#he drinks plenty of water

[shotmrmiller]

I'm sorry for being gross but I wanna jerk tf141 off into cups and compare the taste. Best tasting cum gets to creampie me.

[tiddygame]

hello im sorry i wrote more for @myriadblvck ’s streamer au ghoap

I time travelled and around 4,000 words magically appeared in a document titled: "you didn't juju on the fucking beat soap" I think I was possessed by something. anyways here’s that:

tw: is it a panic attack? is it just typical ghost angst? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ just be careful it's mostly fluffy (ghost is mean to himself cause he almost kissed soap on the forehead)

also i just realized after i wrote this whole thing, this is based on my general knowledge of dog tags… as an american. writing about the british military. so if you know your shit about the british military, uhh sorry in advance. my bad. from a very brief search i think a lot of it’s the same or at least same enough but this might hurt for people that know a thing or two. whoops!

fun fact: did you know for a brief stint (iirc, >40 years from around 1960s to 2010ish) the american military was printing soldiers’ ss numbers on their tags? yeah can’t imagine why they switched back to serial numbers.

Ghost had been pacing outside of his office for three minutes before he actually entered. When he did, he didn’t say a word. Just sat down in one of the chairs, fidgeting. It wasn't that uncommon of an occurrence, he was normally either gathering his thoughts before talking to Price about something more personal or hiding from what/whoever he didn't feel like dealing with.

When it came to mission debriefs, he was clear and concise. However, personal matters were a different story, and based on the way he anxiously opened and closed his hand, he'd guess this was a personal matter.

Price didn’t ask. He knew that whatever it was Simon needed to say would come out eventually. For now, he continued filling out paperwork and trying to figure out what it was that had Ghost so worked up.

Honestly, there wasn't much guesswork involved. Chances were, it was probably yet another leave request. He knew from Gaz (who was such an awful gossip he sometimes wondered how the man made it through interrogation training) that Simon had been visiting some social media person he had taken a liking to.

(Look, yes, Price knew about Twitch and live streaming and everything. He’s not actually that old. However, as long as he kept up the front of the old man who complained about the keyboard on his phone being too small, he didn’t have to deal with social media. Sure, it caused all of them to joke that he was geriatric and on his last legs, but he was able to convince Roach that he doesn’t know what TikTok is, meaning he wasn’t in charge of reviewing all the bullshit he and Gaz posted. A fair trade if you ask him.)

He also knew that Gaz was convinced the two were in love to the point that he and Roach had a bet going to see when they would get together. Price thought it was rather stupid, but he had to admire their ability to keep it under wraps; if the lieutenant found out they’d been placing monetary bets on his love life, he had a feeling he would need to find replacements for the 141.

Regardless, Price hoped that one day Simon would tell him about the friend but, until then, he was happy to fill out any paperwork that would get the poor man off base. God knows that idiot needs a vacation.

Simon was bouncing his leg, messing with his fingers, and staring off into space.

Three of his nervous habits at once? He must be even more worked up about this than Price thought. But, he was a patient man. It was about seven minutes of companionable silence before Simon spoke.

“I need replacement dog tags. I seem to have lost mine.”

Price looked up. He could see the chain around his neck and the outline of them still under his shirt.

"You do?" Price shuffled his documents around, eventually finding a blank piece of paper he could write on.

"Yes sir."

“And do you know what happened to them?”

“I believe they were knocked off during the fight from the last mission. I didn’t notice until later that night when we were back at base.”

Price paused and looked up from where he had been writing.

The last mission had been an odd one. Ghost normally stuck further away, their eagle-eyed lieutenant typically stayed at long to mid-range, watching for hostiles and making sure whoever else was in the field wouldn’t get caught off guard by someone they hadn’t seen.

During the last mission, he decided to engage at close range, a far cry from his usual approach of sniping hostiles from the shadows.

At one point, their lieutenant had been tackled and almost strangled. The fight had pretty much ended, his attacker was the only one left there. Ghost, being The Ghost, dispatched him with ease, but it stuck out to Price. Ghost may prefer to stay further back, but that didn’t mean that his hand-to-hand combat skills were lacking by any means.

He remembered thinking at the time that it was a clumsy mistake, that Ghost would have had to be intentionally trying to fuck up to get knocked down. He assumed the man had just been caught off guard, but he knew that theory wouldn’t hold up to any scrutiny. Ghost isn’t one to get caught off guard.

What was stranger yet still was Ghost specifically pointing it out in his mission report, calling even more attention to it.

Price set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

“You planned this?”

“I plead the fifth,” said the British man.

Price just continued to stare, curious to see if this was actually going where he thought it was going.

“Is this off the record?” Simon eventually asked.

“Of course,” almost everything the 141 did was of dubious legality. Not reporting a conversation about possible wasted assets was far from the worst thing that had been swept under the rug.

“Then yes.”

“Why?”

Simon didn’t answer. Price waited, giving the man time to gather his thoughts, but based on the way his mouth opened and closed before he slumped in his chair, it seemed he didn’t know what to say at all.

Price had an inkling he might know what this was about.

“You know, Gaz likes to keep me informed,” Ghost looked up at him, somewhat panicked yet resigned, like he already knew what Price was going to say.

“He tells me you have a certain someone you’ve been visiting?”

“Yes.”

“Is this person a friend or…?” Ghost once again paused, calculating the potential consequences of his available responses.

He didn’t answer.

“Hmm,” Price paused, wondering how far to push before he continued, “You want to give this person your old dog tags?”

“Yes.”

Of course he would pre-plan “losing” his dog tags. Price mentally chuckled, leave it to Simon to be such a sap that he wanted to give someone his dog tags yet still make sure to follow protocol so he never actually risked going without them.

He had to hand it to him, it wasn’t a bad plan.

Price had a smile now, knowing his grumpy hard-ass lieutenant had a sweetheart he wanted to be sappy with.

“Romantic or platonic?” Price tried again.

“… I don’t know,” he’d never seen Simon look quite so… forlorn.

Hmm… That would explain his hesitancy.

He was pushing how much Simon was willing to divulge.

“And does this person know the significance of you giving them your dog tags?”

Well, curiosity killed the cat…

“No, they don’t.”

…But satisfaction brought it back. How interesting, the plot thickens.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

There was a long pause, after which it dawned on Price, “You want to give them your dog tags because they don’t know.”

It wasn’t a question, he already knew. Simon somehow slumped further, attempting to hide his face as if he weren’t wearing a balaclava.

His grumpy hard-ass lieutenant. Absolutely smitten with someone yet too shy to say anything, deciding on a quiet confession, one they likely wouldn’t pick up on.

Price chuckled, jotting down the necessary information he would need when he got his hands on the right paperwork, polishing up some of the details of Ghost’s story to make it more believable, before reading off what he had written to Ghost to make sure he got everything right. Ghost nodded once, and that was that.

“Replacement tags will probably be here in two to three weeks.”

“I would like to request leave for two to three weeks from now.”

Price handed him the form, having already grabbed it. He noticed how the man seemed to calm at just the thought of getting to visit his mystery person.

Oh, he thought to himself.

I am definitely joining Roach and Gaz’s bet.

<><><><>

They were lying on the daybed in his streaming room, or, well…

No, that’s not quite right.

Simon was lying on the daybed.

Johnny was lying on top of Simon.

His computer was still softly playing quiet (non-DMCA) music from where his stream had just ended. Instead of turning it off, he had decided to unplug his headset and leave it on, the music just loud enough to be heard.

Simon was sleepily scrolling through his phone, trying to pretend like he hadn’t almost dropped several times while dozing off, desperately trying to stay awake. Johnny had watched his struggle and decided to lay down right on top of Simon, not even trying to pretend like he was trying to fit on the remaining space on the daybed. Why would he when Simon was right there?

It was meant to be a joke, having thrown himself on top of him to annoy the man into sleeping on an actual bed (he claimed he wasn’t tired but the comically loose grip on his phone and the waking world said otherwise.) However, unfortunately for said sleepy man, Simon was very, very comfortable.

His head was resting on Simon’s chest, arms under his back like he actually was just a pillow, one hand reaching higher to feel where Simon’s hair had begun to grow out slightly.

I wonder if he would let me help him cut it…

Simon had said he was like a clingy cat, his free hand running through his hair in the same manner one would pet a cat to prove his point. The joke's on him though, he likes it.

Simon had tried to stop but Johnny didn’t let him, threatening to tickle him if he did.

(“I’m not ticklish, I just don’t want you throwing a tantrum.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,” he was definitely ticklish, and one of these days he was going to prove it.)

At some point, Simon had given up on keeping a grip on his phone, letting it drop to the side. They would probably have to go digging through the cushions to get it out of whatever crevice it had fallen to. As of right now, the idea of ever leaving his spot was comical at best.

The sun had begun to set, orange and pink tinted light filtering through the sheer curtains, making everything look more like a dream. Or maybe it was just the proximity to the man below him that was making him feel so serene.

Johnny took a second to inhale and exhale slowly, appreciating the moment. He hoped that this memory, this beautiful tranquility with Simon, would be something he cherished for a long time to come.

He knew that they had things to do. Soon, Simon would be catching a flight at some ungodly hour, headed back to save the world yet again. But for now, he was happy to nap away in their own little bubble. He never was a religious man but here in the arms of Simon Riley, he was tempted to think heaven was real, and that it was right in front of him.

“I almost forgot,” Simon mumbled, not sounding any more awake than he looked, reaching up for the collar of his shirt. Thankfully, the hand that was running his hair remained. He didn’t like proving the cocky bastard right, but he probably would have thrown a tantrum had he tried to remove it.

“They had some fuck up along the line or something and accidentally printed me an extra set of dog tags. I was just gonna toss ‘em but thought you might want—”

Johnny was now wide awake, sitting up and yanking the chain out of his hands.

“Don’t you fucking dare throw them away, of course I want them!” Simon’s face reddened, a frequent treat for Johnny now that he had gotten more comfortable going without the mask. Simon might have been good at keeping a poker face, but without his mask, he was a blushing mess.

He wondered if the blush was from his obvious jubilation at the gift or if it was because he was now straddling the man. Such pesky details, however, (even ones that would keep future Johnny awake at night) were far less important than examining the necklace in his hands.

It was obvious this was the older set, the metal worn and dented in some spots though the writing was still clearly visible.

“Calm down, I’m not going to take it from you,” the gruff tone was severely undermined by the aforementioned blush. It was hard to sound tough while half asleep on a daybed and being used as another man’s pillow.

Johnny stared at them for a little bit longer, feeling every dent and wondering the story behind how they got there, before putting them on.

He smiled at the man under him, “How do I look?”

He was going to joke, asking if he looked like a rough and tough soldier ready for war, but something in Simon’s eyes made him stop short.

He was looking with… with… Reverence was far too intense of a word for the softness of the moment but it was the only word that came to mind.

Simon reached up with his hand, grabbing the tags, his knuckles grazing his chest.

Well, that’s just fucking unfair.

Simon was supposed to be the blushy one. Not him, goddammit!

Though, he thinks when they make eye contact, they end up tied for who is blushing the most. They stare for a while, maybe it should have felt awkward but it was too adoring for either to feel any form of uncomfortability.

Neither moved.

It was Johnny that broke first, smiling at him, yet again tracing all of the scars he could see. It was his new favorite hobby, especially when Simon would blush making the scars on his face all the more visible.

He took one more second to sleepily appreciate the man before him, then went back to using him as a pillow. His hands went back to where they were before, one under Simon’s back and one playing with his hair. His head, however, did not fall back to his chest, instead resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Simon’s hand returned to running through his hair, his other now coming up to rest on his back, rubbing up and down a few times before the sleepiness from earlier fully returned with his hand stopping somewhere around the small of his back.

Johnny leaned up slightly and gave a chaste kiss to the part of his neck that he could reach, then settled back to where he was. The hand in his hair paused.

“Thank you, Simon.”

A second of delay, and then the hand continued.

“You’re welcome, Johnny.”

Simon shuffled slightly, getting comfy before—

A kiss, on his forehead.

He couldn’t stop the blush and smile if he wanted to. He snuggled closer before drifting off to sleep.

When he woke, he was in his bed, practically tucked in. His window had been opened slightly, blackout curtains that had been drawn closed now swaying slightly with the breeze. When he focused, he realized he could smell petrichor and hear heavy rainfall outside with the occasional grumble of thunder.

There was a note on his nightstand. As he expected, it was Simon’s handwriting, apologizing for not waking him up before he left. It said that he had made breakfast for him (pancakes, with enough for when his sister would inevitably try to steal them), that he made sure to lock the front door, and left the window cracked.

He giggled sleepily at the last line. Regardless of the context, it always made Simon anxious to have the curtains open, much less to leave a window open. But, he also must've known how much Johnny loved the rain and set his worries aside, just this once, so he could wake up to the rain.

He set the note down and flopped back onto his pillows, his hand felt something cold and he remembered.

The dog tags.

John MacTavish is no stranger to crushes and heartbreaks.

He's had high school sweethearts, been in and out of love, he knows his way around the world of dating. Which is why he most certainly does not squeal and kick his legs while holding the tags like some kid with their first crush.

He did it like a grown man, thank you very much.

He grabbed his phone and sent Simon the worst pun he could think of; it was tradition at this point to send him some god-awful joke before his flight.

Simon has probably already forgotten about the whole exchange. He probably woke up and assumed he threw them away when he noticed he wasn't wearing them. It was probably stupid, an insignificant gesture with no meaning. But to Johnny, it felt like everything.

He sighed dreamily at the ceiling and felt the cool metal once more. Thunder roared outside. He thought about how he had felt in the man's arms. Thought about how much he wanted that again.

God.

His phone dinged and he immediately reached over to grab it.

I'm fucked, aren't I?

<><><><>

Elsewhere, Ghost was in an airport terminal, having far too much time to think.

Over the weekend, it was almost impressive how many times Ghost had talked himself into and back out of giving Soap his dog tags. He really hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

Simon felt the spot that Johnny had kissed and wondered if he remembered it. Wondered if he had meant it.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked cradled in his arms when he carried him to his room, the way he had reached out for him when he laid him in bed. The way he had grabbed his wrist and clung to it, grumbling when Simon tried to pull it back.

If asked, he'd say that he had woken up late and that's why he was so far behind schedule. He'd keep the part where he sat there, kneeled in front of Johnny's bed, waiting for him to fall back into a deep enough sleep to pull his arm away all to himself. After all, it would have been rude to wake him up, no?

He had made sure to plug up his phone and, upon seeing the forecasted weather, hesitated before opening the window. It was only barely cracked, just enough for the sounds of the outside world to shamble in, but not so wide as to worry about water damage. He stared at it, convincing himself not to worry and that Johnny would like waking up to the fresh air.

He turned back to make sure the man was still asleep, still comfy, but stopped for a moment. He approached the bed and hesitated before running his fingers through his stupid haircut, almost wishing the man would grab his arm and give him an excuse to stay.

He didn't. Simon did, however, lean in to give him one last kiss on the forehead as some stupidly sappy goodbye, before his brain turned back on and he ripped himself away.

What the fuck is wrong with you? What? He grabs your arm in your sleep so you feel entitled to be able to kiss him?

Simon backed away, staring at the hand that had just been in his hair. He felt dirty.

For fuck’s sake, relax. It's not that big of a deal, you did it earlier; the man fell asleep in your arms, a forehead kiss isn't too much of a stretch.

He went to the kitchen and scrubbed his hands for a while, only stopping when he thought about how much water he was wasting. He still felt dirty.

Not a stretch? You don't get to decide that. How would you feel if someone tried to kiss you while you were unconscious? If they said that they felt they should be allowed to do so because you fell asleep?

He had started making pancakes. Something quick, easy, and reheatable for when Soap woke up. Like making him breakfast would make up for trying to kiss him in his sleep.

Why can't you just be normal?

Eventually, and after a run-in with Soap’s hell-spawn of a twin, he had to leave. The time on his phone showed that he should probably already be halfway to the airport by now but he has always been a selfish man.

He had snagged some paper and left Soap a quick note, hoping the apology would make him feel better about worse sins than not waking him up. It didn't.

He stared at the man for a second, admiring him, before he reminded himself that he was a fucking creep and left.

The storm left the flight delayed by 1.5 hours. Ghost had sat waiting, wireless headphones on and connected, but not playing anything. He had far too much time to think.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked, his dog tags around his neck, silhouetted by the fading light, the sun behind his head as if even the stars knew they could never compare to him.

He stood and started pacing. Amongst the screaming children, feuding families, and people who think they're entitled to listen to their music without headphones, one middle-aged man having an existential crisis didn't stick out.

He thought about how he had never understood weighted blankets so well until Johnny had thrown himself on top of him. It should've hurt. He should've been annoyed. Instead, Simon selfishly hoped he would never get up.

It took him a while to put his finger on what he had been feeling exactly. Finally, he realized.

There, in that moment, he had never been so happy to be alive. It was a startling emotion to discern amongst the swath of negativity he normally felt. It startled him so much, he had snapped out of his reverie and stopped short in his pacing. When he checked the time, he saw he had one missed text from Johnny.

Soap (art streamer): i was trying to think of an airplane joke but none of them landed

Simon chuckled and sat down; he almost forgot about their dumb little tradition.

Ghost: Disliked.

Soap (art streamer): everyone is so mean 2 me 💔

Ghost: It is not my fault your pun was so Boeing.

Soap (art streamer): well i thought i could wing it

Ghost: Did you look up what giving do-

Ghost: About the tags, you

Ghost: I think you make me want to live

Ghost sighed and fell back further into his seat, coming to a conclusion that his subconscious had long ago discovered.

I'm in love, aren't I?

Soap (art streamer): speechless huh? finally, the Wright reaction to my comedic genius

Ghost: Absolutely awful, Mactavish.

Soap (art streamer): :D

Took you long enough, dumbass.

<><><><>

Soap’s twin spent a good bit of time staring at her brother's new accessory.

“Is something wrong?” he challenged, hoping she wasn't in a bothersome mood.

She failed miserably at hiding her shit-eating grin but didn't care.

“Nope!” she replied.

She had run into Ghost early that morning before he left.

"Detergent."

She was pretty sure he never even learned her name, just jumped straight into calling her detergent.

"Ghoul," she greeted, glaring at the man.

Being required by law to not trust him, she checked on her brother as he was still gathering his things and noticed the necklace.

“You gave him your dog tags,” she accused, like she was framing him for murder.

“Yes, I did,” he replied casually, as per usual robbing her of the fight she so desperately wanted to pick.

“Did you tell him what it means?”

“...What does it mean?”

Damn, he was good. If she wasn't convinced that he was the devil incarnate, she might have fallen for his feigned ignorance.

“100 bucks and you buy my silence.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“200 then.”

“It doesn't even mean anything.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose you might be right… JOHN!” their neighbors were probably going to complain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” ooh he was getting panicked now.

“If it doesn't matter then you won't mind me telling him to look it up,” she started walking to his room, “JOHNSON!”

“Fucking Christ, woman! Just— Fucking— Here.”

He pulled out his wallet and started counting bills. Damn, that was easier than she thought.

“What did you say? 100?”

“Nope! That was before inflation. Now it’s 300.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You said 200!”

“So you admit you tried to scam me?”

“Just take the 100 and g-”

She didn't even get to yell, he reached for more before she could finish taking a deep breath in.

“Just shut the fuck up! Here! Three fucking hundred!”

She was tempted to raise her price further, but she was no gambler, she was a strategist. She knew a defeated man when she saw one. If she played this right, she could extort money out of him for a long time to come.

Something, something, vampires not fully killing their victims and all that.

She took the money, counted it, and then held out her hand to shake.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wraith!”

He didn't shake her hand.

“Christ, both of you are awful.”

He packed his stuff and left, broke, broken, and defeated.

She ate as many pancakes as she could, rich and victorious.

She thought about how much power, how much blackmail she had in this moment.

“I’m fantastic actually,” she walked to her room.

I am going to be so fucking rich by the time they get their shit together.

[indigoire]

One-sided conversations with my almost 18 year old cat: "why are you all bones? You're a skin and bones man. God, you're really light bud. Oh, careful, I don't think you should jump down from there. Okay, cuddle times? You're lucky you're so light or I wouldn't like you walking on my chest. Here, follow my fingers. Okay, you don't do that anymore. How blind are you, bug? Okay don't lick my face, your breath stinks. Okay maybe a little. Cuz you're old. Oooh big yawn."

[nommyzommy]

Hello! A request for Taka, mayhaps?

I believe Taka would really love music, so he plays the flute to calm himself down and escape from his problems! (He owns and plays the collection of glass flutes from the Pokemon series, but what he's playing here is a wooden Irish flute! Sorry if I drew it wrong!! I think I made it too long :/)

Gave him a lil' redesign, more in line with my idea of what he'd look like, I hope it won't bother you!

[rexscanonwife]

me irl

[youweremyridehome]

ever see ace rep on a tv show and cry about it?

[bobbyfirminosworld]

For people with dogs, I have a question? I recently got a Bichon Frisé. He's settled perfectly but he's just not eating much, any tips on how I can master this?

[nexus-nebulae]

ugh i got a throat infection and i can feel my throat constricting from it and while i did get some antibiotics for it i only just started it today so i haven't felt any effects yet so i'm just sitting here with an uncomfortably half-closed throat that's really sore all the time

[rubiesintherough]

.

[teakoodrawz]

my arm hurts already so here's Seren in christmas holiday

[quazies]

Kiss the Cook - June 22nd

Pootis is enjoying his summer hiatu- I mean vacation!

He hopes you are all drinking plenty of water during the heat.

[youronlydarlin]

Loser! Simon who's unaware of just how big his cock is. It's so stupidly fat, and he doesn't even know. Clueless why you're pushing your face deeper and deeper into the sheets, saying shit like "s' just the base, love". There's plenty more to go.

He's always so horny too, a monster tenting through his slacks at just the sight of you. Immediately honking your ass, whining in your ear about how much he misses your hole around him. Moments later he'll be begging to put it in, "jus' the tip" he says. But no, poor guy can't help it :( bullying his weeping cockhead against your hole, he's so clumsy that it even slips out a few times :(

He's already too far gone though, thinking with the wrong head. Panting like a dumb mutt while his hips move mindlessly. Ends up just fucking your cheeks. Shoots his load everywhere on your back n apologizes about ruining your shirt. He'll do the laundry, if you let him clean you up with his tongue, promise :(

a/n: uhhhh m'back...? Kinda?? M' still pretty busy, darlings 😭 but have this as a consultation for being dead 😢 ehehe here you go @chnets . Remember to always drink water, and eat!!

Yours, truly,

–Dolly

[nochepsicodelica]

Suggestive

"Tojiii," you squeal when he picks you up, before using his back to shut the car door. You lean forward and take a long whiff of the cologne he spritzed on the collar of his shirt. "Mmm... you smell so good. You trying to seduce me?"

He chuckles at the way you go back and sniff around his neck, like a dog. "Is it working?"

You inhale deeply once more, sighing exaggeratedly before responding. "Uh-huh. Want you to fuck me. Ugh, Toji, baby, i'm ready for you," you say, getting a head start by kissing his neck.

"Nah, pretty girl. Can't do that to you, tonight." He pins you to the door to keep you balanced as he fishes for the keys in his pocket.

"What?" You say, pausing the movement of your lips, your mood quickly deflated.

"What?" Toji repeats, looking at you as he turns the key in the lock. He lifts you off the door before opening it, keeping his eyes on yours.

"Am I not fuckable? You really don't wanna do me?"

"What are you even talking about, ma?" He shuts the door, locking it before carrying you to the bathroom to help you out like he usually does after a night out with plenty of drinks at your disposal.

"You..." your eyes start watering, enormous tears quickly forming and gliding down your cheeks. "You said you don't want me."

"That's not how I meant it, baby. Don't cry."

"What. Ever. I don't care anymore. Just... just put me down," you say, pushing at his chest.

"We gotta get you ready for bed," he says, setting you down on the edge of the sink. He grabs the pack of makeup wipes from the drawer you told him you keep them in and pulls a wipe out. "Close your eyes."

You do as he says, but only because you're stuck there until he moves out of the way. "I'm..." you sigh, heavily. "I'm s-sleeping on the couch, tonight."

"Mm... and why's that?" He asks, while focusing on wiping off the mascara from your eyelashes, and the trail that made its way down your cheeks. He's not concerned for what you said, because he knows for certain that that won't be the case at all.

"'Cause you don't love me. You've made it clear that you don't want to touch me. If we sleep in the same bed, my leg might graze yours." You laugh. "Who knows what'll happen if that happens. I'm surprised you even wanna be this close to me, now."

Toji sighs, throwing out the spent makeup wipe. He rests his hands on the counter, on each side of you, before leaning forward and placing a kiss on your lips. "Just got even closer, mama. What are you gonna do?" He laughs at your widened eyes, and when your expression contorts to one of sadness again, he can't help but maintain the amused grin on his face at how quickly your mood shifted.

"Be sad," you respond, softly. "You don't wanna make love to me? How can you kiss me and not want more?"

The sound of your voice breaking softened him up a little more. That and the insufferable look of hurt in your eyes. "Hey, look at me," he says, cupping your jaw to manually bring your gaze back to his. "It's not like that, at all. Don't cry over this, sweetheart." He runs his thumbs beneath your eyes, brushing away your returning tears. "You know I love you and I want you all the time, but I'm not gonna touch you like that when you're drunk." Your pretty eyes are killing him with how sad they look. Your cheeks are reddened and warm from the mix of the alcohol in your system and your emotions, and your lips are trembling. "Baby, you can't even walk straight. I'm not gonna take advantage of you. Stuff like that is only done by shitty people. You understand?"

"No," you choke out through a sob, breaking open the dam of your emotions.

"Of course you don't," Toji says, a soft smile taking over his features as he picks you up again and carries you to the room. He sets you down on the bed, propping you up against the pillows so you don't fall over. He can hear your sniffling subside as he rummages through your drawers, searching for something to change you into.

"You wanna wear shorts or just one of your really big shirts?" He asks, spotting your favorite oversized t-shirt. You don't answer, keeping your attention on your hands, letting him talk to himself like he's a crazy person. He calls for you, again, nothing more than a "ma", just incase you don't answer again. As he expected, more silence.

"Oh, so you're just not gonna talk to me, anymore?" He asks, turning to look at you, catching the way you shake your head slightly, still not looking at him. He grumbles to himself about your little attitude, before turning back to the dresser. He closes your drawers and opens one of his, fishing out one of the black shirts he always wears, before making his way back to you.

"Arms up," he instructs, grabbing onto the hem of your blouse. You sluggishly roll your eyes and lift your arms, allowing him to pull it off. He unfolds his shirt and scrunches it up so that he can facilitate the process of getting it on you. "Alright, put your arms in," he says, when you just sit there, unmoving. Again, your attitude shows as you follow his instructions, but the second your arms go in the holes and the material of the normally short sleeves extends to your forearms, you gasp.

"Your shirt?" You ask, enthusiastically. "It's your shirt?!" You ask, again, with the most lovestruck look on your face.

Toji snickers. "Yeah, baby. That's my shirt." Your eyes are filled with so much light, it's ridiculous how little it took to get this reaction out of you. You're literally giggling to yourself over a shirt, and he can't see it as anything short of adorable. "Alright, alright. Let's finish up so we can go to sleep."

You're a lot more willing to listen to him, now that your mood is boosted. You unbutton your shorts and lift your hips to slide them off, handing the article to Toji so he can put it in the dirty clothes hamper.

"Gonna go get some stuff from the kitchen. Be right back," he says, glancing at you before leaving the room. Not even two minutes later when he returned, you were already fast asleep, quiet breaths flowing past your lips. You laid on your back, your arms folded above your head. Toji shut the bedroom door before walking over to your nightstand to set a couple of ibuprofen tablets down beside a glass of water. He swiped his thumb over the corner of your lips, collecting the small patch of drool that glistened on your skin and wiping it off on his sweats. He went back to turn off the light, and quickly made his way to his side of the bed.

He turned you onto your side, earning a few irritated whines from you due to the disturbance. "I know, I know," he murmurs, pulling his shirt down to cover your exposed hip. He stayed up a little longer, to keep you from shifting onto your back when you stirred. His hand stayed firm on your waist, preventing you from moving much at all, and occasionally he got to laugh through his nose at your nonsensical sleep ridden mumblings.

[heavenlyraindrops]

☆ “ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ☆

☆ She said “fuck me like I’m famous”| Chapter one

☆ Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, awkward!reader, reader is literally a hermit, no established relationship, not proofread, porn with like a drop of plot, they get slightly awkward after doing it but it’s ok <3 ☆ Word Count: 3.3k | Available on Tumblr & AO3

��Out? For dinner?”

You tore your eyes from your phone to look at Ami, who was watching Chiho roll around on the floor, immersed in whichever new game of pretend she had devised.

“Yes, dinner,” she repeated, then turned to look at you. “I’m meeting a… friend. Not a close one, but a friend nonetheless. And it would do you some good to meet new people, and to get out more.” She raked her eyes over you, from your baggy clothes to messy updo. 

“What’s that meant to mean? I get out plenty often. I’m out right now with you, aren’t I?”

“‘Chilling out’ at my house twice every week isn’t exactly going out, [name],” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood up, stepping towards the kitchen. “You’re like a hermit.”

You furrowed your brows together. “Maybe that’s how I like it.”

You heard water trickling as it filled up her glass, and her voice drift down towards where you were sitting. “I tend to wonder if I’m your only friend.”

At those words you stiffened, eyes opening wide and shooting up, back straight. “What? Friends?” You spluttered. “I have friends. I have plenty of friends. You’re not my only friend.” The words tumbled out of you hastily, and then you paused, flashing her a charming smile, trying to distract her. “You’re just my favourite one!”

She rolled her eyes as she sat back down. “Well, you have awful taste.” She handed you a drinks can. Your favourite.

“Hardly,” you uttered

“Just- you focus on work too much, okay? You need to find balance.” She took your palm, uncurling your fingers and placing the cold can in your hand. “Just come to this dinner.”

“…Fine.” You dug your finger under the tab, trying to get it open. “Who even is this friend, anyways?”

“Kenji Sato.”

You stared at her.

She must have mistaken your silence and blank stare for shock, or stupor instead of a reaction to what you considered to be an underwhelming statement, because she just sat back, letting her words sink in. They did, not that they meant much to you.

“Who?” You said blankly.

She blinked, then leaned forward. “Uh, Ken Sato? The really famous baseball player?”

You took a slow sip of the drink- the carbonation danced on your tongue. “No idea who that is. I don’t follow baseball.”

“You don’t follow anything,” she pointed out. “You’re completely out of the loop.”

You threw your hands in the air, exasperated. “Just- look, is he someone I should be impressed with? Like, am I-“

“I’ve mentioned him once,” Ami cut in. “Played in the States, moved to Japan suddenly? I was wondering why, and mentioned it to you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you weren’t listening.”

“No no, I was,” you said quickly, then frowned, furrowing your brow. “Wait, didn’t you interrogate him, once? Twice?”

“Thrice,” she corrected you. “And it's called an interview, not an interrogation.”

“Same thing,” you said indignantly, with another gulp of ice cold carbonated sugar. “And you’re sure he’s just a friend.” You eyed her, testing her for any telltale signs on her face suggesting otherwise.

She simply stared at you, unimpressed. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you said, stretching out the vowel, rolling it along your tongue. You stopped. “Okay, fine, I’ll come to your dinner thing.”

“Yes!” She said, sounding a bit too relieved. You stared at her. “Sorry, it’s just- I’m so glad you’re finally-“ she cut off with an excited, pleased noise. 

You looked at her, concern for yourself creeping into your expression. “Am I really that-“

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Now, please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night-“

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yes, do you have plans?” She didn’t wait for an answer, because she already knew it. “No? Thought so. Please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night, because it’ll be worth it.”

“Uh huh,” you said slowly.

“I wonder if you even remember how to behave in a social setting,” she mused, and you smacked her shoulder. 

That night when you got home and flopped down on your bed, pulling out your phone, your finger hovered over the search bar.

What was his name?

Kenji Sato.

You were typing in the words before you even realized it, and seeing the images, you froze.

Oh. 

Shoving down any sort of deranged thoughts that could have been formulating in your head, you buried your face into your pillow and tried to fall asleep.

-

“[name]!”

“Ami!” You stuttered. Ami came towards you, eyes lighting up as she took in your appearance.

“You look really different,” she said, taking in your appearance. “Really pretty.”

You didn’t often wear clothes that were form-fitting or flattered your figure, but you’d decided that since it was a dinner with basically a celebrity, you might as well have put in some extra effort into your looks. 

“Thanks,” you said, as she led you through the restaurant doors and to your table. Pausing, she turned to look at you. 

“You look sick,” she frowned. “And nervous.” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe this really was a bad idea. I should have know you can’t handle-“

“No!” You almost burst out. “No, I mean, I can do this. It’s not that big a deal. I’m just meeting a new person, right?” 

She nodded hesitantly, still frowning at you.

“Right. So, not a big de-“

“Hey, Ami.”

You froze, shoulders stiffening.

“Kenji.” Ami turned to him. You still hadn’t looked at him yet, eyes fixed desperately on Ami’s face. “This is [name]. Name, this is-“

“Ken Sato.” He held out his hand to you, to shake. You stared at his long fingers, then slowly looked up to his face. He was wearing this easy, charming grin. Your knees almost buckled. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

You grabbed his hand and shook it. “N-nice to meet you.” You both held your stare a few seconds longer than you needed to. 

He raised a dark brow, and you could have sworn his expression had flickered with amusement before he turned back to Ami. “And here I was worried I was late.” He waved you both on towards the table, where you took your seats.

Ami was looking at you, frowning. You gave her a wobbly smile back. 

Oh, fuck this.

-

“So, what did you say you work as, [name]?” 

Kenji’s voice snapped you out of your haze, and you looked up at him, eyes widening. “Oh, I’m an, uh, I’m an author.” You stared hard at your food, then looked back up at him to gauge his reaction. 

He just leaned back against his chair. “Cool.” His eyes were set on yours. You flushed. “What sort of stuff do you write?”

“Uh,” your eyes slid to Ami, who was looking at you expectantly. “Romance, mostly.” The confession made your cheeks burn but you were too much of a mess to lie smoothly, not that it had even occurred to you in the first place- and Ami would have teased you about it later.

But Kenji just formed a small ‘o’ with his mouth, then smirked. “That’s cute.”

“Is it?” You had to fight to not make your voice sound like a squeak. He just nodded, taking a bite of his food like it was nothing. 

He’d said it so casually that Ami hadn’t even noticed, instead pouring herself more of her drink and commenting on how Kenji had healed up. You blinked, confused, and turned as he held his arm out, flexing it.

“Yeah, quicker than I thought,” he said. You could see the faint outline of his muscles through the fabric and were so prepared to just jump out the window, then and there. He must have caught you staring because, without turning his head, he locked eyes with you and fucking winked.

You bit your lip, rubbing your thighs together and trying to ignore every instinct in your body screaming at you to throw yourself across the table. “You got hurt?”

He dropped his arm back to his side, rolling his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s fine now though.”

You didn’t press any farther, just eating your food in flushed silence, trying to ignore the burning you could feel in between your thighs. 

-

“How’d you get here, [name]?” Ami asked. You stared desperately at your phone screen.

“Cab,” you muttered, rubbing your hand on the back of your neck. The app was empty. “But there aren’t any available.”

You checked the time. Half past eleven. You shivered, the night air biting at your skin. Ami looked at you, concerned. “Should I drop you?”

“No. No.” Guilt ate away at your gut. “No, you need to get home to Chiho, and I’m in the completely opposite direction- it’s not worth it.” You stepped back, and you could feel Kenji look over your shoulder at your screen. He leaned down to your level, breath warm on your ear. You shivered again, but not from the cold. “I’ll just wait until something shows up.”

“What’s your address?” He tilted his face slightly towards you, before pulling away. You stared at him, then frowned at him slightly, opening your mouth to reply, but Ami cut in.

“Look, I-“ she glanced at her watch. “I really need to go.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, [name].”

You waved her off. “Don’t be.”

And she was gone, her car rolling off. You looked back at Kenji, and quickly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, mumbling your address.

He tapped something into his phone, and his face twisted into a satisfactory grin. “It’s on the way to mine. So I’ll just drop you.” He started walking down the street.

You stumbled after him. “Oh- are you- are you sure?”

He turned, walking backwards, in the same direction but facing you know as he shrugged, grinning. “Why not? Better than waiting around in the cold for a ride.”

“R-right.” 

He led you to where a motorbike was parked, and you blinked. “You rode here on a motorcycle?”

He shrugged his blue biker’s jacket off, and without warning, draped it over your shoulders. “Yeah. Surprised?”

“I… don’t know.” Your face was burning at the action. “Are you sure…” you fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

He waved his hand at it dismissively. “Take it. You look cold.”

You fell silent. Then: “I don’t have a helmet.”

He reached into a compartment, pulling one out. “Spare. For situations like this, I guess. Comes in handy.”

“Situations like this?” You echoed, as he stepped towards you, setting the helmet down over your head and fastening it tight. Your heart was going a million miles a minute.

“When I have to make sure a pretty girl like you gets home, obviously,” he said casually, but the look on his face betrayed his nonchalant tone. He clambered onto the bike. “Come on, then. Get on.”

You blinked, face burning even harder than before, but did as he told you to. 

-

“Thanks. For taking me home, I mean.” 

He looked up at you as you pulled the helmet off your head, imitating the action himself. A strand of hair fell in front of his forehead. “Don’t think about it,” he shrugged, and your grip on the helmet tightened as you clutched it to your chest. 

“Oh, but I will.” You dropped your voice to a husky whisper, and watched his jaw clench. Oh thank you god, I remember how to flirt. Kind of. 

Now it was his turn to become flustered, as he gave you another grin, shaky this time. “Really?” He asked, voice hoarse. You stepped back, towards your house.

“You should come inside,” you suggested. “It’s not that late.”

He raised his eyebrow. “It’s almost midnight,” he laughed, but didn’t object to your offering, licking his lips nervously. You paused your walk up towards your front door, turning and looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, fuck this,” he muttered, abandoning the bike and walking towards you. Your stomach exploded into a flurry of butterflies as you both hurried towards your front door. 

-

You bit back a whimper as his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you with a hunger you hadn’t been met with before. The door hadn’t even shut before his hands were on your waist, dragging you close to him- and then it was, and he pinned you against it, your back pressing into the ridges of the wood. 

He pulled away, both of your breathing ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours, eye contact unwavering. He cursed under his breath. “Sorry- I should have- I should have asked.”

You were barely able to move your mouth, shaking your head lightly. “It’s fine,” you breathed, and his eyes flicked back down to your lips, grip on your waist tightening. “You didn’t have to.”

“God, you’re-“ he choked on his own words. “You’re pretty.” 

You didn’t have time to respond before his mouth was capturing yours again, heat burning all over as one of his hands wandered to grip your nape, holding you steady. His teeth grazed your lip and you gasped, but he pulled away, pressing kisses all the way down your jaw and collarbone, leaving a trail of blooming bruises in his wake. His other hand fell from your waist to hip, pressing you close up against him, and heat pooled in your core. 

“Ken,” you managed to whisper weakly through the dizzying haze clouding your mind. He paused, teeth pressed against your skin, and he leaned back up to you, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear, humming. “Are you sure this is a g-good idea?” Your voice was shaking. He frowned, pulling away, and his fingers dug into your hips. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” His voice was husky with desire, eyes trained on your every movement. You could feel his breath on your skin. You opened your mouth, searching for a reason, but couldn’t find any. He trailed his fingers down your neck, brushing over the marks, to the collar of your top, tugging at it. “Come on.”

You stumbled after him, shedding the jacket, ignoring it as it fell to the floor, and he pulled you down onto the couch with him, hands on your waist. You fell into his lap, straddling him. He grinned. “Still can’t find a reason?”

“…No.”

“Then just relax,” he told you, lips still pressed against your jaw, fingers creeping beneath the hem of your top. “Because I’m about to make you feel really good.”

At his words you bit back a moan, sucking in a harsh breath as you bit your lip, involuntarily rolling your hips against him. He hissed, tipping his head back. You were certain his hands were going to leave marks everywhere they touched, feeling them dig into your hips as you dove onto his neck, suckling and biting, anything to repay the affection he’d shown you earlier.

His hand fisted your hair, gently but firmly tugging you back and away. “Stop it,” he hissed. “Just let me do my thing, okay?”

You looked at him, confused, and slightly hurt, until he quickly pressed a reassuring kiss to your lips. “I said I’d make you feel good, so just sit back and let me, got it?”

You didn’t argue with him, not when he flipped you around so that your back was pressed against the couch, or when he sank to his knees, pushing your legs open, letting out a shaky breath as your skirt hiked right up your thighs. 

He let out a breathless laugh. “You’re wet,” he teased, his hot breath hitting your skin. He pressed a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, making you shiver, then another, each one lasting longer before the one before, leaving marks littering all over your inner thighs. You bit your lip- the mere sight of his face in between your legs was enough to get you dripping, even more than you were before, and he seemed to notice, because he let out an amused chuckle.

“Wh-what?” Your voice was broken, and hitched when he pressed his thumb to your clothed clit, sending a jolt of pleasure into your cunt. He smirked at your reaction. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your soaked panties, tugging them slowly down your legs. Your teeth pressed down on your bottom lip harder. His eyes flicked up to meet your expression. “What? Nervous?” 

You didn’t reply, just shaking, and he let out a slow breath, pressing his lips back against your inner thigh as his expression softened. “Don’t be, baby.” His lips curled back into his signature grin. “I told you you could relax, remember?”

You flushed, and nodded.

Without warning, he dove in, lips pressing down on your clit. You whimpered, not even enough time to react before his tongue licked a long strip up your entrance, making you twitch and spasm, throbbing pleasure aching. Your legs instinctively pulled together but he forced them back apart, tongue tracing slow patterns across your bundle of nerves, eyes hooded with lust as he watched your flinch and gasp. 

You let out a broken whimper of his name, and felt him tense under you- but he didn’t stop his movements, slipping his tongue in between your folds, stretching you out with his fingers. You bucked your hips, but he grabbed your hip with his other hand, pinning you down to keep you from moving. “Shhh,” he whispered, his low voice sending vibrations into your core. You let out a desperate moan- it took everything in you to not desperately start grinding against his face. He chuckled slightly at your pitiful state, turning his attention back to your dripping cunt, slipping a finger inside. Your back arched, hand flying to your mouth to clamp over it. A finger slipped inside, curling to hit that sweet spot- you almost saw stars.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, screwing your eyes shut. “I think I’m gonna cum-“

He simply hummed at your words, the vibrations of his voice sending another shockwave through you, lapping at you like he was hungrier than before, fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace. You knew what he was saying.

Go on. Cum. 

And you did, a broken cry of his name slipping past your lips as the orgasm crashed over you, legs shaking as he drew out your high for as long as possible. And when you finally came down he pushed himself up, towards you, capturing your lips in another feverish kiss. 

You could see the shaky movements of his chest as he breathed heavily, feel his boner pressed up against you, his face flushed and burning to the touch. You pulled away. 

“Are you… shoud I…” You reached for his zipper, despite the fact your voice was heavy with fatigue but he just shook his head, laughing breathlessly.

“No, no, I… don’t worry about me.” He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll just- where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the corridor, first door on the left,” you mumbled, slumping back. He stood up, adjusting your head on the couch.

“Okay, I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

You heard his footsteps hurry away and the door shut.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed, with you laying on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, when you heard his footsteps approach you again. You looked up at him drowsily.

“Hey.” Your voice was barely audible. “You should stay here for the night.”

He opened his mouth, but didn’t object, even when you waved him over to lay next to you. You settled on top of him, laying your head on his chest. His arm looped around your waist. 

“[name],” he muttered. You lifted your head. “Is this just a… one time thing?”

You tilted your head. “Do you want it to be?”

He frowned, then shook his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

You smiled. “Me neither.”

☆ A/N: visit either the first tag or the pinned post to find the other chapters!

[pucksandpower]

Champagne Kisses

Lando Norris x Piastri!Reader

Summary: the taste of champagne has never been sweeter than when it’s being poured down your skin in celebration of your boyfriend … too bad your brother didn’t get the memo that these particular festivities were supposed to be private

Warnings: 18+ content

Note: congratulations to my favorite McLaren fan @struggling-with-drivers and all of the other Lando fans who have plenty of reason to celebrate tonight 🫶

The champagne sprays over the sweaty crowd as Lando holds the trophy aloft, a wide grin plastered across his face. This is the moment he’s dreamed of since he was a kid racing karts — his first Formula 1 win.

As the celebrations continue on the podium, Lando’s eyes scan the crowd of papaya below, landing on you watching with a proud smile. He gives you a subtle wink, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. You feel your cheeks flush hot.

Later, once the chaos has died down, you slip away from the McLaren garage and head towards the drivers’ rooms. Glancing around to make sure the coast is clear, you duck inside Lando’s room and lock the door behind you.

“Where’s my winner?” You call out in a singsong voice.

Lando emerges from the bathroom, a white towel slung low around his hips as water droplets cling to his toned torso. “Well, well. If it isn’t my gorgeous supportive girlfriend.” He crosses the room in a few strides, pulling you into a searing kiss.

You melt against him, tangling your fingers in his dampened curls. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”

Lando grins, resting his forehead against yours. “This calls for a celebration.”

He grabs the bottle of champagne leftover from the podium ceremony and pops the cork with a hiss. Taking a swig, he offers it to you. “Your turn, love.”

You accept the bottle, the bubbles tickling your throat as you drink deeply. Lando watches you with hooded eyes, licking his lips unconsciously.

Setting the bottle down, you sink to your knees in front of him. “Let me properly congratulate the newest race winner.”

Lando’s breath hitches as you mouth along the tented towel. “Oh f-fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You smirk up at him. “Not a bad way to go out though, right?”

Pushing the towel aside, you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue along the silky shaft. Lando groans loudly, fisting a hand in your hair to guide your movements.

“Yes, just like that. God, you’re so good at this.”

You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction as you bob your head rapidly. His hips snap forwards, driving himself deeper into your willing mouth.

“I’m so close already,” he pants, thrusting erratically. “I want to … can I?”

You just hum in agreement around him, sending delicious vibrations along his length. With a guttural groan, Lando’s release spills down your throat as his thighs tremble.

Pulling back, you swipe your thumb across the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smile. “Mmm, my favorite drink.”

Lando chuckles breathlessly, hauling you up into a filthy kiss, the tang of his arousal sharp on your lips. He grabs the bottle of champagne, tilting it against your lips.

“Open up, darling. Time for a little celebration of our own.”

Dutifully, you part your lips to accept the fizzy stream. It spills over your tongue and down your body, soaking through your clothes in cool rivulets. Lando’s eyes darken with lust as he drinks in the sight of you, sodden and panting.

“Look at you, all messy and debauched. Maybe I should get on the podium more often.”

With a wicked gleam, you shrug off your drenched dress, kicking away your shoes to stand in just your skimpy bra and underwear. “Keep winning and you can do whatever you want to me, champ.”

Lando growls, the bottle forgotten as he crashes his mouth against yours hungrily. You moan into the kiss, nails raking down the tanned planes of his back.

He walks you backwards until your thighs hit the couch, tumbling down with you cradled beneath him. The plush fabric squelches beneath your damp bodies as Lando grinds his rapidly re-hardening length against you shamelessly.

You whine at the delicious friction, arching up to meet his thrusts. “Don’t tease me, Lando.”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth along the sensitive column of your throat.

His rough palms cup your breasts, kneading the soft mounds through the flimsy lace. You gasp at the sparks of pleasure, digging your nails into the flexing muscles of his biceps.

Impatiently, you hook a leg around his waist to urge him closer. The scrap of material covering your core does little to dull the scorching heat of him pressing insistently against your slick folds.

“Please, Lando,” you beg shamelessly. “I need you inside me.”

With a groan, he tugs your underwear aside and thrusts home in one slick motion. You both moan loudly at the feeling of being joined so intimately once more.

Lando starts a punishing pace, hips snapping forwards as his cock drives into your fluttering depths over and over. You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving crescent marks in the tender skin as euphoric cries spill from your lips.

“God, you feel so good wrapped around me,” Lando pants, dropping his forehead against yours. “My gorgeous, perfect girl. Always ready for me, yeah?”

“Always,” you gasp out between moans. “Only for you, Lando. My race winner.”

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation as his thrusts grow sloppy and erratic. With a final cry, you shatter around his thickness, clenching down hard enough to drag Lando over the edge too.

You clutch at each other through the haze, trembling and sated as your breathing slowly evens out. Lando peppers lazy kisses across your face, tangling his fingers in your sweat-damp hair.

“Love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin. “Can’t believe I get to have you.”

You smile dopily up at him. “Sap. I love you too, my future champion.”

A loud bang at the door startles you both, Lando instinctively rolling to shield you with his body. The handle jiggles fruitlessly before a familiar Australian accent calls out.

“Oi, Lando! You in there, mate? Let me in, I want to celebrate!”

Lando freezes above you, eyes going comically wide. “Oh shit ...” he whispers. “It’s Oscar!”

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice comes again, sharper this time. “Everything okay? Open up!”

You look at Lando in panic, clothes and coverings hopelessly askew. The doorknob rattles more insistently as Oscar tries to force his way in.

“Just one second!” Lando shouts back, grabbing the towel to wrap around his waist as he crosses to the door. He cracks it open a fraction. “Hey mate, what’s up?”

Oscar doesn’t wait for an invitation, shoving his way inside with a wide grin. “Don’t ‘what’s up’ me, you little shit! My teammate finally got a win, time to get messy!”

He stops short, brows shooting up as he takes in the state of disarray. Lando tugs the towel more securely around his hips as Oscar’s gaze lands on your disheveled, half-naked form sprawled on the couch.

You hold your breath, suddenly very aware of your compromising position and state of undress. Lando follows Oscar’s line of sight, wincing as he turns back slowly.

The two teammates stare at each other for a beat before Oscar breaks the silence.

“Is that my fucking sister?”

“Oscar, I can explain-” Lando starts, hands raised placatingly.

But Oscar is already stalking forward, fury etched across his face. “You sick bastard! My teammate and my twin sister?”

He grabs Lando by the shoulders, shoving him back against the wall hard. “I’m going to make sure you never have kids, you piece of shit!”

You scramble upright, clutching your bra to your chest. “Oscar, stop!” You plead, rushing over to insert yourself between the fuming teammates. “It’s not what you think.”

Oscar scoffs, not releasing his grip on Lando’s shoulders. “Not what I think? He had you half-naked and covered in … is that champagne?”

You wince at his disgusted tone. “We’re together, Oscar. We have been for months.”

“Months?” Oscar looks between you and Lando, comprehension and rage warring on his features. “You’ve been sneaking around with my teammate this whole time? Behind my back?”

Lando finally finds his voice. “Look, mate, I didn’t mean any disrespect. You know how much I care about your sister.”

“Care about her?” Oscar laughs bitterly. “Is that what you call bending her over after races? Treating her like some ...”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you snap, anger flaring. “I’m not some conquest, Oscar. I love him.”

Oscar’s eyes widen at your admission, looking almost wounded. Lando takes your hand, squeezing it tightly as he meets Oscar’s hard stare.

“It’s true,” Lando says quietly. “We’re crazy about each other. Have been for ages.”

“This is … messed up,” Oscar runs a hand through his hair, regarding you both warily. “As teammates, we can’t let this impact the team.”

“It won’t,” you insist. “We’ve kept it professional so far.”

Oscar grimaces as his eyes rake over your state of undress and the clear signs of your activities. “Evidently.”

An awkward silence stretches between you before Lando speaks up again.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to, but ...”

“But what?” Oscar demands. “You thought I’d be thrilled my baby sister was sneaking around shagging my teammate?”

You open your mouth to retort but Lando cuts you off, stepping closer to Oscar.

“I know how it looks, and the situation’s not ideal. But I swear on everything, I would never hurt her or disrespect your family like that.” His eyes are deadly serious as he holds Oscar’s stare. “You have to know how much she means to me.”

Oscar’s jaw tenses mulishly for a long moment before he exhales a harsh breath. “If you break her heart, I’ll make sure you can never drive a car again, let alone race one,” he growls.

A hesitant smile tugs at Lando’s lips as you feel relief wash over you. “Deal, mate.”

“Now get some bloody clothes on,” Oscar grimaces, waving a hand vaguely in your direction as he turns away. “Jesus, you two are rank.”

You huff out a laugh, pulling Lando in for a quick kiss before grabbing your discarded clothes.

As Oscar fiddles with the champagne bottle, refusing to tear his eyes away from the ceiling, you share a look with Lando, hearts swelling with love and hope for whatever the future may bring.

Lando Nowins is no more.

[kinslayersadvocate]

I love show! aegon ii because my man, in fact, does not try hard at all.

or peharps life is so unbearable to him that he does try hard but everything he can accomplish is to get up long enough take that half-full wine bottle bc he can't function without it.

either way that's the representation i need.