cared about holding your hips and raise your lower body, so he could make you meet his thrusts halfway. He didn’t hold a care in the world about his groaning getting louder, or the burning on his neck and chest caused by your eager mouth and teeth. Fuck that. Fuck everyone. The only thing he truly wanted was to be inside of you forever. To be planted in this moment of his life, on loop, being marked by you, having his cock milked out by your dripping cunt. That’s what his life was made for.

Nanami Kento had this aura that made everyone scramble for him and his left-overs, as a way to keep close. To say they have something that once was his. Because everyone knew that Nanami was no one’s property. This moment, this fuck, this pussy proved that statement to be contraire ── he was yours. From the first day he saw you and specially one hour ago, when he had eaten your cookie and you told him to fuck you. He knew right then that he would shift the whole balance of the world to give you what you want.

And if that’s his aching cock, fucking be it. It’s yours. You’re taking it so good, and barely paying attention to it. He keeps bruising your cervix, and you respond with little whimpers and more bites. He quicken his peace, you close your legs around his waist, as if giving him more opening.

A perfect synchrony.

“Wan’ to cum.” You mumble just right after he senses your wall get tight.

“C’mon, baby, ugh, cum f’me.”

“Mmh, fuck, ngha.”

You do right after, going limp on his arms, he slow his thrusting with a snort and laying you down on the desk. He shuffles something by your dazed-self side, before he brings a black sharpie near your cleavage. He kisses and licks and sucks on it, before opening the pen with his mouth, and signing a straight line.

“How many more can you give me, pretty?” You don’t answer in words, but with more quiet whimpers, when his thrusts go back to pounding you in a maniac pace. He holds your neck down, leaning to kiss you through your beautiful moans.

You’re sensitive, he knows. Because you keep closing more and more around his length, trying to make him cum, unknown to you that it only makes you closer to coming again. You hit your head on the desk when trying to follow his departed lips, Nanami has your neck again on his mouth, tasting your sweat and lotion, and all you can give him. It’s only when he bites it slightly, you release yourself once more.

“Mmph, fuck, fuck, argh.”

Nanami keeps jerking his hips onto yours, not even having cum once. He takes pleasure in yours, you can see. With a proud smirk, he grabs the sharpie once more, but this time, he makes a diagonal line that touches the top of the first.

“Mhm──!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, baby. Just a bit more.” He cooed at you, sweet tone diverging from his animalistic movements.

You’re not complaining, not even regretting. So you keep yourself down and let Nanami control both of yours fun. He is ruthless in his pace and fantastic with his kisses, he doesn’t mind your moaning anymore, or the fact that everyone on your floor already knows. What can they do? Stop you? Nanami will rip everyone apart and just return to your pussy. Threaten him? No one would dare. He is still their sweetheart, their most sacred prize, beautiful and shinning to look at. Never to have.

“I’m, ugh, I’m yours.” He grunts.

This time, you sense a shift in his thrusts. So methodical now sloppy, and his cock kept twitching inside of you, sending more waves of pleasure to your core. Yes, fucking finally, he was near.

“All fucking m──mine.” You agreed with his words, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming your lips together. “I’m yours, always had been.”

Nanami can’t even control himself anymore. He groans and pants as he releases himself inside you. With a mist of swearing and praises you could barely decipher. After all, his own release had triggered yours.

When you both had come back from the high, Nanami raised himself from your chest, and kissed you, tongues intertwining, teeth clashing and biting. When he parted, leaving you breathless, he had then pen in his hand again. It touched your skin, once more, connecting from the bottom of his last line, going up straight.

It’s a “N”.

“You think we can spell my name?” He asks, leaving your inside to throw his condom out. He opens a drawer, where a box with more is presented.

“That would be more 17 fucks.” You support your weight on your elbows while counting.

“It’s that a no?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, before beckoning him closer. He does right away, kissing you hungrily once more. As if he is trying to record forever the taste of your mouth. He has your hair in his fists, pushing it back so he can go back to your, now, heavily marked neck.

“Let’s see how far can we go.” You indulge into his crazy erotic idea.

Nanami smiles triumphantly. He removes himself from your body, but doesn’t put condoms, instead, he falls on his knees, diving straight for your pussy.

Hours later, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, you leave his locked office with a smug smirk and timid eyes. Both accompanied by messy hair, flushed cheeks, marked neck and… “Nana” written on your chest.

“We’ll finish this later.” He comes behind you, closing his shirt, but letting the top buttons opened enough to catch a glimpse of your love marks on his chest. Specially the one with “Mine” marked in it.

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repulsiveliquidation · 2 months

Text

Flare Up || Leah Williamson

summary : leah has an endo flare up but doesn't tell you. once she does though, you take good care of her.

a/n : just a little blurb from a request i got! hope you like it!

Leah reaches behind to hold your thigh as you fuck her through her orgasm. She’s left shaking when you pull out, kissing down her toned back softly. She flops onto the bed, panting gently.

You rub her back and keep kissing her, feeling her skin prickle with sweat. Leah turns over and you watch her expression change for just a second before she speaks.

“Could you get me my pain medicine, love?” Leah asks quietly, eyes squeezed shut as she pulls her arm over her face.

“Oh Leah, what for?” you ask in a joking manner, “i fucked you so good your ego is hurting?”

You’re already out of bed searching for her pill bottle when you hear her turn over and sniffle. You find it in her kit bag and hurry back to her, rubbing her back again.

“What is it Lee? Talk to me baby.”

“Hurts so bad,” she mumbles, eyes brimmed with tears as she pulls her head up to look at you.

“What hurts darling? Was I too rough?” you begin to panic, climbing into bed to pull her into your lap. She settles into it, hugging your shoulders tight. You grab her pills and get the dosage out, reaching for the water bottle she had on her nightstand. She takes the pills and drinks a lot of water, sagging into your arms when you begin to rub her back and thighs.

“What’s the matter, love?” you ask again when she settles into you more. She takes a deep breath and pulls away, looking into your eyes.

“It’s the endo,” she mutters, rubbing the back of your neck softly, “I've been flaring up the whole day.”

You look defeated and pull her closer, hands resting on her lower back gently.

“Fuck Leah, why didn’t you tell me sooner? Or tell me to fuck off when I asked for sex?”

“I,” she stutters, “I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

“Oh darling,” you pull her closer, “if you’re not up for it, you never have to say yes just because I asked.”

“But you seemed so eager so I thought-”

“No Leah, if you don’t want to, I don’t want to,” you cup her cheeks and kiss her nose. She giggles and smiles through her tears.

“I don’t deserve you,” Leah whispers, forehead resting on yours.

“Of course you do,” you kiss her, “every bit of this you deserve Leah. This and so much more.”

You cheekily get on top of her and pull some giggles out of her. She hits your shoulder and you roll off her, kissing her arm.

“Let me take care of you?”

She winces in pain and tries to hide it, but you catch her and it breaks your heart.

“Please,” she pleads, eyes shutting tight when another wave of pain comes along. You get some warm clothes and wipe her down, cleaning yourself along the way. She’s twisted herself into a little pretzel when you come back with more water and snacks, feeling your heart shatter into more pieces as your girlfriend fights the pain.

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” you ask, gently rubbing her back. She takes a deep breath and she’s got tears in her eyes. You lean in and kiss her forehead, hearing her speak softly you almost miss her request.

“Just need you.”

“Okay.”

You go into your shared wardrobe and pull out some comfy sweats for her and yourself. You also grab the tv remote when you come back to the bedroom, frowning when you see Leah standing up, hunched over.

You help her get into the clothes and rub her back and tummy the whole time, watching as each wave of pain brings her closer and closer to more tears.

“Shh baby, I’m sorry,” you comfort, feeling her lean into you. You pick her up and settle her into the sheets, tucking pillows around her right side. You climb into her left side and she pulls your arm to rest her head on, body relaxing the moment she feels the little bit of your skin on hers.

“Sleep Leah, I’ll be here when you wake up,” you whisper, hand gently rubbing her stomach.

She sleeps almost immediately, and you stay up to take care of her. She cuddles into your chest, feeling safe in your arms. You play with her hair and kiss her occasionally while watching Law and Order: SVU, wishing you could take her pain away.

Leah wakes up two hours later, feeling a little bit better. She asks to be moved to the living room and you carry her there, leaving a mountain of pillows and blankets for her to settle into.

“Don’t you think 15 throw pillows are a bit much?”

“You bought them so we’re gonna use them,” you tell her, grabbing the menus for her favorite takeout place. The food comes 20 minutes later and she sits between your legs to eat. The Olympics are on and you were watching Spain and Nigeria play. You can tell Leah is feeling a little hurt that she’s not out there representing her country but she doesn’t say anything.

You change the channel to diving, which you enjoy, and watch for a bit after eating. Leah’s having a little bit of a bad bout of pain this time and asks that you give her a massage.

You grab a heat pack and leave it on her stomach as you massage her back. She groans and whimpers in pain but feels welcomed relief after you’re done.

You shower together and get settled into the fresh sheets you put down. Leah climbs into bed and snuggles into your side, leg thrown over your middle. She sighs, feeling grateful for all the things you do for her during her bad bouts of endometriosis.

“I love you,” she mutters, “and thank you.”

“I love you too, Leah. You’re always welcome.”

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso #woso community #woso imagines #woso one shot #woso blurbs #lionesses #arsenal wfc #woso x reader #woso soccer

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theminecraftbee · 3 months

Text

Doc's about four beers in by now. It's just enough to loosen his lips, especially with Etho eating most of the pretzels so Doc can't eat them. Compared to almost any other hermit under these circumstances, Doc seems barely tipsy at most, but, well, it's not like Beef needs him drunk to vent his latest frustrations at the world, he just needs him tipsy enough not to notice he's talking.

"--and I just don't understand why people are so surprised, man. You--you all have teased me too much to be surprised!" Doc is saying. "Ren laughed at me. Laughed!"

He also, for the record, seems to need to complain about... apparently his husband? Which is new. Beef had been surprised. He's not going to say so, yet, because this is Doc's very belated NHO bachelor party--can they call it that when it's more "sitting around a TV drinking, eating snacks, and not doing anything because they're all too old to be partying", and when Doc is very clearly not a bachelor?--and that would be rude.

"That dog," Bdubs says loyally. "I can kill him for you. I'm the judge so I wouldn't get arrested and I'd make sure you get all his money as a widow."

"No, you can't kill him, man, I still need him for tax benefits!"

"What taxes?" Etho asks, sounding vaguely panicked.

Everyone stops to consider this.

"Beneficial ones," Doc finally says.

"I don't think that's what--I think you're misunderstanding your English again," Beef says.

"No, I'm always right," Doc says.

They sit in companionable silence for a few moments. Someone shouts on TV. The show is in Swedish. Beef has no idea what's happening. He's honestly just kind of waiting for someone else to notice.

"It's just. I don't get it, man! Why are you all acting so surprised I called Ren my husband? You! You all know me!" Doc says, somewhere between accusing and despairing, and hm, maybe these beers were higher alcohol content than normal, if he's already on despairing? "Ren and I have been--after season eight, making it official, it is only a natural thing, yes? But we had--he's asked to have my puppies. You've heard him say our babies would be beautiful."

"That dog," Bdubs says loyally again, this time in a much more suggestive tone.

"More than once," mutters Etho.

"It's not--I mean, we all knew you and Ren were... how do I put this?" Beef says. "It's not surprising that you two are. Er. Help me out here."

"Boning," Etho says.

"EXCUSE YOU?" Bdubs says, scandalized.

"Yeah. Boning," Beef says. "Doing the horizontal tango. Probably some vertical ones too. I mean, you're definitely into some things--"

"Fighting dragons," Etho dryly adds.

"THAT WAS STILL GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE," Bdubs shouts, apparently over being scandalized and moving straight to offense.

"Two seasons later? Man, you just wanted to wring as much alimony out of me as possible," Doc says immediately.

"And? I'm a judge now, I know these things."

"My point," Beef says, before they can start arguing again, or before Etho can point out that they hadn't ever really been married to get divorced in the first place. "My point. We, uh, all knew you two had a thing. It's just, uh, marriage is... different! It's different, and--"

"You didn't INVITE ME TO THE WEDDING!" Etho says, finally unable to hold it in. "Whyyyyyyyyy? Doc, I thought we were friends! I thought we were friends, Doc! I wanted to go to the wedding!"

"It, it was a little thing," Doc says. "A common law marriage as much as--"

"Hey, wait, why didn't I officiate it, huh?" Bdubs says.

"That's not fair, you can't be mad at me for not inviting you to the wedding, the moon had just exploded!" Doc says.

"It had?" Etho says.

"Yeah, well, I exploded too and I still would have shown up," Bdubs says.

"I don't remember an explosion?" Beef says.

"Wait, the moon did something?" Etho says.

"Focus," Beef says. "Look. Doc. Also, love you man, but I always figured that if anyone was going to propose, it was going to be Ren."

Doc scoffs. "Clearly you don't know my husband, then."

Everyone waits for him to elaborate. Ren, after all, is the one known for dramatic emotional appeals. While Doc is equally dramatic--that's why Beef is throwing a bachelor party for the great fit as opposed to off showing him that Big Salmon can still show someone how to sleep with fishes--he's not exactly great at emotions. Surely, he will elaborate on why Ren would never be the one to propose between the two of them.

He doesn't.

"Anyway, I think it's been obvious for, for years, and you all are morons, and--why is the TV in Swedish?"

"THANK YOU!" Bdubs says. "I thought it would be rude to point out."

"Oh, I like it, though," Etho says as Doc changes the channel to a home improvement show. Yeah, sure. Fits the vibes of this bachelor party as much as anything else. Beef grabs another beer. He pauses.

"Wait, you said a common law marriage. That means you haven't actually had a wedding yet, right?"

"Not really," Doc says.

Beef considers being reasonable, and then he lets it go.

"Dibs on planning it," he says.

"WHAT?" Bdubs says, rounding on Beef.

"I--hey, I didn't agree to this!" Doc says, as Beef begins negotiations with Bdubs. Etho laughs, louder than he normally does, and throws an arm around Doc.

"Let it happen, man. Let it happen."

It's a good party, and a good night.

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #suggestive #...i mean no more suggestive than ren himself but it needs the tag #docm77 #bdoubleo100 #vintagebeef #ethoslab #a bee fic #hermitfic #I HAVE BEEN INSPIRED.#god this is everything i could have hoped they've bneen like this for YEARS but to have it spelled out--

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frogstappen · 2 days

Text

𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐯𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐧𝐥

best friend!max verstappen x reader / 3k

you watch max's home race from the red bull garage.

⚠️: description of major crash, some mentions of injury. sickly sweet friendship with a hint of something more. jealous!max, soft!max, cheeky!max.

“Headset?”

“Yep.”

“I got some snacks for you. Where are the –?”

The bag rustles as you lift it. “Pretzels. Got them.”

“And you know where the bathroom is? Out that door, down the corridor –”

“Max,” you push his arm down, “You know who we sound like right now?”

His eyebrows lift. “Who?”

You giggle. “You and GP. Radio, check. Headset, check. Bathroom, check.”

Max sighs, propping a hand on his hip. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just – listen to me, please, okay?”

“I’m going to be fine,” you assure him. “I’ve watched you from the garage a thousand times before.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t been down here in a while. I’m just making sure.”

The track is already deafening. The roar of tens of thousands of bloodthirsty Formula One fans isn’t quite as earthshaking as that of twenty racecars – but Jesus, there’s not much in it.

The attendance in Zandvoort this weekend has reached well over three hundred thousand. Earlier, you stood out front to watch the drivers’ parade with some of the team.

Max lifted his head as the bus turned the last corner and trundled down the main straight. The crowd thundered all around. He caught your eye and, with a smirk, lifted a waggling hand – and you felt your bones vibrating with the cheering.

An orange sea parted by a strip of black asphalt; they twirl flags between thick clouds of tangerine smoke. They paint their faces and wave their banners, topple their drinks with the thrill that just a half-second glimpse at their Dutch Lion ignites.

Formula One fans go hard. Max Verstappen fans go harder.

An assistant taps Max’s shoulder. She flicks up the mic on her headset as he turns. “Three minutes to anthem.”

He nods, and she totters off.

“Promise me,” he takes hold of your elbows, “that you’ll stay right here. I’ll find you after, okay? One of the guys will bring you to the podium.”

“Confident,” you snort, though his expression tightens.

Your phone buzzes on the desk. You flip it over and the screen lights a name adorned with a heart emoji. Beneath, a picture of the classic overhead of the grid, stretched across a flatscreen TV.

Bet your view is better than mine! Miss you. X

Max grumbles, grabbing his balaclava. “I should go.”

“Hey, wait.” You tug on the sleeve of his suit, dangling from his waist.

He sways back into your side, the weight of him familiar and gentle. “Mhm?”

“Have a good one, okay? Be safe.”

“Safe?” He smirks, toying with the cord of your headset. “That’s no fun.”

“I’m serious, Max. Don’t be a dick.”

Okay, he mouths, patting your head. “Speaking of dicks,” he taps your phone, “Better reply.”

His head tilts back in laughter when you shove him off, and he swaggers out of the garage. An assistant hoists a parasol in the air and scurries down the pit lane at his side.

He’s so calm, you think, that he may as well be out for a Sunday drive. It comes naturally enough to him.

He’s on pole today. The car has been good, Max’s form even better. The sky is clear (save for the fans’ fluorescent flares), and there’s no chance of rain – though, sometimes, you find yourself praying for it.

He’s Dutch, okay? The rain is always on his side.

It’s been a decent weekend, for once. No hiccups, no setbacks. He’s soared his way around the track, producing lap after perfect lap. The way he always does, when he knows you’re somewhere nearby.

His lucky charm, since his first go around a karting track. So Max says, anyway.

He’ll say it with humor; that wit of his that you’ve learned like a second language. Still – sometimes, after his hardest races, his toughest battles, he wraps his arms around you tight enough to convince you that he might just be telling the truth.

Just for a moment.

You’ve been best friends for as long as you can remember. Never one without the other; always whispering into each other’s ears or otherwise communicating through flashes of eye contact, kicks under the table.

Wherever he goes, you go. You bicker like a married couple, and trust each other much the same. From the school playground to the Circuit de Monaco – and everywhere in between.

The orchestra swings to life, sending the sound of Wilhelmus skyward. Onscreen in the garage, the camera focuses in on Max: calm, composed, staring off down to the first corner like it’s his next meal.

Nothing has ever happened between you. Not really. No secret rendezvous nor dear diary crushes. Once, and only once, a chaste kiss during a high school game of spin the bottle.

It was about as awkward as it should’ve been. This quick, electric shock of a kiss. Over all too soon and not soon enough. He tasted like the lager he’d been drinking. He steadied himself with a hand on your thigh.

You sat back on your heels, wiped your lips with the sleeve of your sweater, and aped Max’s look of disgust. You snickered with your girlfriends as the circle moved on – but anytime you snuck a glance at him, he was already looking straight back.

He never brought it up again, though – and so neither did you. As far as either of you were concerned, it never happened. You’re just friends.

Best, best friends.

This new guy you’ve been seeing – you met him in a bar in London. He said he liked your dress, said he liked your smile, then offered to buy you a drink. It’s been no more than six weeks, but Max had already quietly decided his thoughts over summer break.

He’s a nice guy, he said, deliberately bumping his rubber ring into yours.

You pushed away from him, floating across the pool. Nice? That’s all you got?

What do you want me to say? I’m not the one dating him.

I just don’t believe that nice is all you have to say. You’re not that good at pretending. I know you too well, Verstappen.

Okay, fine. Too much styling of the hair.

Too much…What?

Yeah. And he wears weird shoes.

Well, he likes F1. Said he’s a fan of yours.

Ha, Max clicked his fingers, That’s the biggest red flag of them all.

Your phone buzzes again. You turn it facedown without looking, and pull your headset on.

The circuit shudders as the anthem comes to an end. The drivers split up, pulling off ice vests and zipping up their suits. The mechanics prop chairs in front of the screen, thumping their helmets over their heads.

Almost ten years in, the anxiety still hangs heavy in your stomach. The rumble of the engines, the babble from the loudspeakers. The rapid-fire orders shot over your head in the garage.

It comes naturally to Max, sure – that doesn’t mean it’s easy for you.

You watch him as he lowers into his car. Eyes narrow and focused, blurring everything but that first bend from his vision. All good humor shaken off, replaced by a vicious hunger to hit the end of the straight first, to be a speck on the horizon before the first lap is through.

Your thumb picks at the 33 sticker on the side of your headset. You burst open the bag of pretzels.

Max checks the radio and GP replies: “Loud and clear.”

“Beautiful day,” the driver says, weaving through the formation lap. “Simply lovely.”

You smile, suckling on the salty snack. As nervous as you may feel, at least he’s having fun.

He brings the car to a soft stop on his line and waits as the others follow suit. The lights flick on one by one, a painful pause between each. One sharp breath, held at the bottom of your throat, – and the red dissolves.

The Red Bull fires down the track.

Your lungs fill with a gulp of fuel-fumed air. Veins flood with warmth – the ice-cold grip around each nerve thawed as soon as Max begins to lead the flock.

He fights off contenders for first all the way to turn four – snuffing the flame of a Ferrari here, squeezing the papaya of a McLaren there. He catapults ahead just past Hunserug, and the garage springs to cheerful life.

In your headset, the pit wall is serious, fixed on the race. They murmur over wavelengths, static fizzling between words. Voices flat and emotionless; statistics on top of statistics, strategies on top of strategies.

You crush more pretzels between your molars, watching, unblinking. You twist the cord around your index finger, draining the tip of blood, then loosen again as Max puts more than a second between his car and the next.

He’s doing good. He always does good, as far as you’re concerned.

He’s doing what he always says he was made to do. He was raised this way, weathered into shape by each storm he powered his way through. Not born, not destined – Max doesn’t believe in any of that shit.

God doesn’t drive F1 cars, he’ll say. I do.

A couple tense laps pass. The Red Bull is still up front, though he’s tussling with the Ferrari now hot on his tail. Each chance his pursuer takes, each split-second jab at his lead, Max has already squashed before it materializes.

He rips around turn fourteen, following the track through its widest bend down to fifteen, and hits the main straight to thunderous applause. The cars scream past the pits, a roar sliced in two as they barrel straight for Tarzan.

The gap is barely two tenths. The mechanics clutch their helmets. Max taunts the corner on the outside of the track, eyeing his target.

“Defend,” one of the mechanics growls. “Hold him, Max.”

The Ferrari tucks behind, its front wing edging closer and closer.

You blink.

The red car swings out, shuddering with the force of the maneuver. He steadies himself and floors it, each closing centimeter perilous.

Blink again.

They’re side by side. Almost wheel to wheel. There’s no way Max can’t see that scarlet smirk from the corner of his eye. The apex is right there, though, it’s right fucking there.

Another blink, and –

He’s gone.

He’s gone. He’s –

Hurtling off the track. At almost two hundred miles per hour. The gravel spits at him as he spins; smoke and dust billow from beneath. He slams straight into the barrier, and, finally, the moment ends.

Your chest shrinks; a weak wheeze passes your lips. “Oh, my God.”

The mechanics leap to their feet. They bark amongst themselves like a pack of angry dogs, though you can’t make out a word.

Your hearing is shot. Every sound bleeds into the next; one long, high-pitched scream. You move without thinking, without feeling; slip off the stool and tug your headset. It hits the desk with a distant clatter, though you’re already wandering away.

The sound of the crowd rattles against your skull. Numb, muted. An awful groaning sound as the cloud lifts, revealing the chewed-up car.

It’s bad. It’s the worst one in a long time. He must’ve hit that barrier at near-enough full speed. The dread fills your lungs like torrents of heavy, black water. Sickly salt, suffocating sea. Oh, God.

You scan the garage for any of his mechanics. Matt. Ole. Chris. Fucking – any of them. Who did he say would bring you to him when this was over? He said he’d meet you at the podium. He said he’d find you –

A rough hand grabs your elbow.

Max’s face flickers across your vision. Blue steel gaze, freckle above his lip. The dust pulls him away from your grasp. He hits the barrier again and again and again.

“Max –”

The voice is calm – too fucking calm, you think, when it tells you, “He’s talking. They’ve got him talking.”

“Talking,” you echo, begging it to solidify in your brain. “Can you put me on to him?”

The engineer pulls you over to the exit. He plucks at his mic, murmurs some response down the line to the team. He takes your wrist and leads you out, muttering, “C’mon.”

“Hey,” you tug on his arm, “Please let me speak to him.”

“You will,” he replies, snaking through the tight corridor. “Once he’s out, they’ll check him over. He’ll be taken in for evaluation, hitting the wall at that speed. Force must be bloody nuts.”

The thought sends another bitter stream of panic through your blood. “Can he move? Is he –? Can he get out of the car?”

He gives one quick nod. “Medics are there. They’re helping him out.”

Sunlight floods overhead, dazzling as you follow him out front and towards a sleek car. An attendant opens the door for you, and you slide into the backseat.

The engineer gives your shoulder a friendly shake. “He’ll be fine,” he says. “He’s done worse.”

The door falls closed and the car moves off, purring through the paddock towards the medical center.

You slump into your seat and press your fingers into your eyes; a headache already blooming between your temples.

He’s moving. He’s moving and he’s responding. They’re helping him up out of the car. He’s probably already being checked over.

He’s probably already asking for you.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, fingers dragging down your cheeks.

The center is a polite little hut inside the circuit. By the time you pull up, the race has already resumed. The remaining cars whizz by as you jog over, slipping inside behind a couple guys from Max’s team.

He’s had his fair share of scraps on the track. You don’t make it to the top without a sincere sense of dare, and an even sincerer lack of fear. Some call it idiocy. You’re often one of them.

Sitting on the other side of the clinic door, though – knee jerking, nails picking at the skin on your fingers – you’d be thrilled to never see these four walls ever again. Idiot or not, you care about him.

More than anyone else in your life? Jesus. Probably.

The door clicks open, and your blood jumps.

A pale woman in a pale coat steps out. She peers over her glasses, eyes you from the sneakers on your feet to the worry on your face – and says your name.

You push yourself up, squeezing past her into the room.

Max is perched on the edge of the bed, still in his fireproofs. Hair disheveled, face flushed and exhausted. Translucent with shock or concussion or worse, he lifts his head and flashes a lopsided smile.

It’s weak, barely there – but it’s him.

You care about him more than anyone else in your life. Definitely.

He opens his arms, fingers beckoning you in. “C’mere.”

“Oh, my God,” you sweep over, already in tears by the time you meet his body, “Oh, my God – you fucking idiot.”

His shoulders shudder with a bottled laugh. He wraps his arms around your waist, turning his head against your chest. “How was I supposed to know he was going to turn into me, huh? I had the line, I was –”

“Max,” you pull back, staring into his bleary eyes, “I don’t care. Just – don’t do that ever again.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he whispers, corners of his mouth twitching.

You sigh, collapsing onto the bed at his side. You lean against him and he winces a little, before pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“You really scared me,” you admit, turning in to his chest.

Max slings an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight. “I’m fine, no? I mean, everything’s blurry and I can’t really hear much, but – it could have been worse.”

He props the pillows against the wall and pushes himself back gingerly, reaching past you for a paper cup of water at his bedside.

You move slowly, carefully, waiting for him to get comfortable before settling back, too – leaving a safe gap between his battered body and yours. Your cheek rests on the curve of his shoulder; fingers trace the logos on his sleeves.

Max breathes in the scent of your hair. He turns his hand and watches as your fingers trail down his wrist, circling his palm. He sucks in a deep breath, sighing to the ceiling.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you whisper, and he hums.

“Nerves,” he mutters.

“From the race?” You lift your head. “You don’t get nervous.”

He takes another breath and turns to you. He’s blushing, and doing a shitty job at hiding it. “No,” he says. “Not from the race.”

You gulp. “Are you sore?”

“Yeah. My back, my ribs.”

“Do you want me to get up?”

“No. Stay.”

He wears the same expression he did all those years ago, sat too many people apart from one another in that drunken circle. The same expression you only allowed yourself fleeting glances at: bashful, a little awkward – all the more endearing for it.

Maybe he actually doesn’t remember that night. Maybe he was just too tipsy – alcohol gone straight to his teenage head. And maybe he won’t even remember this, what with the concussion and all.

It’d make things a hell of a lot easier, that’s for sure. You could go back to your old ways: arguing over the best flavor of chips, screaming while playing video games. No second-guessing, no jumping to conclusions. Hell, maybe you hope he doesn’t remember any of it at all.

Somewhere, though, deep down – you know that’s not true.

“How’s, uh…whatshisface?” Max asks, nudging you with his elbow. He takes a feeble sip of his water and offers you the cup.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No idea. I left my phone in the garage.”

He scoffs, staring at your lips as you take a drink. He takes the cup from your hands once you’re done. “I don’t mean to give him shit, you know. If you like him, I like him.”

“Well, there’s liking someone,” you pout, “and then there’s willingly watching them crash full-speed in a racecar.”

Max smiles, lifting his cup.

“Whoever that is, sounds pretty cool to me.”

#first time since literally 2016 writing rpf BE KIND #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #mv33 x reader #f1 fanfic #mv33 #my writing #fic: zandvoort nl

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sweetestcaptainhughes · 2 months

Text

Moments in Time - Luke Hughes Edition

Word Count - 3000

Summary - The eight times Luke Hughes showed his love through the ring camera that he didn’t even want in the first place.

Warnings - none pure fluff I know a true shocker if you aren't new here

Author's Note - Hello everyone as always thank you for reading. This is apart of a "Moments in Time" series that I wrote eight moments each of the Hughes brothers. The fics are individual stand alone pieces, they can be read in any order, or you could only read the one brother you want.

Quinn Hughes Edition. Jack Hughes Edition.

I have to give credit to my girl Kay @icebound-imagination for not only helping come up with the original idea! But literally stayed up late one night to help me detail plan all three Hughes brothers fics because I didn't want any repeated ideas.

Main Masterlist

Luke couldn't care less about wanting a ring camera. Both of his brothers had them and he really didn’t care. Now since he moved out of Jack’s apartment and into yours it’s a different story. He no longer has a nice fancy lobby with a mailroom. When a package comes it comes to his doorstep. This year Luke has been stepping up his fashion game (his words not yours) and buying some new items for his closet. Now to Luke, a $300 shirt might not seem like a lot but to a normal human being it was.

Luke wasn’t concerned about packages being taken form your doorstep until you told him about your neighbor. When you first moved into your apartment a few years ago, your neighbor warned you about how some of his packages had been stolen and to be care. Literally nothing has happened in the three years you’ve had your apartment but you still did mention it to Luke. Once Luke heard about how packages were taken (even though none of them were yours) he was texting his brothers asking for a link to the one they had. Now you, on the other hand, wanted a ring camera because Quinn and Jack’s girlfriends were telling you how much fun it is to mess with the boys on the ring camera. So you decided you kind of wanted to join the fun and get one.The ring camera was totally worth it to both of you within six months with just all the ‘little mundane moments’ it caught on camera.

Don’t forget the brownie bark!

Luke knew you were leaving to go to the store and instead of sending you a simple text, his lazy ass decided to yell at you through the ring. It scared the shit out of all of a sudden you heard Luke’s voice but knew he was on his way to the gym.

“BABY! DON’T forget my brownie bark at the store! Please!”

Once you registered that it was in fact Luke’s voice and it was coming from the ring camera you turned your body towards the camera.

“What do you mean?? You still have all of that moose tracks dairy free ice cream I brought you because “I can’t do dairy during the season’ plus all those pretzels and everything else???” A small sigh leaving your lips before Luke can even reply because you already know what he’s going to say.

“Yeah but I’m not in the mood for those things anymore… maybe next week but this week I want the brownie bark you get from Costco.” he softly whined as he contonied to beg for his snack.

“Fine! But listen Hughes you have to finish this snack before I buy anything else because your literally taking up some much cabinet space and we have a small kitchen.”

“Deal.” he immediately and excitingly says before he rushes a goodbye and leaves the ring app. A soft sigh leaves your mouth as you head down the hallway to the elevator to go to the store

2.I hate you right now

Okay you didn’t really hate Luke you were just upset that he happened to have ordered a new gaming chair which came in the most awkward huge sized box. He told you he ordered it three weeks ago and it should be here before he has to go on his seven day west coast roadie. Of course it wasn’t, you dropped him off an hour ago and decided to get some errands done before returning home. Of course, it was just your luck that when you got home there would be a gigantic probably 100 lb perfectly cubed box that was definitely Luke’s new gaming chair. Deciding to go inside and set your things down and send Luke a text before dealing with the box.

Lukeyboo:

Guess what was here when i got home 🙄🙄

My love:

Is it my chair?? 👀

Lukeyboo:

Yes

And its a fucking huge box by the way I don’t know how I’m gonna lift it.

Gonna go try to attempt now

By the time you made it back to the hallway of your apartment building Luke greeted you on the ring camera. “Hi baby, I’m here for emotional support.” he says teasingly and even though you can’t see him you know he has a huge smile on his face. Making it a point to make an annoyed face at the camera, making sure he knows how the universe seemed to time this perfectly for you. Looking down you decide that it’s probably easiest to shuffle the box inside your apartment. Trying to move the box an inch but it doesn’t budge.

“Baby try using your legs not your arms.” Luke comments

“Oh wow. Why didn’t I think of that?” you say in a duh tone.

“Sorry I’ll stop mansplaining.” Immediately apologizing for trying to tell you how to move the box. Finally your able to move it a little and Luke cheers as a result. But then of course you continue to struggle for the next ten minutes.

“You know I really hate you right now.” you say loud enough for the ring to pick it up.

“I love and appreciate you too.” he responds without a second thought knowing you're just annoyed because of how oddly shaped the box is and Luke would have already had it in spare bedroom by now. “If it makes you feel better I think your hot when you're flustered” he admits.

“Hmmm” is the only response your willing to give him. Finally after what feels like forever but is probably only 3 minutes you get it in the door. Luke cheers through the camera. “Oh and I hope you know it’s staying right but the front door for you when you get home.”

Luke lets out a chuckle as he admits “I wouldn’t expect anything else. Love you, miss you already baby.”

“Ugh I love you too, text me when you land.”

“Always” and he stays on the app until he hears you close the apartment door.

3. Why are you acting like this as adults?

One thing that you loved about Luke was how truly close he was with his brothers. It really did make you happy that he was able to live his dream of playing on the same team as his older brother Jack. But being brothers even if both were in their early twenties they still acted like brothers. They were both stubborn as could be and competitive with each other. At times it can be cute, but even Nico told on one roadie they had to ban the brothers from playing soccer before their game because their fighting became too much.

So it was no shocker when you were in the kitchen in the middle of cooking dinner in your apartment, and heard both the boys yelling as they were coming down the hallway. It’s one thing to hear Jack because he is naturally a louder person, but when you heard Luke also raising his voice and some thudding of the walls you decided to check the ring camera. Honestly, you weren’t sure to be surprised by their behavior of straight up wrestling in your tiny little narrow hallway apartment or a little disappointed in yourself that you were surprised by their behavior.

Since the hallway was so narrow, you really didn't want one of them to accidentally get injured, even if it was minor due to them being idiots. Especially since it wouldn’t be hard to knock your head on the wall and accidentally get a concussion and then they would be out for at least a game. So you decided to yell at them through the camera to make them stop. “Boys I know that isn’t the Hughes brothers being idiots wrestling like some children?!”

Immediately the noises stop and you smile to yourself. Knowing your boyfriend you knew that he was probably embarrassed but your suspensions were confirmed when you heard him say “sorry baby” before Jack muttered out his own apologies.

But then within a few seconds you heard another thud and you sighed as you clicked the speak button on your phone. “That better not be you all again, now knock it off or I swear I will treat you like my nephews and take video games away for the night.” Honestly, you didn’t count it but you're pretty sure within a minute the boys were inside, and in the kitchen kissing up to you knowing damn well you would take the video games away.

4. Take Out

Luke was on one of those rare long roadies that was closer to a week and two time zones away rather than a quick 72 hours down the east coast. All roadies were hard, but somehow the ones that were in different time zones and longer than an extended weekend felt more real. It was almost like if he was gone for the 2 days it didn’t matter, but when it was hitting the fourth day of his roadie missing Luke turned into what felt like longing for him. Craving anything that would help you feel closer to Luke, on your way home that night you picked up pizza from his favorite place. Lately you’ve been leaving little messages occasionally for him when he’s away. Since missing him felt like it was slowly consuming you, you couldn’t help but leave one on your way inside your apartment.

“Hi Lukey, we are at the halfway mark of this roadie. I miss you so much, I got the pizza from that place you like, just like you like it. With all the papers, and even olives, even though I hate olives, picking them off might make it seem like your home. Love you, good luck tonight against the Kings.”

When Luke watched that video he texted you that he also missed you and he loved you. That was the first time on a roadie in his entire life he ever wished he was home with you instead of where he was.

5. It was your turn Luke!

Finally getting home after a long day at work and walking into your apartment, sighing with content. After changing out of your work clothes into some sweats, you decide you should start dinner before you take a shower and get ready for Luke’s home game tonight. But as you walk into the kitchen you see in the corner the trash overflowing. Immediately you find yourself annoyed at Luke because he promised he would take it out before he left and it was not only overflowing but also started to smell. Deciding ultimately that you need to take the trash out before you make yourself a quick dinner.

As you tie up the bag and carry it to the front door, throw on some of Luke’s crocs by the door since you're only going outside for two minutes to deal with the trash. Still very annoyed at Luke you can’t help but ring the doorbell so he gets a notification.

“LUKE YOU PROMISED. Remember how you said you’d do it before you left but of course you forgot again.” Sighing again you say in a calmer but still very annoyed voice “it’s fine cause I’m doing now but it made the whole kitchen smell, Lukey. I might be late to the game cause I’m gonna burn a candle in the kitchen now” Finally walking away to deal with the trash, the clip ends because ‘movement in front of camera has ended.’

Luke sees the notification while he’s walking into the stadium and his arrival photos are ruined because he’s all red and blushy because you scolded him for forgetting about the trash again. Turns out, you do make it to the game but after puck drop. Luke sees you make your way to your normal seat, always claiming the game didn’t feel as real in the WAGs suite. He happened to skate past your seat to get ready for a power play, when you saw him. He mouths “I’m sorry” as he takes his hand to chest to sign in ASL as well, something that both of you started using while he’s playing. He signs a quick “I love you” before the whistle blows and he’s focused back on the game.

6. First Roadie far away

This wasn’t his first roadie by any means, Luke has been playing hockey his entire life. He has gone on countless roadies from his USA Hockey days to UMitch, hell even his rookie year. But this was the first roadie far away enough that you couldn’t travel to his game since you started living together. This gave the idea of roadies a whole new light. He suddenly wasn’t excited to travel to a new city, play his favorite game and explore a new city, not when you were home in Hoboken. He can’t help himself from turning around and saying goodbye in the camera. Watching it later you could tell that he was truly sad and not pretending as a joke. Sniffling with his suitcase behind him dressed in a nice suit.

“I love you sweetie, I’ll call you when I land. I kinda don’t wanna go… DON’T tell anyone that!” He signs I love you with his right hand. He starts to walk away and you expect the camera to cut out, but then he comes running back. He gets super close to the camera, like you can really just see one eye, his nose and mouth. “BABY! Please don’t kill the plants! I know you think you’ve done really good this time keeping them alive this long. But the truth is I’ve been watering them for you because I didn’t wanna see you cry after killing another African Violet. Which also I googled and it’s almost impossible to do so your kind of the best at being the killer of plants. Okay gotta go before I’m late I love you.”

7. I’ll buy you a new cupcake

Luke decided as a treat for himself that he would get himself just one cupcake from both of your favorite bakeries. There was only one left from the 6 pack you had in the fridge from last week. It was his treat to himself for not having any other cheat meals this week, which is shocking because as you know that boy is ALWAYS eating! Luke also needed to go to the dry cleaners before they closed in 20 minutes. Deciding that he didn’t wanna wait until he got home he ate it on his way out the door.

Of course Lukes luck, the movement in front of the ring was enough for a notification to be sent out. Immediately as Luke is still chewing the cupcake, your voice comes blaring from the speaker.

“LUKE WARREN HUGHES! I KNOW you’re not eating the last cupcake. That you SAID WE’D SHARE WHEN I GOT HOME TONIGHT!” Okay so Luke forgot the other day you wanted to eat it and he begged you not to and that you would share it today, whoops.

“I promise I will buy you some on my way home, I’m sorry baby” Just a mumble of acknowledgement was the only thing that left your mouth.

One week later:

Turns out the same thing happened, Luke and you promised that if both of you didn’t have any cheat meals and stayed to your health routine. Both of you could share the last cupcake. Well this time it was you that ate the cupcake. Luke was very much a pouty mess about it when he walked into the kitchen and saw the container on top of the trash can. Hearing your full name in one breath out of Luke’s mouth, you winced realizing what happened. Except instead of angry Luke comes to you on the couch, face full of pout, and puppy eyes truly sad that he couldn’t have the treat he was looking forward to for days because you ate it with your lunch this afternoon.

“I’m sorry Lukey” opening your opens and immediately he flops into them.

“I really wanted it!” he pouted.

“I know. I am sorry I’ll buy you more tomorrow okay.” Luke only nodded his head yes as he dug himself deeper into your embrace as one hand started caressing his back, the other digging your fingers into his curls lightly scratching.

8. Next time I’ll wait

It’s a Monday afternoon and you’ve been waiting all weekend for a new pair of shoes to be delivered. They were a pair of limited edition converse and you were excited to get them in before you traveled to Europe for the Stadium Series that opened your boyfriend’s NHL season. Naturally every little alert you get from the ring app your checking. Most of them have just been neighbors walking past to get to their own apartments. But it still doesn’t stop you form opening the notification you just got.

Now what you weren’t expecting to see was but also wasn’t surprised to see. Is Luke running outside of the apartment with a pot that’s on fire because he accidentally set something on fire while cooking. The embarrassment is clear on his face when he comes back a minute later with no pot in sight, assuming he left it outside in the leftover snow from a few days ago. Thinking he got away with his cooking disaster until he makes direct eye contact with the ring camera and suddenly remembers its existence.

He decides to just rip the bandaid off and looks directly into the camera as he says “we're out of eggs by the way.”

Deciding to just talk to Luke now you press the speak button and with a light chuckle you add “well and a new pan since I no longer see it. I hope it wasn’t the one that I love.”

Luke suddenly looks like a deer in headlights, obviously he wasn’t expecting you to be watching him run out of the apartment with a pan on fire. “Uhhh I’ll buy you a whole new set, the ones you have saved on amazon, the colored ones!”

“Okay. baby next time can you wait 5 minutes until I’m home”

A giant sigh leaves Luke’s lips as his face starts to form his famous pout, “Yeah okay”

#luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes blurb #hughes fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hughes imagine #new jersey devils x reader #new jersey devils fic #new jersey devils fanfic #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #schwritingslh43

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