#i think i can visibly see the different in my writing

[luimagines]

Caught K-I-S-S-I-N-G Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

Part two will include Legend, Twilight and Warrior.

Content under the cut!

Legend

You sighed, running your hands through Legend’s hair as he rested on your chest. He sighed in return and turned his head to look at you. “Rupee for your thoughts?”

You shrugged, smiling and poking his cheek. “This is nice.”

“Oh... I think so too.” Legend blushes softly and hides his face against you once more. You bury your hands in his hair again. 

The summer breeze passes over the both of you. The grasses around you whisper soft nothing around the two of you with the sun draping a soft blanket over your shoulders.

Legend moves and shift, pushing himself up. He moves up, putting his hands on either side of your face. You poke his cheek again, feeling too relaxed to be bothered. “Yes? Care I help you?”

Legend kisses the tip of your nose. “Why are you so cute?”

You bite your lip, trying to control your beating heart. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If anything, you’re too cute. It shouldn’t be allowed.”

Legend leans down to kiss your lips softly. He whispers, resting on top of you you once more. “Impossible.... I love you.”

“I love you too.” You say sweetly. You bring your arms up and hug, getting comfortable with the change in weight placement. You run your nails over his scalp and Legend all but flops on top of you. You grunt and chuckle “Enjoy that?”

“You don’t ever have to stop... like ever.”

You laugh a little more. “That’s fine by me. I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.” You whisper back, feeling content and warm and safe.

There’s a soft crunch of damp grass and twigs being crushed as someone makes their way over to where you are. You pray they don’t find you. You had only just gotten Legend to relax enough as it is.

“Oh.” Time blinks and coughs. “I was wondering where you both went. My mistake.”

Legend groans and rolls off of you. “What is it, Old Man? Is the Captain having another hissy fit again?”

Time gives him an unimpressed look. “Vet.”

“I’m right and you know it.” Legend points at Time’s face, sitting up. “Are we needed or not?”

Time rolls his eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes. The Knight of Skyloft is looking for you.”

Legend sticks his tongue out and turns to you. He runs his hand down the side of your cheek. “I’ll try to come back.”

“It’s over.” You sigh.

“I can come back!”

“But you never do!” You pout. “It’s ok. Go see what Sky wants. He wouldn’t ask for your help unless he needed it.”

Legend seems a little put off by your words but he eventually stands. He pokes Time, hard, but Time doesn’t seem to feel it. “You owe me time with my lover, Old Man.”

“Noted.”

Twilight

You were both laying against the tree, taking some time for yourselves before the group could catch onto your disappearance. Twilight was actually the laying against the tree. You were laying against Twilight. 

You let out a contented sigh and turn around, rolling around gently on top of your boyfriend so you wouldn’t be digging into him. 

He huffed jokingly and put an arm around your waist. “And where do you think you’re going?”

You giggle and cross your arms over his chest. His eyes open and he greets you with a charming smile. “Hello little darlin’~”

“Hello.” You smile back. “Go back to sleep. I’m just looking at you.”

He snorts and moves his arms to wrap around you better as he adjusts his position against the tree. “Oh? Is that all? You tend to do that a lot. I should start charging.”

You laugh and flick his nose. He scrunches it. “Yeah? And what would you demand? We both know I don’t have rupees.”

“Kisses.” A boyish smile crosses over his face.

“Ah.” You smile wider. “I think I can do that.”

You lean in and peck his gently. “Like that?”

“Hmm...” Twilight grins. “Not enough to pay the toll.”

“The toll.” You echo incredulously. “Dork.”

You kiss him again and his hands come up to hold you gently in place as he kisses you back.

A twig snaps. “SORRY... bad time.”

You pull back and move a little ways away so you can see who just should up. It’s Wild. You didn’t even know his face could get that red. It matches his scars. “Oh, hey champion. Need something?”

Twilight is less amused. “Nope. He just said so.”

You smack your boyfriend. “Link, behave.”

Twilight jokingly sticks his tongue out at you, dissolving into a soft smile once you said his name. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

“Liar.” You hiss and turn back to Wild. The poor guys is scratching the back of his head, walking backwards slowly. “Wild? You ok?”

“Y-yeah... I’ll just... go.. get the Captain instead.” He says awkwardly. “Don’t even worry about it.”

You’re tempted to worry about it but Twilight tightens his grip on you before you can even think about getting up. You look at him for an answer but he doesn’t remotely seem apologetic. In fact, he looks quite smug. You sigh. “Alright, but if you need anything... You know where we are I guess.”

“.....sure...” Wild makes his escape.

You turn your head to scold Twilight but he silences you with a kiss before you can even get the words out. “You love me.”

You huff. “You’re lucky that I do. What if it was important?”

He kisses you again. “Like he said, the Captain can do it.”

You... can’t really argue with that.

Warrior

“Do we have everything?” You looked in the bags you had bought, trying to go over the mental list that you had.

Warrior holds your other hand in his, carrying the majority of the bags in the other “I think we do. You still have the list, right?”

You hum and stop walking. Warrior stops as well and lets go of your hand so that you can rummage through your pocket to dig out the list.

You find the tiny scrap of paper. It’s been folded multiple times and you weren’t the one to write it but you can make out what it says for the most part. You go down every item and do you best to remember if you had come across it earlier.

You more or less can recall the all items on the list with the exception of three, but was because you had already looked and no one was selling them in the area. You nod to yourself, satisfied with your work. “Yup! That’s everything.”

Warrior grins and holds his hand out to you again. You take it without hesitation.

You skip to catch up to him and land by his side. He chuckles and pulls you a little closer. “Cute.”

He pecks your lips.

You grin. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“I just think you’re cute in general. Is there anything wrong with that?” He challenges playfully.

“I suppose not.”

“Good.” He smirks and kisses you again.

A high pitched piercing whistle can be heard from just beyond you. It last a solid three seconds before it jumps another note higher. It’s an obnoxious wolf whistle.

You both break apart with a slight jolt and look in the direction the sound.

Hyrule stands just a little ways away with a smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes while Warrior meets The Traveler’s grin with a deadpanned expression. You can hear the other hero laugh as Warrior pulls you tighter to his side. “Very funny, Traveler!”

“Thank you!” He calls back, not at all sounding remotely apologetic.

You snort.

Warrior raises an eyebrow before unexpectedly pulling you back in and kissing you deeply. You think you can hear the grocery bags falling to the ground. Warrior’s hand comes up to caress your cheek not too long afterwards.

You melt into his touch, instantly forgetting that Hyrule was even nearby to begin with.

You think you hear him yell out something else but you’re too focused on the man in front of you and the way he tenderly holds you to care. Warrior pulls back with a dazed and borderline sultry look on his face. “There.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t worry about it.” His smile turns devilish. “I quite liked that a lot.”

Part 3

[hedgehog-moss]

I need to confess something—my last post presented a deceptively idyllic vision of my hike in the snow. I only posted photos from the tranquil walk home at dusk and neglected to mention that I (once again) got lost in a featureless expanse of snow and briefly became convinced I would never find the road again and would have to dig a little den like an Arctic fox to spend the night.

You see, there's this place where Pandolf really loves to go for a walk on snowy days—it's on top of this plateau here:

^ see the fence in the middle, that curves to the left? Nothing bad can happen as long as you follow it. There are lots of landmarks in this direction, like trees, more fences, and a couple of houses.

In the other direction, however, lies The Nothing.

Here's a photo of Pandolf (eagerly) standing near the edge of The Nothing:

Characteristics of The Nothing: it is vast, and white, and becomes more and more featureless the farther you go into it—

—and Pandolf really, really loves it.

Even when he falls into a surprise hole where the snow is suddenly three times as deep (another characteristic of The Nothing), he'll just push himself out in one great powerful jump and keep frolicking.

Or he'll remain in the spot where the snow is deeper and try his best to bury his entire self into it.

He sometimes gets crazy eyes in The Nothing.

We always start this walk with such good resolutions.

We're definitely staying close to the fence this time! With all the lovely landmarks on the left!

And then, inevitably,

Further notes from my studies: • The Nothing has some small plants and rocks, but using them as landmarks is foolish, as they will eventually disappear. • No matter how many foot-, paw-, and dog-headprints you leave and how deep they are, they will disappear before you are able to retrace your steps, probably because The Nothing is always so windy.

Pandolf thinks this is a great characteristic of The Nothing, as it means he never runs out of immaculate snow to dive into.

The wind and the resulting snow mist are the really treacherous things about this place. These photos were taken in roughly the same spot, a couple of hours apart. In the first one, the fence on the left is clearly visible; in the second one, it has started to melt into The Nothing.

There's always a moment when I end up standing in the middle of, well, nothing, with indistinguishable whiteness in every direction, under my feet, above my head, left, right, and I start thinking about writing poignant farewell messages in my Notes app for my family to find at some point in the future.

One last interesting thing about The Nothing is the way Pandolf reacts when I finally find my bearings again and start walking faster, determined to get back to the safety of the road before it gets dark.

Pandolf then just

It's very different than the playful, energetic way in which he normally buries his head in the snow. This second type of burying is clearly a form of protest—if I continue walking away Pan will reluctantly follow me for 20 or so metres, then flatten himself to the ground again, in the same despondent way.

Hypothesis #1: He is trying to play dead like a possum, hoping I will go "well, I can't lug a dead dog all the way home, I'd better leave him here." And then he'll stay with The Nothing forever.

Hypothesis #2: He is trying to lay as flat as possible so as to become all but invisible against the snow. It's unclear if he knows he is the wrong colour for this.

Hypothesis #3: He is trying to commune with The Nothing, burying words of devotion and friendship deep into the snow and promising to return soon.

Conclusion: I'm sorry, I know that's a very long post, but seeing as each of these photos depicts perfect felicity on Earth, I find it hard to delete any. I also like how I intended this post to be about my long disoriented trek through the snow, wondering if I was going to find the fence or the road again before dark—and then I got distracted by how happy Pandolf was. Which is exactly how I end up getting lost in The Nothing every single time!!

[hanasnx]

being spencer’s secret lowkey girlfriend who also happens to work at the FBI, but in a different unit. and there’s always talk about how hot you are and spencer always hears how much people want to fuck you.

and he just has to laugh to himself because at the end of the day he’s the one who gets to fuck you into the mattress every single night 🙂‍↕️🩷

OH, SHE’S SO HOT — s.reid

“ be my addiction, material girl / wrapped ‘round my finger like diamonds and pearls ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | criminal minds. NOTES. thank god u said smthn anon ive been wanting to write about smthn like this. also im only on s1 so those are the characters i’ll be using. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ established relationship ノ everybody thirsting over you is currently single ノ suggestive material.

“she’s pretty.” jennifer relents with a shrug. her curiosity gets the better of her and she leans forward for a better glimpse of you. this isn’t your unit, but you’re paying a visit to hotch over at the far side of the room. “she’s really pretty.” she muses, her tone shifting to one of admission while she sizes you up. it’s not that you’re any kind of threat or unwelcome presence, but now the wheels in jj’s head are turning, “her and hotch aren’t… they couldn’t be…” SPENCER REID, who’s been sitting politely at his desk, perks his head up. he hadn’t seen you come in, but his pen raises and his lips part, all to claim you as someone he knows until he’s interrupted.

“girl like that? c’mon. at the very least he’s thinking about it.” derek chimes in, smoothly taking an open seat in one of the desk clumps to join the gossiping throng. spencer closes his mouth, pen dropping to his lap defeatedly. jj shifts in her position, having leaned her tailbone on the edge of the desk to cross her ankles smartly. now she needs a better angle to see you and aaron’s conversation. derek gestures to your back with his hand vaguely, addressing the group like he’s an expert in using his background in profiling for this specific strain of body language. spencer obediently follows the direction, furrowed brows landing on you as he cranes his neck to see you. “look at the way he’s standing. toes pointed towards her, making eye contact. he wants her.” derek scoffs, taking a long sip from his coffee as he studies you. it’s hard to tell from just the sliver of your face visible, but he’s seen enough of you to know you’re a catch. the genius starts to scratch his head.

“guys, hate to be the buzzkill, but can we get back on task?” elle interrupts just as jj was opening her mouth to continue scheming. “we don’t know anything about her. besides, hotch isn’t the kind of guy.”

“kind of guy to what?” jj clarifies with an impish tug to her lips, pivoting her head to cast elle a sly glance.

elle meets her gaze. “to get into a workplace relationship. he’s too professional for that.” she pinches her one shoulder in a shrug as she organizes a pile of files. spencer’s lips purse, mind racing at the prospect of being judged for unprofessionalism. it did occur to him there would be some scrutiny involved, which is why you and him have mostly been sneaking around thus far. still, it’s intimidating to have it laid out like this in front of him… and oddly thrilling. his fingers begin to fiddle with the pen in his lap. big, brown eyes glance from person to person as they lead the conversation, soaking in all the information like a sponge.

“he’s a guy.” derek once again imposes his theory, and says the statement like it’s definitive. even jj rolls her eyes. spencer clenches his jaw, tilting his head to himself as if it say, yes, that’s true. i fell for it, too.

“just because you haven’t been getting any doesn’t mean you get to go and make it everyone’s problem.” the blonde teases, straightening to her full height, heels clacking as she passes behind derek, giving him a healthy pat on his shoulder while he laughs sarcastically.

“ha. ha.” it’s a dry reply, one that leaves the group quiet for a second while penelope takes the recently departed’s place. “hey, garcia.”

“hey, what’re we talkin’ about?” she asks in that perky voice of hers, it’s only the throng’s hushed tones that bring her down to their level. she ducks her head symbolically. “sorry. didn’t know we were swapping secrets.”

elle may not act amused, yet she’s still participating. “they’re talking about hotch and the new girl.”

“tattletale.” derek taunts.

“grow up.”

“the new girl?” penelope confirms quizzically, twisting her face to match her dialogue as she scans her surroundings. it’s clear when she’s spotted you because her jaw drops, “oh, she’s hot.” once again she’s scolded by her colleagues shushing her, ducking down a second time with some exclamation about how weird they’re being. semi-hidden behind a desk’s partition, she goes for a second look. she doesn’t announce to everyone that you made hotch laugh. it’s a small kind of chuckle, a clear smile on his lips. it’s something spencer notices though, and he bows his head to avert his prying eyes. he doesn’t know hotch to joke around like that, and he doesn’t like the way it feels. instead, penelope points something else out, “she kind’a looks like spencer’s type, don’t you think?” her thumbs gestures to you lazily, and everyone looks at you through a new lens.

derek sets his sights on something to antagonize, “huh. awfully quiet there, reid.” he muses as he leans over, the flat of his hand batting spencer’s shoulder to get his attention. “what d’you think of her?” he asks coolly, sinking back into the chair while he sets his ankle up on his knee.

“hm?” spencer responds as if he hasn’t been listening, pulling the pen from between his lips. he meets derek’s gaze over the coffee cup, and all derek does is point and nod towards you discretely. spencer obliges now that he’s been asked directly. “oh, um…” he takes his time. “i dunno, she’s… i dunno.” brown eyes drool down like molasses, from your hair, to your smart outfit, to the seams from your pantyhose at the backs of your calves, to your black heels. you know he loves that. he’s broken through a couple pairs of those tights because he just couldn’t wait. “she’s… you know…”

the speechlessness causes a small eruption behind him, the group swapping expressions and silent conversations about his reaction. the spencer they know would start talking about the quality of fabric you’re wearing, the history of it and how—fun fact—it started some war in some country that doesn’t exist anymore. any useless knowledge he could spit out because his brain is a computer. they don’t get a chance to break the silence, you and hotch split. hotch begins his ascent to their desk clump and you pass by. everyone averts their eyes, everyone but spencer. you’re not shy either. you hold his eye contact, you even give him a small knowing smile, and a deliberate nod. derek’s jaw seems to unhinge witnessing such an obvious bid. spencer glances back at everyone, “now, guys—now, now—“ he stutters out, trying to fit words in with innocent gestures and a nervous grin. derek’s hand clamps on his shoulder and jostles him in some kind of show of manly camaraderie.

“dr. reid, you dog!”

“she was totally looking at you, spencer!”

“oh, my god.” derek, penelope, and elle respectively all give their input just as hotch approaches.

“what’s this about?” he asks, brows knit together at such an unusual display. spencer can’t seem to answer that either, shoulders stuck in a shrug and mouth open to make some case that never gets made.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[sachinteng]

Syntax Error

After years of being asked about it, I thought I'd tell the story of my peculiar name, and explain what this little logogram I started using is about.

I don't look like my name should be Sachin. South Asian folks point it out to me all the time. If you don't know, Sachin is a Sanskrit name, and I am visibly not Desi, so people are often confused. People usually ask if I'm named after Sachin Tendulkar, the famous cricket player. And for a period of time my local Indian restaurant thought I was Indian and would give me free rice! Until they found out I wasn't and stopped. Very sad day.

So why am I named Sachin if I'm not Desi?

The name my parents gave me is 十晴. Specifically my dad. My father insisted on naming me. Spent months obsessing over it. But he never gave me an English name. And on the day I was born my dad was…asleep, didn't answer the phone which rang all day, and missed the entire birth. To this day my mother tells this story whenever I miss a phone call. So, when I was born they had no idea what to put on my birth certificate.

The pinyin translation for 十晴 is Shí Qíng. But my mom didn't know pinyin. The lawyer who drew up the paperwork for my birth certificate was Indian, and when he heard 十晴, he said, 'that sounds like Sachin. I'll just put that!' And my mother, tired and alone in the hospital, in a foreign land called Flushing, Queens, said okay. And who can blame her.

And that's how I got my name. In the most arbitrary, accidental way possible. My dad, after months and months of hyper-focusing on a name, fumbled it all right at the end. I wish I could say my name was meaningful in Hànyǔ at least but, my name is very strange to Hànyǔ speakers as well.

The character 十 means 'ten' as in the number 10. And 晴 means 'clear sunny skies.' It's the kind of word a weather reporter will commonly use in the forecast. Honestly, Ten Sunny Skies sounds like a Wǔxiá character. Like Eight Flying Lotuses or Five Poison Fists, or something. Not gunna lie, I prefer this explanation.

So my dad loves to tell this joke…about how his name is too hard to write. It has so many strokes in it that when he was in school taking tests it took him so long to write his name that when he was finished writing it the other students already finished taking the whole test. So, when he has a child he's going to make sure to give them the easiest name with the fewest strokes possible.

And that's where it comes from. Some dinner party joke he liked to tell friends. Thanks dad.

My name has a different meaning to me now as an adult. Over the years many people have heard my name and said, 'Do you know the story of Hòu Yì 后羿?'

An old folktale says there used to be 10 Suns. They would cycle one at a time, because there can never be more than one sun in the sky at the same time. But, one day the suns got lonely, they wanted to see each other and broke the rules. All 10 suns burned at the same time. To stop the suns from burning the entire world down Hòu Yì, the legendary archer, shot the suns out of the sky and left just one, the sun we have today.

It's a fable about doing too much, not thinking about the consequences, and literally burning out. Something I relate to more than I'd like. I burned out hard a few years ago and recovering was a long, painful journey that I never want to repeat.

In the end, the last Sun loses all their siblings and has to carry the burden alone. But, if they'd just had patience and paced themselves, there would still be 10 suns across 'Ten Sunny Skies 十晴.'

[sincerelyneo]

i wanna be yours | p.js

“secrets i have held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought”

💿now playing: i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys

❯ summary: Jisung has known for years that his best friend, Chenle’s, sister is his. So there’s no way he’s going to sit back and watch another man touch you—especially not now, when he’s already had a taste of you.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, brother’s best friend

❯ words: 3.8k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, marking, possessiveness, unprotected sex (don’t do this), dirty talk, fingering, manhandling, jealousy, slightly toxic, praise, squirting, creampies, jisung has something to prove, arguing, older reader, jisung just being jealous and obsessive for almost 4k words

an: first post of 2025 and it’s an idea that i started writing on the bus lol. (also i’m a firm believer of the jisung is very possessive and clingy agenda)

Jisung could sit here and lie, say that the only reason he’s white-knuckling his fist right now is because he’s protective of you. He could lie and say that he’s just worried about the guy who’s currently got his arm around your waist because you’re his best friend’s sister. He could lie and say he’s just concerned—but he’s not.

He’s jealous.

So fucking jealous.

But he has no right to be. You’re Chenle’s older sister. You can handle yourself—you’ve told him that plenty of times, mocking him with that stupid fucking ‘Jisungie’ nickname you used to call him when you were all just kids.

And still, he watches the way you laugh at something the guy says, your head tilting back just enough to make his chest burn. He knows that laugh. He’s heard it a thousand times before, he loves it, but tonight, it feels different—feels wrong. Your laugh is not meant for this guy. It’s not meant for anyone else but him for that matter. 

Jisung knows he should look away before it becomes too obvious—obvious that he likes you, obvious that he's jealous, obvious that he can’t get you out of his head. But that’s hard to do when just ten minutes ago he had you pressed up against the wall of your childhood room—the same wall you share with Chenle—his cock pounding into you from behind without mercy, and you’d let him. Loved it.

How can he stay composed when that asshole has his hand on his girl’s—Chenle’s sister’s—waist? Jisung jolts as he hears his teeth grind together—fuck, was that his jaw clenching? Safe to say he’s passed subtlety. 

He sucks in a breath. This is Chenle’s birthday party, stop thinking about his sister you idiot. 

Actually, fuck that. 

Because why is that stranger’s hand moving up your thigh so easily? Why does your breath hitch when he leans in closer? Call him toxic; he doesn’t care. But Jisung wishes he hadn’t let you put your panties back on, so that asshole could see—no, feel—his cum dripping out of you as his hand traces your thigh right now.

He scoffs and nurses his drink. Keep calm, it’s Chenle’s birthday. 

Speak of the devil—almost on cue, Jisung feels his best friend slap him on the shoulders with a shout. He glances over his shoulder to see Chenle, clearly drunk, and while he usually hates dealing with his wild, inebriated antics, he appreciates that his best friend is oblivious to the way Jisung is currently eyeing his older sister tonight.

He settles into the empty seat next to Jisung with a grunt. “Y/N forgot my cake. One job that girl had,” Chenle shakes his head, guzzling down the last of his beer before grabbing another and cracking it open.

“She was probably preoccupied,” Jisung shrugs, trying to dismiss any thought of you from his mind. He doesn’t exactly know the right way to tell his friend that his sister was too busy being preoccupied on his cock, and that’s why she forgot his birthday cake. 

Chenle scoffs, “She’s always preoccupied. Look at her,” he gestures toward you. “I think I heard her with that guy earlier. Traumatizing.” He visibly shakes and squeezes his eyes shut.

“It wasn’t him,” Jisung growls.

Chenle swats his hand in the air, already halfway through that new beer bottle. “Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t matter who it was, still traumatizing.”

Jisung nods and purses his lips. But to him, it does matter because it was him. Him who made you pant so desperately, him who filled you so completely that your legs wobbled, and he had to hold you steady, his fingertips imprinted into your hips. Him who made you cum. Him. Always him. And right now, he wanted to make sure that it was only him. 

The sound of Chenle snoring in the seat next to him pulls Jisung from his thoughts and back to where he feels most at home—you. He swears he could find you in seconds; you’re like a magnet, an obsession in his mind. You’re all he can think about, all he’s ever been able to think about, and now that he’s had you, he’s never you letting go. Call him a maniac.

With Chenle undoubtedly crashed out, his eyes find you and the sight of you leaning in closer to that guy, lips almost touching, ignites a fire in him. He sees red—hot, undeniable crimson. Without a thought, he storms over. That’s not true, he’s been thinking about it for the past twenty minutes. 

“Y/N!” he calls out, but not to get your attention, to stop your lips connecting with that asshole, who Jisung is certain he’d be able to take in a fight. 

You turn, surprise flickering in those pretty eyes he loves, and that’s all it takes for Jisung to reach you. He steps between you and the guy, his chest heaving, anger palpable. Without giving you a moment to process, his rough hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you back to your childhood bedroom.

Your own wave of crimson flushes over your body as the pink walls come into view and the lock you’d begged your parents for during puberty clicks into place. Jisung had been in your room countless times as kids, when you dressed him and Chenle up like dolls or begged them to play board games. But now, knowing he had you in a pathetic, desperate moaning mess not long ago and gave you the best sex of your life in this very room, it feels different.

He feels different. 

Nostrils flared, fists clenched, and muscles taut. This was not the Jisungie you once made friendship bracelets with or taught to roller skate. No, this was just Jisung—grown up, exuding a raw, masculine energy that was both captivating and intimidating. Sexy even. Perhaps that’s why you got distracted when he came over early to set up for Chenle’s birthday.

You shouldn’t have gotten distracted, or indulged, no matter how hot he’d gotten over the summer. He was still, and always would be, your little brother’s best friend. 

Snap out of it, Y/N. 

“Jisung, what do you think you’re doing?” You snap at him and back to reality. 

His eyes narrow, drawn into a sharp expression that shouldn’t make your thighs weak, but it does. “What am I doing? What are you doing, Y/N?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

“That guy, Y/N.” He spits your name, a low growl that tightens your chest, “You’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m just going to stand by while you flirt with some guy.”

You scoff, unable to deny it. Yes, you had been flirting with that guy, but honestly, it was just a distraction to take your mind off the fact that you’d just let your brother’s childhood friend fuck you six ways to Sunday. 

“You’re being ridiculous," you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “You have no right to act like this.”

His nostrils flare again, and he steps closer, invading your space. You instinctively take a step back—because this is how it happened last time, his stupid muscular body and obnoxious height inching towards you (minus the argument.)

"Ridiculous? You think it’s ridiculous that I care? That I don’t want to see you with someone like him?"

“Someone like him? You don’t know anything about him.”

Jisung tongues the inside of his cheek, inhaling sharply before muttering, “He had his hands all over you in the middle of a kitchen. Pretty sure that makes him an automatic asshole.”

You can feel your heart racing, but you refuse to back down. "You’re getting jealous over one guy after we—after a one-time thing, Jisung. It’s so childish!"

The moment that singular word leaves your mouth, you see a shift in his expression. His eyes darken, and there’s a flicker of something raw and primal lingering in his irises. Desire, maybe lust, but definitely determination.

Without a word, Jisung moves toward you in a blur of motion, his hand snapping out to grip your wrist, yanking you back before you even have time to react. You stumble, your back slamming against the door with a harsh thud. Thank God, there’s a party downstairs because you’re certain the impact was savage enough to be heard if not for the music.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he cages you in, his body pressing against yours, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breath. His hands bracket your face, fingers digging into the wood behind you, holding you there, trapped beneath his gaze, trapped beneath his body. 

"Childish, huh?" His voice drops an octave, and you can feel the heat, the anger, the hunger, radiating off him. "I’ll show you childish."

It’s a threat, a rise to your challenge, and said with an edge that makes your stomach flutter—against your will.

You meet his eyes, refusing to show any fear, though your heart races in your chest. “What, you think you can intimidate me?”

A corner of his mouth curls up in a half-smirk. "I know I can do a lot more than that."

Before you can respond, his face closes the distance between you, lips crashing against yours in a kiss that feels like a challenge—not the passion he offered earlier, just pure desperation and need. His hands grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his body pressing harder against yours like he can’t get close enough. 

You can’t tell if it’s anger or the desperate need to prove something that drives him, but the way his touch grows possessive leaves no room for argument. You don’t want to argue though, not when his other hand trails down your thigh, hiking up your dress, and one calloused finger slips beneath the black lace of your panties to find your swollen, aching clit.

You draw in a shallow breath, one that only fuels his cocky grin as he nuzzles into your neck, his warm breath skimming along the delicate curve of your nape before trailing to your ear. His finger continues to rub slow, so painfully slow, circles into your clit.

“Was I childish when I finger fucked you to orgasm with Chenle just next door? Was I childish when I pounded this pretty pussy into your pillows? Or was I childish when—”

“J-Jisungie,” you gasp, voice trembling with need, cutting him off. But who could blame you? The slow, deliberate motion of his fingers, paired with the weight of his words, had you aching for more—more of him, more of this, anything with friction. 

His blunt nails dig into the tender flesh of your thigh, possessive and unyielding, as his lips skim the sensitive spot where your neck meets your collarbone. A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating against your skin. 

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

You let out a soft whimper of submission, your legs trembling as he edges them apart, giving himself better access to the spot you need him most—the spot he knows you need him most.

“Is that what this is about?” you manage to ask, though your voice is shaky, breathless.

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he nuzzles deeper into the curve of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. He doesn’t need to respond because his fingers do it for him, their pace quickening against your sensitive nerves.

You can’t believe this is happening—again. Chenle would kill you both if he found out, but the thought isn’t enough to stop you. Your hips buck instinctively, meeting the rhythm of his long, slender fingers as they work relentlessly to coax an orgasm out of you.

“Ji–We can’t do this,” you whisper, though the words come out weak, entirely unconvincing.

His lips pause against your neck, but his fingers don’t. If anything, they press harder, toying against your clit, drawing a choked moan from your lips as he hovers just close enough for you to feel his breath.

“Oh, so we can’t do this,” there’s venom in his voice, as his finger sinks lower until it’s circling your entrance, “but you were ready to let that asshole do this to you in the kitchen.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a mix of shame and defiance flaring within you. “It’s not the same.”

“Exactly,” he growls, his fingers curling inside you in a way that makes your knees buckle. “It’s not the same, because he’ll never touch you the way I do. He’ll never make you feel the way I do, never get the fucking chance.”

“Jisung—” you start, but he cuts you off, his free hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes are dark, intense, and filled with something lust. 

“Tell me to stop,” he challenges, lips brushing dangerously close to yours. He doesn’t kiss you, but nips at the bottom of your plush lip. “Tell me you don’t want this, Y/N, and I’ll stop.”

You try to form the words, to muster any resistance, but they melt into a moan as his fingers press against that spot deep inside you, leaving your legs trembling. It’s almost sick, really—how well he knows your body, as if he’s memorized every reaction, every weak spot. Like he’s studied the blueprint of you, mastered it, and has no intention of ever letting anyone else have access to it.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, his smirk sharp and sinister. His lips finally crash against yours, stealing what little resolve you had left.

His kiss is hungry, consuming, as if he’s trying to prove a point with every press of his mouth, clash of teeth, and every curl of his fingers. And the worst part is, he’s right—you do want this. You want him.

“Say it,” he demands against your lips. “Say you want me.”

Your hands clutch desperately at his shoulders, body arching into him as his touch overwhelms you. The fight leaves you entirely, your resistance crumbling to dust. “I want you,” you confess, the words spilling from your lips before you can even think to stop them.

He grins against your mouth. “Good, because you’re mine.”

And he’s going to make damn sure you know it. He’s going to make sure everyone knows it—especially that fucking asshole who touched you. You’re his. 

Jisung finds the length of your neck again, his skilled fingers continuing their work on your pussy. He knows you’re close, knows exactly how to draw this out of you until you’re cumming, all while he’s branding your skin with purple bruises across your neck. Call it an ego thing, but knowing some part of him will be etched onto your skin has his cock throbbing, his bulge swelling in his jeans just from the thought of you belonging to him—even if it’s only temporary. Jisung doesn’t care. He’ll keep doing this until it’s permanent, until your mind finally catches up, and you realize you belong to him, just as much as he belongs to you.

“For someone who was so insistent that we can’t do this, you have no problem making a mess on my fingers, noona,” he coos, his whispers brushing against your skin. “I can hear how wet you are, all for me, yeah?”

He’s a cocky fucker, and he knows it.

“Ji—please,” you whine, your body moving in sync with his, desperate to push yourself over the edge. Jisung laughs, the vibration of it shooting through you straight to your core. His fingertips dig into your pelvis, halting your movements because he’s the one in control. He’s the one with something to prove.

“You wanna cum, noona?” he asks, almost mockingly. “Want me to make you cum?”

You nod eagerly, desperation etched across your features. Yes, you want it—no orgasm could ever compare to the one you know he can give you.

Jisung pulls away from your neck, his pupils blown wide as he admires the art painted across your skin—his mark. He’s never been one for art, never understood what people meant by seeing a message in a painting, but as his fingers trace the deep red imprints of his mouth, he understands exactly what this piece of skin says: mine.

His fingers plunge deeper inside your cunt, the steady rhythm driving you wild. He curls them just right, his touch grazing that rough patch inside you that makes you gasp, your breath catching and lips parting. 

He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours as he mouths words of praise and instructions. At least, you think he’s mouthing them—your mind is fogged, overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure crashing over you, the only sound you can focus on is the buzzing of your orgasm, your cries and the way his name spills from your lips in a frantic, desperate whisper.

"Such a good fucking girl," he murmurs when your high starts to fade, voice low with approval. "My good fucking girl."

Maybe it’s the post-climax haze, your mind still swimming in fog, but your arms find their way around Jisung’s neck, pulling him down to crash your lips against his. He’s caught off guard, just as much as you are—you're not one to initiate, and he hadn’t expected more. He’d already made his point clear: he knows your body, he knows how to make you feel good, how to make you cum.

But here you are, nipping at his lip, devouring his mouth with a hunger that catches you both by suprise. And when you whisper a soft, "Fuck me again, please, Jisung," he's done for.

"My girl is so impatient and greedy, huh?" He tsks, but it's more to regain his composure than anything. He’d almost cum in his pants at the sight of you begging him to fuck you, like some horny teenager. But his determination to prove he’s not the boy you grew up with keeps him grounded.

He hoists you up effortlessly, his hands gripping the underside of your ass as your legs instinctively wrap around his body. With ease, he carries you to the bed, dropping you onto it with a predatory gleam in his eyes. As he climbs over you, his gaze darkens with hunger, every movement clear, saying one thing: he's going to devour you.

"Such a dirty girl, letting your brother’s friend fuck you twice in one night," he teases, his hands slowly working to peel the dress from your body. When he sees you’ve been wearing no bra underneath, your nipples fully exposed and standing at attention instantly, a low curse slips from his lips. 

He could admire your body for hours—he hadn’t had the chance to earlier because the stakes felt higher then. But for you, the moment is urgent. You need him—all of him—inside you, now. Maybe that’s why you decide to taunt him.

“I can always get someone else to do it if you don’t want to.”

“Watch it,” he warns, as his grip tightens on you. His eyes darken with possessiveness, a wave of jealousy flickering in his eyes. The thought of someone else touching you like this, even as a joke, triggers something primal inside him.

Without another word, Jisung sheds his own clothes, hands moving to your thighs, spreading them apart with a firm, controlled movement. His breath hitches as he stares down at you, so fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect, so fucking his.

“Made to take my cock,” he mutters, giving you a moment to adjust. You nod softly, the sensation of him filling every part of you dulling every lingering ache. 

He circles the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you as payback for that little comment, before slowly sinking into you, inch by inch. Your eyes roll back at the delicious stretch, your body yielding to him as he fits into you so perfectly. So big, so deep, so yours.

It isn’t until he’s buried deep inside you, balls against your skin, that a groan escapes both of you.

He doesn't hold back, his groans raw and needy. He wants you to hear him—hear how good you make him feel, how desperate he's been for you, for this, how much he’s craved you for years. Every sound, every groan, he wants it etched in your memory. He wants you to remember him when you think about any other man—your first boyfriend, or the guy who took you to prom, and especially the flings you had on spring break.

He wants to be the only man who makes you come apart. The only one you grip with those pretty nails, scraping his back as if marking him, your own little claim to match his purple marks. 

Jisung has always had a soft spot for you, but the way he fucks is anything but soft. This is desperate, driven, a reminder that only he can make you feel this way—only he will. His thrusts are hard, dominating, consuming, each one a claim, marking you as his in the most primal way and you love it.

He knows you love it—the way your pussy clenches around him, fluttering rhythmically, milking his own orgasm from him with every squeeze. Sloppy, deep, and abrupt, his resolve twists tighter inside his stomach. His grip on your hips tightens and he drives into you with relentless, unyielding force, chasing his high. 

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “My pretty girl,” he growls. “Only mine.”

You can barely respond, the pleasure building so intensely that all you can do is cling to him, your fingernails digging into his pale skin, feeling every part of him take control. Each thrust pushes you closer to an edge you’ve never felt before, your stomach coiling tightly, a delicious tension threatening to snap.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice low and filled with heat, his pace never slowing. “Say you’re mine.”

Your breath hitches, body trembling as the tension in your core reaches its peak. “Yours,” you whisper, but it’s enough to make him groan in satisfaction.

Suddenly, the world around you blurs as the pleasure overwhelms you. Your body responds, the waves crashing over you as your eyes roll. A choked cry escapes, and a rush of wetness unlike anything you’ve felt before floods your body. 

Your hands fly to your face in embarrassment, but Jisung doesn’t let you hide. He watches you, eyes dark,  filled with awe and pride, as he takes in the fact that he’s the one who’s just made you squirt.

“How’s that for childish?” he murmurs with a smirk, the words dripping with possessiveness.

And with one final thrust, he drives into you, his body shuddering as he reaches his own release, spilling inside of you.

“Oh, and by the way,” he murmurs breathlessly, lips brushing against your ear, “there’s no way this is just a one-time thing, Y/N.”

[beloveds-embrace]

Fuck it, we ball, I hope that disrespectful anon gets hemorrhoids and they can't get them removed until next year, AND that their insurance doesn't cover it. I'm here thinking about your Omega idea where omegas normally do the pursuing, but with a slight twist; the boys being the omegas. An alpha who is for sure down bad for the boys, but thinks "ah, theyre out of my league, I should be aiming lower, manage my expectations". Only 141 is just as down bad for them, and they're doing everything just short of screaming "PICK UP ON THE HINTS, COME INTO OUR HOUSE AND BEDS AND LIVES AND STAY FOREVER PLEASE"

Johnny is about to say fuck decorum and just show up in reader's house wearing nothing but a ribbon and a tag that says 'free to a good home' (your home is the good one, please keep him, there is no receipt so you can't return him).

Price has the brain cell normally in terms of trying to gently coax you into getting you to say you're into them, he has a 15 step plan that may or may not involve using his various contacts to get you spending more time in close proximity to them. Also he for some reason is always baking, he always comes over asking you for sugar? (He'll take any kind of 'sugar' you're willing to offer, he loves making a variety of cream pies)

Gaz is always gently inviting them to attend 'friend' things, things that could be a date but that he can excuse as 'well we're coworkers/friends/neighbors, we should get along :)'. It's just a coincidence that various other people seem to bail except for any of the other boys, now why don't you sit beside him so you guys can share popcorn at the movies (you both always seem to be reaching for it at the same time, if your fingers touched anymore you might as well be holding hands)

Simon is chasing off any omegas he thinks are a threat to them getting reader, that is THEIR alpha, paws OFF (rip to anyone reader was halfheartedly going on dates with, this man is gonna become those people's sleep paralysis demon)

Hope you enjoy!! :3 💕💕 i lovedddd writing this sm omg

See, the thing is, you’d always thought of yourself as a decent Alpha. Not overbearing, not egotistical, not a demanding freak- just capable and steady. But you weren’t extraordinary. Not the kind of Alpha Omegas like them would look at twice. And so, while you worked alongside the men of Task Force 141 you convinced yourself to be content with just admiring them from a distance.

You couldn’t help it. They were perfect, as far as you were concerned. Perfect, and fully out of your league.

Surely, Omegas like them would want someone better. Someone stronger. You’d told yourself that so many times it was practically your mantra, the only way you’d be able to stop yourself from pursuing them. They deserved someone more charismatic, more confident- an Alpha who could match their brilliance. Not someone like you, fumbling through conversations with them, struggling to keep your feelings in check.

But they’d already decided. They didn’t need a flashy Alpha or someone who tried too hard. What they wanted was you. The only problem? You didn’t seem to realize it, no matter how obvious they made it.

John took the lead, naturally. He knew you were cautious and perhaps a little insecure when it came to relationships (it was fucking visible in you, silly Alpha. He scoffs each time you draw back, frustrated), so he made it his mission to draw you in- slowly and subtly. His plan was meticulous: get you comfortable, build trust, and create opportunities for you to spend more time with them so you’d see that they only want you.

Maybe then you’d break out of that stupid shell you’ve put yourself in.

He’d started baking regularly, a habit you hadn’t even known he had. At least once a week, he’d show up at your place with a tin of cookies, a loaf of fresh bread, or a perfectly golden pie. “Thought I’d share,” he’d say casually, though the slight smirk tugging at his lips told a different story. He peers at you, letting his scent coil just a bit more. “I hope you don’t mind the amount of cream. I happen to like cream pies a lot.”

The way to an Alpha’s heart is through their stomach, and all that.

If he wasn’t offering you baked goods, he was asking for your help to make said baked goods. “Ran out of sugar again,” he’d sigh, handing you an empty container. “Mind sparing a bit?”

It was ridiculous, downright unbelievable how often he supposedly ran out of baking supplies. But his visits became a highlight of your week, and the lingering looks he gave you left your heart pounding long after he was gone.

The one time he’d handfed you, watching you lick the syrup from his fingers with half-lidded eyes, still lives in your mind rent-free.

Kyle took a softer, more personal approach. He wasn’t above using the pretense of friendship to spend time with you, often inviting you to casual dates- grabbing coffee, going to the movies, or just walking through town and shopping. Every invitation was framed innocently, but there was always a little extra effort behind it. He’d pick a movie he knew you’d like, suggest places he knew you’d find interesting, and ensure that others you unfortunately knew joined just enough to make it seem less like a date.

Somehow, though, those other people always mysteriously canceled. It was never anything dramatic- just a sudden cold, a scheduling conflict, or a “something came up, sorry.” Eventually, it would be just you and a very smug Kyle, sitting close enough that your knees brushed or reaching for popcorn at the same time. Once, right as the bowl emptied and you both reached for it, Kyle simply thought fuck it and held your hand.

On one occasion, you both shared a bowl of spaghetti and ended up with the scene from the Lady and the Tramp.

It was so painfully obvious to everyone.

Except you.

“It’s not a coincidence,” Kyle muttered to Johnny one evening after you left, both of them sitting in the spot you were in, bathing in the leftover warmth and scent. “How can they not notice?”

Speaking of Johnny; he’s barely keeping himself together. Subtlety in missions are a must sometimes, but he doesn’t want to that with you anymore. He was just so, so, so frustrated with your obliviousness. What more does he need to do to show you that he- that they- want you?

He’s been dropping so many hints; half-jokes about Omegas waiting begging to be swept off their feet, suggestive winks when you compliment him in that lovely, adoring tone of yours. Once, while watching a romantic tv show, he’d sighed loudly and very pointedly said: “If only someone would claim me.”

“If ye don’t figure it out soon,” he growled at the others one night, pacing back and forth like a wild beast and probably on his way to leave a dent in the carpet, “I’m showin’ up at their doorstep with nothin’ but a red bow, like some bloody Christmas prezzie, I swear to god.”

John sighs, rolling his eyes. “You do that, and I’m leaving you on their porch.”

“That’s exactly what I’m askin’ for!”

Simon took the quietest but most direct approach. Just not exactly direct towards you. While the others worked to get closer to you, Simon focused on eliminating what he saw as obstacles: other Omegas who thought you were free for the taking. It didn’t matter if they were serious or just someone you’d gone on a casual date with- Simon saw them all as threats.

He didn’t have to say much to scare them off. A single cold glare from across the room, sharp bursts of his scent, or a low, menacing comment was usually enough to send them packing. He didn’t care if it was excessive.

You were his Alpha. You were their Alpha, and no one else had a right to you.

But even Simon softened when it came to you. He couldn’t put all his thoughts, all his feelings into words, so he did them with his actions. Quiet protectiveness, gentle, careful touches. Moments of fleeting vulnerabilities shared between you and him.

He was always there for you. Even if you didn’t know you need him with you.

Still, despite all their efforts, you remained convinced that they weren’t interested.

In the end, to no one’s surprise, it’s Johnny who snaps. Johnny, so close to his heat, so absolutely done with your obliviousness and the Omegas that aren’t them talking with you when you should be only focused on them.

He doesn’t care; leaves the carefully made nest with your stolen shirts and none of the others stop him when he just. Drags your surprised self to the nest.

“Johnny! You-“

“I want you.” He hisses, bares his teeth all sharp and desperate. “We want you. And damn it, we will have you.”

And well, who are you to even say no when this is all you have wanted?

[missimaginx]

CELEBRITY CRUSH | KA12

pairing: kimi antonelli x f!brazilian!tennis player!reader

plot: where kimi needs to introduce the paddock to you, his celebrity crush.

warnings: narrated in first person (kimi's pov); female reader; italian-brazilian female reader (but you can just ignore that); female tennis player reader; kimi being a nervous and lovesick mess around the reader; possible grammatical errors; english is not my first language :).

a/n: images taken from pinterest. this is my first time writing a one shot 🥹, hope you like it (wc: 3k)

remembering that this is just fiction, all the people portrayed here have their own personalities and their own relationships.

MIAMI GRAN PRIX — 2025

I’m sweating.

Like, a lot.

And I’m not even wearing the race suit yet.

“…and it would be great if you could show her around the paddock, Kimi. She’s Mercedes’ special guest because of the shared Adidas sponsorship, so be nice. Engaged. Natural.” The Mercedes PR finishes with that professional smile that, at this point, feels like the devil’s grin.

I nod. That’s all I can do. Because, honestly? I’m speechless. In shock.

Y/N L/N is going to be here.

THE Y/N L/N.

The girl who lives in my head like she pays rent. The tennis prodigy. The one I watched playing at the Australian Open when I was sixteen and became absolutely certain she’s the love of my life—even though she doesn’t even know I exist.

I’ve seen her on TV. On Instagram. On TikTok. In interview replays. I’ve read articles from Brazilian sites in Brazilian Portuguese and tossed them into Google Translate. I know what brand of racket she uses. I know she likes passion fruit juice and has a superstition about a red hair tie.

And now she’s going to be here.

With me.

Getting a paddock tour.

And I HAVE TO BE NATURAL.

“You’re pacing.” Ollie says, sitting on the press room couch with the most bored expression in the world. “Again. You’ve literally circled the table three times.”

“I’M SHOWING HER AROUND THE PADDOCK, OLLIE.”

“Yeah, you said that. Three times. In different volumes.”

“She’s going to look at me and think ‘who is this idiot?’ And then I’ll stutter and trip over myself and maybe even throw up! Ollie, I MIGHT PUKE IN FRONT OF HER!”

“You’ve raced in torrential rain with zero visibility. You can handle a girl.”

“She’s not just any girl! She’s Y/N L/N!”

“Right. The love of your life you’ve never said ‘hi’ to. Got it.”

“You don’t get it! She’s incredible. She’s focused, determined, elegant, funny—she laughs with her head tilted to the side, and when she’s concentrating on a match she wrinkles her nose in this way that—”

“Okay. That’s it.” Ollie throws his head back, laughing. “Kimi, for the love of God, breathe. You’re just going to show her around, and if it all goes terribly wrong, you’ll never see her again.”

“NOT HELPING!”

“But… what if it goes right?”

I freeze. What would ‘going right’ even mean? She noticing me? Laughing with me? Following me back on Instagram? Calling me ‘Kimi’ with that cute Italian-Brazilian accent?

“You should ask her out,” Ollie says.

I turn to him like he just suggested I break into the FIA president’s office.

“Are you insane?”

“Why not? You’re the same age. She’s an athlete, you’re an athlete. She’s Italian, you’re Italian. You’re both young, rich, good-looking… basically an Adidas commercial couple.”

“I won’t even be able to say ‘hi’! You want me to ask her out?”

“Get ice cream. Ask her out for ice cream.”

“I’M NOT ASKING Y/N L/N OUT FOR ICE CREAM!”

“Why not?” he crosses his arms, laughing. “You think she’ll say no? That she’ll laugh in your face?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!”

The door opens and Gabriel walks in, energy drink in hand and looking like he was dragged out of bed.

“Good morning to you too,” he says, flopping into the chair next to me. “Everything okay? Kimi looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

“He has,” Ollie replies before I can defend myself. “Or, well, he’s about to. The love of his life.”

Gabi frowns. “Huh?”

“Kimi’s had a crush on a girl for like three years and just found out she’s gonna be here today. In the paddock. As a Mercedes guest. And he has to give her the tour.”

Gabriel blinks, processing. “For real?”

“Totally. He’s already planning his escape through the Williams garage.”

“Who is it?”

“Y/N L/N,” Ollie says.

“Y/N?”

My stomach drops.

“You know her?” I ask, trying to sound casual. (Failing completely.)

“Of course. We’ve known each other since we were twelve. Her parents are friends with my uncles. And she’s INSANE on the court. Just won the Miami Open, did you see?”

“I DID,” I answer with something close to religious fervor. “I watched the whole match. Twice.”

My world tilts.

Gabriel Bortoleto knows Y/N L/N.

GABRIEL. KNOWS. HER.

“What’s she like?” I ask before I can stop myself. “I mean, off the court. Does she like music? Movies? What’s her favorite ice cream flavor? Is she talkative? Quiet? What’s her favorite color? Has she ever dated? Does she—”

“Mate,” Gabi laughs, slow. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Ollie laughs out loud. “Told you it was serious. He’s had a dossier on her since 2022.”

“I just want to be prepared!” I protest.

Gabi looks at me like he’s finally getting the full picture.

“Mate. You’re in love with her, even though you’ve never met?”

“Not in love in love. Just… maybe. A lot. Since forever.”

Ollie grins, the smug smile of someone enjoying someone else’s drama way too much.

“And you still think you shouldn’t ask her out?”

I sink into the chair.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

And Ollie, beside me, pats my shoulder. “Or it’s going to be the beginning of a story we’ll laugh about at your wedding.”

“Not helping.”

“But it’s true.”

And, for the first time, I let that wild thought creep into my brain.

What if… it’s not a disaster?

I’ve only been waiting for two minutes.

But it feels like forty-seven years.

The Mercedes hospitality is quieter now… or maybe it just feels that way. There are still people around. An engineer leaving a meeting room, a kitchen staff member switching trays at the buffet, a couple of marketing folks talking quietly on a corner sofa. But to me, everything seems in slow motion. Like the whole world has faded into background noise while my thoughts race faster than my W16.

I’ve done all the interviews. Talked to more journalists than I can count, answered the same questions so many times the words lost all meaning, and even smiled genuinely when asked about the race. Now there’s just one thing left…

Her. Y/N L/N.

I shift in my seat for the fifth time in two minutes. Run my hand through my hair. Zip and unzip my jacket. Try not to sweat. Fail miserably.

The PR said she’d go get her and bring her here. Told me I just need to be polite. “Natural.” As if that’s possible when I’m about to meet the girl who’s lived rent-free in 90% of my brain since I was sixteen.

I rest my elbow on the armrest, trying to look casual, but my knee’s bouncing. I force myself to breathe—and that’s when I hear it.

A laugh.

Light, crystal clear. With an accent. That kind of laugh someone gives when they’re being polite but genuinely kind.

And I know it’s her.

It’s ridiculous, but I know. The sound hits different. Like the universe has been waiting for her to show up so it could finally be in color.

I hear the PR’s voice along with hers, getting closer every second, and something inside me switches on. I straighten up. Run my hand through my hair again. Try to remember how to say “hi.”

And then she walks in.

And nothing—absolutely nothing—could’ve prepared me for it.

She steps in beside the PR, eyes wandering curiously around the room, and my brain shuts down. Like, literally. Total blackout. Blue screen.

Y/N L/N walks through the door like the universe hit pause so she could have time to exist. The mint green dress—yes, mint green, because she once said in an interview that it’s her favorite shade of green—looks like it was made for this soft lighting. It matches her white sneakers and the dark green lanyard hanging around her neck. It brings out the warm tone of her skin, the insane green of her eyes, the waves of dark brown hair I’ve seen in so many videos—but live, it’s different. It’s better. Everything is better. Every detail.

She smiles, a bit shyly, and glances around like she’s still adjusting to the new environment.

And me? I’m frozen.

She’s… smaller than I imagined. For some reason, in pictures and videos, she looked taller. But now, standing a few steps away from me, her shoulders slightly hunched like she’s shielding herself from the attention, she looks… real. Human. Beautiful in an almost unreal way.

“Y/N, this is Kimi Antonelli. Our driver, and your official tour guide today,” says the PR, lightheartedly. “Kimi, this is Y/N L/N, who you probably already know, but just to remind everyone—she just won the Miami Open.”

But I don’t hear any of that. Or, I do, but it’s all background noise behind her image. I’m too busy… existing in a trance.

She extends her hand, smiling.

“Hi,” she says, with that adorable Italian-Brazilian accent that makes me want to write poetry. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for having me here.”

I look at her hand. Then her face. Then her hand again. Then—

Do something, Kimi.

I shake her hand like it’s made of porcelain. The touch is light, but it feels like a shock. Not the bad kind. The kind that wakes you up.

“It’s… it’s a pleasure,” I say, voice slightly higher than usual. “Like. Really. A lot. I mean—welcome.”

Y/N smiles. God help me, she smiles.

“Thank you,” she says again, with a tiny laugh that makes her nose scrunch up. Just like I love. “I’m a little nervous, to be honest. I’ve never been in a paddock before. Everything looks so… serious.”

“It’s… yeah. It is. But not always. I mean, yes. But also no. It’s fun. Sometimes.”

STOP TALKING, KIMI.

She laughs again, and by some miracle, she doesn’t seem to think I’m completely insane.

The PR chimes in, all cheerful:

“I’ll leave you two to walk around and get familiar with the place. Y/N, anything you want to know or see, Kimi can show you. He knows every corner of this paddock with his eyes closed.”

I nod. Maybe too quickly. Y/N smiles again. And for one whole second, there’s just this.

Her.

And me.

And the suicidal mission of not falling even harder.

The PR leaves us there and vanishes before I can beg her to teach me how to be a functional human being.

Y/N looks at me expectantly, a slight smile on her lips, like she’s silently asking, “So… what now?” I try to remember what the PR said. Show her around the paddock. Right. Easy. I know this place like the back of my hand. I’ve walked through here half-asleep thanks to jet lag more times than I can count. But now, with Y/N by my side, everything feels different. Bigger. Brighter. More… paralyzing.

“So… uh, welcome to the paddock,” I begin, trying to sound casual while gesturing like a school trip tour guide. “This is the Mercedes hospitality. It’s where we eat, have meetings, drink bad coffee, and try to pretend we’ve got our lives under control.”

She laughs. She laughs. And I feel like I’ve gained +10 confidence points… and -15 coordination points because I almost trip over one of the couches.

“It’s a lot calmer than I expected,” she says, looking around. “I thought it’d be, like… chaos. Loud. People running around with tires on fire.”

“Oh, that’s more outside, in the garages. In here we only lose it mentally.”

She giggles again, and I decide I could listen to that sound on loop for the rest of my life.

We start walking slowly, and I steer the tour toward the one place where I feel safer: the team garage. My territory. Maybe here I’ll seem less like a clumsy idiot.

“This is the team’s garage,” I explain, pointing like I’m showing her a sacred temple. “That’s where the cars are, over there’s the tires, back there’s the engineers’ station, and in the far back is where I pretend to understand everything Toto says when he starts throwing quantum physics terms around.”

Y/N watches everything with genuine curiosity. Not the polite kind of interest people fake just to be nice — she actually wants to understand. It’s real. And that somehow makes her even more perfect… and me even more in love.

“Wow… so this is where it all happens,” she says, almost reverently.

“Yeah. And also where it all goes wrong sometimes,” I add with a crooked smile.

“What’s the top speed again?”

“Depends on the track… but in Monza, for example, we can hit 350 km/h.”

“Three hundred and…?” She blinks, stunned. “You’re kidding.”

“I swear.”

“What’s it like?” she asks, her big green eyes—bright, locked on my very average brown ones.

The question catches me off guard — not because it’s rare, but because of the way she asks it. Like it’s magic. Like, for a second, I’m not just the Mercedes driver… but someone she truly admires. Someone she wants to understand.

“It’s…” I take a breath, searching for words that do it justice. “It’s like flying, but with the ground really close. Everything becomes instinct. You feel every movement of the car, every curve in your body. The adrenaline is insane, but at the same time… there’s a weird calm in the middle of the madness. Like time slows down for a few seconds.”

She stares at me, fascinated. A small smile forming.

“That’s… beautiful. And kinda crazy.”

I shrug, unsure what to do with the heat rising in my ears. She thinks it’s beautiful. This. Me. Help.

We keep walking, passing behind the garages. Some teams are organizing equipment, others just killing time. The sounds of tools and conversations blend into a kind of soundtrack.

At one point, we turn a corner and — of course, obviously — we run straight into them. Ollie and Gabriel, standing by the dividing wall between the Haas and Sauber garages, chatting, until their attention shifts to us.

“Look who finally showed up,” Ollie says, flashing that smug teen villain smile. “Our very own Romeo.”

Gabriel takes a bite of the sandwich he’s holding and raises his eyebrows when he sees Y/N.

“Y/N!” he says casually. “Long time! You good?”

She smiles—warmly. “Hey, Gabi! I’m good. You? Still cheating at Uno?”

Gabriel gasps in mock outrage. “I never cheated!”

Ollie laughs. “He cheats at rock-paper-scissors too, Y/N. Watch your back.”

Y/N bursts out laughing, and I smile… but there’s that tiny twist in my stomach. That annoying little reminder: they’re friends. She and Gabi have a kind of closeness I don’t have. Yet.

“Well, we don’t wanna interrupt the date,” Ollie throws out, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not a date,” I say—way too fast.

“Of course not,” Gabriel says, smiling. “But if it were, you’d be killing it.”

Y/N glances sideways at me with that knowing smirk that makes me trip over my own thoughts.

We keep walking.

“Sorry about them,” I mutter, slightly embarrassed.

“Don’t be. They’re funny.”

“They’re insufferable.”

She laughs again. And this time, it’s freer. Unrestrained. That’s when I realize: she’s relaxed. The Y/N who was tense and reserved when she got here isn’t here anymore. Now it’s just her — and me, desperately trying to look functional next to the girl of my dreams.

We reach a more open part of the paddock, with a side view of the track. The sounds of drivers rushing between interviews, photographers clicking away — it all hums in the background, a reminder that the world out there keeps spinning.

“Tired?” I ask.

“No. I’m enjoying this.” She looks ahead, then at me. “It’s cooler than I expected.”

“You seem more relaxed now.”

“I am. You made it feel… lighter.”

And that’s when the moment shifts. It turns quiet. Intense—in a good way. In a way I’ll remember forever.

We stop near a low wall. The wind plays with her hair, and she tucks a few strands behind her ear, absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I feel kind of lost,” she says softly. “Like… everything happens so fast I forget I’m still just an eighteen-year-old girl.”

I get it. More than I should.

“Yeah… I feel like that too. Like I have to be a grown-up all the time. Responsible. Flawless. Representing the team, Italy… and deep down, I just want to be playing video games. Or… having time to figure out what I feel. To fall in love. Without it feeling like weakness.”

She turns to me. Her green eyes — beautiful in a way that doesn’t feel real — lock onto mine with something careful. Something interested. Something I don’t want to name yet, because maybe it’ll hurt if it’s not real.

And that’s when it hits me: this? This walk, this moment, this smile?

It might be the only chance I get to be like this with her.

I remember what Ollie said earlier. Ask her out.

It’s crazy… but what if?

If it’s a disaster, at least I’ll have a reason to drive like a maniac on Sunday and forget this ever happened.

Y/N’s phone buzzes. She checks the screen.

“My agent. I’ve got to go shoot with Adidas.”

No. Wait. I still—

“Ice cream,” I blurt out, stumbling over the words. “I mean, like… maybe… you… get ice cream with me, I mean, go out— we could— if you want, of course…”

She blinks. Then laughs. Tilting her head slightly, just like I’ve seen her do a thousand times on my phone screen. And for a second I consider quitting F1 and becoming a stand-up comedian if it means making her laugh like that more often.

“Are you asking me out or ordering dessert?” she teases.

“Asking you out,” I manage to say, finally like a functioning human being. “With me. Ice cream. Later. Someday.”

Her smile grows. Slowly. Beautifully.

“I’d love to.”

My brain reboots. Three times.

When my soul finally stops spinning at the speed of my heartbeat, I realize Y/N is pulling a pen out of her purse—one of those permanent markers fans bring for autographs.

“You got any paper?” she asks, uncapping the pen, looking at me.

I get lost in her eyes for a second. Here, in the golden light of sunset, they look more hazel than green. Gorgeous.

“I…” I blink a few times, trying to return to the realm of functional humans, patting my jeans for paper. “No… but…”

Her phone buzzes again, and from the way she groans, I know it’s her agent texting again.

“You can write it here,” I say quickly, holding out my hand.

Y/N blinks, looking at me. I blink back, looking at her. I feel the tips of my ears burning—and I see her cheeks turn pink.

She blinks once more and smiles before stepping closer and touching my hand. The lightness of her touch is already familiar since I shook her hand earlier. And it sends the same electric shiver up my arm, straight to my heart, making it pound even faster.

I watch as Y/N writes her number on my palm with the black permanent marker. And this is one of the rare times I thank the universe for my good memory—because I know I’ll remember how the wind kept tousling her hair, how the orange sunset lit up her focused face, and how her brows furrowed slightly as she tried to make the numbers as clear as possible.

When she finishes writing, I don’t know if it’s my lovesick mind playing tricks on me, but I swear her fingers linger on mine a little longer than necessary before letting go.

“Text me,” she says, smiling and blushing again. “And don’t take forever.”

Before I can come up with a reply, she leans in and presses a quick, warm, perfect kiss to my cheek.

“I honestly thought you weren’t gonna ask me,” she whispers, like it’s a secret.

Then she turns with a soft “see you soon” and disappears down the corridor.

And I just stand there. Frozen. Dazed. Touching the spot where her kiss landed like I’m trying to save it forever.

And for the first time all day, I think:

Maybe Ollie was right.

Because this… definitely wasn’t a disaster.

[trashytracktales]

hey gurlll first thing first id like to say that im IN LOVE with ur fics. not to be dramatic but im seriously on my knees whenever u post bcs how do u write them so GOODD😭😭😭😭 so i have a request hehe🤭 u can totally ignore this. no pressure!

if u would consider this, hear me out. lando and reader are childhood best friends. they are like two peas in a pot but something made them fought (nothing specific, u can write anything!) that had them not talking for almost 6 months which never happens. since they have the same circle of friends, they got invited to a vacation in portugal. the tension between them is like WOW. then one night, when everyone was already asleep, they had another argument maybe make it like an angry confession that leads them to ANGSTY HOT LONGING YEARNING MINDBLOWING SEX but turns out it was one sided where reader kinda disappeared the next morning lol idk u can imagine the rest. OK THANKS LOVE YA💋

Not quite us | LN⁴

🛥 summary ──── A cold winter fight shatters their friendship, but it’s the heat of the Portuguese sun that brings them back together, months later.

🛥 pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem best friend!reader

🛥 rating ──── explicit

🛥 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, angst and emotional tension, arguments, swearing, jealousy, smut, unprotected sex, manhandling, passive-aggressive behavior, pining, emotional miscommunication, past relationship dynamics.

🛥 word count ──── 8.6k

🛥 date ──── Apr. 23, 2025

🛥 a/n ──── Wrote this one straight off the vibes, just went with the flow and let the request guide me here and there. Sometimes the chaos cooks itself, so I hope you guys enjoy it either way ♥︎

IT’S NEW YEAR’S, and Lando would have a lot more fun if he stopped looking across the room every twenty seconds. But he can’t help himself. If someone looked at him right now, it would be so easy to read it in his body language: he is exasperated, beyond frustrated, and maybe a little drunk. His fingers encircle his glass so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, and his jaw clenches every time he sees the way she flinches when her boyfriend talks back to her.

Suddenly, the music gets too loud, the champagne is too warm, and even if he’s trying his damn hardest to pretend otherwise, his night is completely ruined.

She’s sitting on the edge of a sectional couch with her phone clutched in one hand, refusing to look up at her man, her face carefully blank in a way that screams something is wrong. All it takes is a blink of an eye and he walks towards the exit, visibly annoyed, leaving her behind.

Lando frowns while taking another sip of his drink, forcing a smile as one of his friends says something he doesn’t quite register. Still, he nods along anyway. But all he can think about is her. The girl he’s known since he was seven years old. The one who always matched his chaotic energy. The only one who managed to beat him at Mario Kart and made fun of his haircuts and once almost peed herself laughing during a round of mini golf when they were thirteen.

His best friend.

Or at least, she used to be.

It has been different for a while. They only see each other at events now, like birthday parties and New Year’s gatherings. It sucks, but it’s better than not seeing her at all.

It started shifting the day she met her boyfriend — some guy from uni, older than her, quieter, a bit too polished for Lando’s liking. She said he made her feel seen. Lando didn’t say anything then, just nodded, smiled and pretended he wasn’t dying a little inside.

He told himself he was just being protective, but truth is, he never liked the guy. Something about him felt off, and Lando noticed it in the way he was too controlling and dismissive at times. But Lando had no proof, therefore, no real reason to speak up. So, he stayed quiet. Let the distance grow. Let the invites slow. Let her disappear into another life that didn’t include him the way it used to.

There are a few minutes left until midnight, and he’s still watching her. She smoothes her dress with the palm of her hand, breathes slowly a few times, then gets up from the couch, apologizing with a small smile every time she bumps into other people in her path. Then, she disappears down the hallway, shoulders hunched, phone still in her hand. Her head is down, like she’s trying to avoid any potential encounter. At that sight, something in Lando twists and, for a moment, he thinks she’s going after her boyfriend, his body instinctively tensing. But he relaxes when he realizes she’s just turned right instead, stepping out onto the balcony.

Without thinking, he sets his empty glass down and slips away from the crowd, past the streamers and glitter and flickering lights, heading in the same direction she went. It doesn’t surprise him when he finds her deep in thought, typing on her phone then shoving it angrily into her purse.

Her back is facing him, arms folded over the railing now, the cold air nipping at her exposed shoulders. She must be freezing, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s also not turning when she hears more steps, then the door closing.

She lets out a breath, but it’s not relief. More like she’s trying not to cry. “Hey, Lan.”

She doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him. They’ve spent so much time in each other’s company that she’s memorized his footsteps, the sound of his sigh and the hesitation in his voice before he speaks whenever he’s unsure of his words.

Lando pauses a few feet behind her, careful, like he’s afraid she’ll shatter if he’s too loud. “You alright?”

Without waiting for her to answer, Lando just shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders from behind. The girl stiffens for a second, then lets his scent settle around her like a familiar comfort.

She knows things that no one knows about him, like the way his laugh changes depending on who he’s with, but the real one, the high-pitched one that sounds like a hyena giving birth, only comes out when he’s with his friends. She can tell when he’s nervous just by the way he starts tapping his fingers against his thigh. She knows he prefers sleeping with the fan on, even during the winter, that he can’t eat spicy food without tearing up, and that he pretends to like certain people just to keep the peace.

Her best friend.

Or at least, he used to be.

“He left,” she finally says, her voice just a whisper.

Lando moves to stand beside her, copying her posture. “What happened?”

“He said he was going home, but I don’t know.”

He blinks, confused. “Midnight’s in, like… five minutes?”

She shrugs, wiping under her eye with a knuckle, trying to be discreet. “Yeah, well. Apparently I was laughing too loud and drinking too much and fooling around. I was embarrassing him. So he left.”

Lando stares at her, stunned. “It’s a party. What the fuck is he expecting you to do? Sit quietly in the corner and sip water?”

Her laugh is short and sad around the edges, “No, but I know he doesn’t like it when I’m loud or hyper or… whatever.”

There’s a long pause in which she reconsiders her behavior, thinking that maybe her boyfriend is right. Meanwhile, Lando tries to find the right words to counter every single lie that asshole has fed her, the annoyance flooding back in. He turns his head to look at her, and her profile knocks the wind out of him. Her eyes are wet and tired, like she’s trying to hold herself together for longer than just tonight.

“Don’t listen to him,” says Lando quietly, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers, “I love your loud laugh.”

She looks over at him then, a warm wave of safety covering her from head to toe, despite the cold that feels like it cuts across the skin of her face. The words settle heavy between them: I love your laugh. Not ‘it’s nice’. Not ‘it suits you’. I love it. It means more than he probably meant it to. Or maybe it means exactly what he’s never had the guts to say out loud. Until now.

Lando swallows before continuing, “I don’t get it,” he says, “You should be with someone who wants to hear you, no matter how loud or hyper you are. Who knows how lucky they are to be in your presence.” She laughs, as if dismissing his words, but Lando insists, “I’m serious. I still don’t understand why you’re with him.”

The girl lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“I know.”

Lando’s answer sounds a little too sarcastic and, in response, the silence stretches between them once again. But it’s not empty this time. It’s charged. Heavy with everything they’ve never talked about, and all the months they spent apart.

She turns her eyes back to the view, but her fingers tug his jacket tighter around her body. And then, without looking at him, she speaks again, “No, you don’t. We didn’t talk much lately, so you wouldn’t know.”

Lando wastes no time, “And whose fault is it?”

She shifts her body towards him abruptly, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a question.”

“Right,” she nods once. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about it. I guess I just… needed my friend for a minute.”

Lando nods too, and steps close enough that their arms brush. Before she can say anything else, he leans in, uncertain but determined, and wraps his arms around her. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, seeking his comfort. The only problem is that there’s nothing casual about how Lando’s heart starts to race. His arms come around her tightly, holding her like his life depends on it, even though she’s the one that’s been ditched by her boyfriend on New Year’s.

They stay like that for a while, their breaths fogging between them in the cold night air. The space they share gets warmer, which makes her snuggle into his chest. She smells like citrus and champagne and every memory he’s ever tried not to think about too hard when he was missing her.

The girl pulls back slightly, enough that her face is tilted up toward his. And when he reaches to cup her cheek, her skin is smooth beneath his palm, her lips slightly parted like she might say something, but doesn’t. They just stare at each other, the same way you only look at someone when you’ve missed them for too long, and you’re finally close enough to touch but terrified to move any further, thinking that maybe they’re not even real.

The countdown begins in the background, a little muffled through the glass door, people shouting numbers like a slow drumbeat from the inside.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

“Break up with him,” Lando’s voice cuts through the haze, rougher than he intended.

One.

The cheers erupt from every direction. The sky bursts into a sea of light above them, fireworks flaring gold, silver, and pink. The noise is distant, like it’s happening on another planet. They wouldn’t know, because they don’t even look. Instead, her eyes are still searching his, confused and a little broken.

He could lean in and take it all, just this once, and blame it on the alcohol.

But she blinks, breaking the ephemeral magic of the moment. She takes a step back, then another, slow and cautious, until she’s out of his arms. “What?”

Lando doesn’t move. “You deserve better.”

“Lando…”

“No,” he shakes his head. “He treats you like shit,” his voice rises gradually, dipped in more emotion than he probably wants to show, “And I don’t know what’s worse: that you know it or that you allow it.”

She looks at him as if Lando is shapeshifting right before her eyes, and he does it far too quickly for her to have time to process.

“Stop assuming things about me,” she warns, all the warmth between them dissolving in an instant. “You don’t know.”

“I know he should’ve been here, kissing you right now. I know he made you cry instead,” he says, stepping forward, closing the distance that she put between them earlier. “I know he left you at a party alone because you were laughing too loud,” he continues, mockingly. “Do you hear how fucking ridiculous that sounds?”

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You don’t know the full story, Lando. He asked me to go home with him, but—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts her. “Looks like he ditches you whenever you’re too much for him. And I can bet this isn’t the first time he’s made you cry, is it?”

She scoffs, “Oh, so now you’re paying attention?” she asks, adopting a defensive attitude. “It’s been months since you’ve shown any interest in me.”

Lando flinches like she just slapped him. “You’re the one who stopped showing up. It’s cause you’ve gotten busier. With him, eh?”

“Smooth, Lando,” she fires back in a disappointed voice. “You pulled away first,” she reminds him, pointing a finger at his chest; tears threaten her eyes again, but she blinks rapidly to clear them away.

“Yeah, because I didn’t know where I fit anymore,” he says, his voice cracking around the edge of frustration. “You were always with him. Always defending him. I didn’t want to be that friend who hovered too close or some asshole that oversteps your boundaries. Because, believe me, I was so close to cross a lot of those before deciding to back the fuck up.”

She stares at him, incredulous, as if all the months they have been apart have completely changed her childhood best friend. “So, instead of talking to me, you just ghosted me? Very mature.”

Lando’s jaw tightens before replying, “I needed space.”

“You disappeared,” she corrects him. “You didn’t just take space. You shut me out.”

“That was me respecting your sorry ass relationship.”

“No,” she laughs dryly. “You were trying to make a point.”

Maybe, Lando thinks, looking away. But that’s not the whole truth. It’s painful, not to mention frustrating, to watch someone you care about being treated badly. It may have been selfish on his part, but Lando couldn’t stand by and watch the girl who deserved it all get only a piece of it.

“You don’t like him,” she continues, voice quieter now. “I get that. But instead of saying it, you just judged me from a distance.”

“No, I don’t like him,” he admits. “Matter of fact, I despise the guy. But not just because of who he is. It’s because he changes you.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not true.”

Lando laughs, but he’s not amused in the slighlest. “You went from having fun to crying in a matter of minutes. Because of him. How many times has this happened before?”

“He never—” she tries to warn him, before Lando cuts her off again.

“Keep defending him,” he says, irritated. “Because God forbid someone call you out when you’re being steamrolled by someone who doesn’t see your worth.”

“And God forbid you admit that maybe you’re not always right!” she snaps. “You don’t get to parachute in and act like some moral compass. If that’s the case, where the hell have you been all this time?”

The question silences them both. He can’t say too much without saying it all, and she’s waiting for something that won’t get to her. Not yet.

Disappointed, hurt, and extremely tired, she shrugs his jacket off and throws it at his chest. “Happy fucking New Year.”

𝟳 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥

📍 Somewhere off the Algarve coast, Portugal

AFTER THE HECTIC life she’s lived in the past few months, a weeklong yacht trip along the Portuguese coast is all she needs. Blue water, rosé on deck, and most importantly, no drama.

She says yes before she even checks the guest list, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Everybody in their group knows about the social distancing between her and Lando. Plus, she always checks his calendar, keeping an eye out for the weekends he’s away, racing, meaning she can tag along without stressing that they’re going to bump into each other.

Of course, she still watches his races. Just because they stop talking that doesn’t mean she stopped caring about the dream that Lando has been striving for since childhood. That’s also why she knows that Lando will be in the UK for at least another week, as he mentioned in the post-race interview, which won’t interfere with their little getaway.

By Friday, however, things change drastically. It’s only when she’s already halfway to the marina — after spending the entire afternoon shopping with the girls — that Max texts her.

BTW, just so you’re not surprised… Lando is flying in tonight. I know things aren’t great between you two right now, but he’s still my friend as much as you are, and I didn’t wanna lie or make it weird :D

You okay?

For a moment, everything seems to slow down, including her heartbeat. All the sounds that surrounds her fade into the background, while she tries to steady herself against the sudden rush of emotions.

Is she okay? Well, for the most part yes. But that’s because she haven’t seen Lando in months. There are many ways she can react when they’ll finally be face to face again, and she can’t decide which is worse. But in the end, it doesn’t even matter, because she simply doesn’t have the time to analyze every scenario.

I’ll survive, she texts back.

She will.

She has to.

It gets dark pretty late, but the night is warm, balmy with salt and wine in the air. They decorated the boat’s upper deck with a string of lanterns, their golden glow flickering against the white hull, gently illuminating the space. The music thumps lazily from a speaker somewhere, low enough not to overwhelm the sea’s waves but steady enough to pulse through bare feet on smooth wood.

Someone’s uncorking another bottle of vinho verde, and a few of the girls are still in their swimsuits, legs tucked beneath oversized linen shirts as they lounge across sun-warmed cushions.

She’s also barefoot, her skin kissed pink from the day, a loose skirt swaying at her thighs as she spins around one of the support poles, smiling wide; she decided, hours ago, that she won’t let anything ruin her vacation. It’s the first time in months she’s felt this light, and has no intention to let the feeling be washed away by the waves of a past so distant.

Only when she realizes that she is, in fact, invincible and that nothing can shake her confidence, she hears a familiar laugh, the same one she’ll recognize anywhere. But she doesn’t turn to it immediately. Instead, her body stiffens as fast as if it’s controlled by a remote.

He’s here and, suddenly, the breeze curling in from the sea feels somehow cooler. It’s just a voice, but it’s his, and it sounds so melodic in her ears, even after all this time.

When she finally turns around, all the noise dials down.

Lando’s standing on the deck like he’s never been gone, a duffel thrown over one shoulder, his curls slightly damp from the flight or the heat or the mist. He’s in a loose, black tank top and shorts, his sneakers untied like he didn’t even bother to fix them. He’s already smiling when he sees Max coming to greet him with a drink in hand, sliding easily into hugs and handshakes. Everything is so normal that she almost rushes to the stairs to jump into his arms.

As if he hears her thinking about him, Lando looks up and their eyes catch mid-movement.

The music doesn���t stop. No one freezes. The conversation continues. And yet something just between them shifts, making Lando still for a moment. His smile falters slightly. The duffel slides off his shoulder and drops at his feet. His gaze lingers longer than it should, because he seems genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected her to look the way she does — lighter, freer, happier than the last time he saw her.

Like a low-budget movie, they just look at each other for a while and then, barely perceptible, Lando nods once. It is a subtle, tired gesture. Not warm, but not hostile either. More like: I see you. I’ll behave.

And she nods back: I see you too. I’ll try.

That’s all that it is. A small breath of peace in the warzone. Because they both know that this vacation isn’t about them. There are too many people they both love here, too many memories tied up in this group to be so selfish as to ruin everyone’s fun.

With that, Lando disappears below deck with a few of the guys, and the party continues as if nothing happened.

SOMEHOW, THEY’VE MANAGED.

It’s the last night on the boat together, and not once have they really spoken. Just kept on with the civil nods and carefully timed appearances. She took the mornings on the upper deck with a book and her sunglasses pulled low, while he suck to afternoons with Max and Keegan, sunbathing and pretending not to look over when she passed by.

Every time they went out for dinner, they sat at opposite ends of the table, pretending to be invested in conversations that barely held their attention.

When they went to explore the nearby cliffs and hidden beaches, they naturally split into smaller groups, Lando ending up with the boys, as usual, taking the off-road buggy trails that wind through dusty hills, while she tagged along with a few of the girls. They didn’t walk near each other. Didn’t even end up in the same group photo.

But the glances were a constant, and all of them have carried them both here, almost at the end.

There’s a bizzare quiet in the air tonight, the kind that only the sea can create — so deep, violent, and alive at the same time.

After soaking in her own heat for hours, she decides to step out of her cabin for a breath of fresh air.

They’ve ordered seafood for dinner, and her relationship with it is not exactly good. A small breeze brushes across her face, lifting her hair slightly, carrying with it the clean scent of salt. The boat rocks gently beneath her, and the stars above are strewn carelessly across the sky like spilled sugar.

The second she steps into the dark of the corridor and turns toward the small galley, her heart skips a beat. For good reason. Lando’s already there, barefoot and shirtless and deep in thought in the low light, leaning against the railing like he belongs in the night. One of his hands is resting on the cool metal, while the other is wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.

His head turns when he hears her cat-like steps, eyes catching hers in the dark.

The only sounds are the gentle hush of the waves against the hull, and the occasional creak of the boat. Neither of them says anything, as if they don’t even know how to speak to each other after throwing cutting words at each other, all those months ago. The silence between them doesn’t make them feel awkward. Maybe just a little guarded. However, it’s very depressing, really, not having anything to say to the person who once knew absolutely everything about you.

It would be very easy for her to turn on her heels and walk back into her cabin, avoiding Lando, just like she has done all these days. But then she hears his whispered voice, and his mellow intonation is enough to make the entire planet stop from spinning.

“Everything okay?”

She swallows, caught in the stillness of the night as if she’s a thief. “Yeah,” she whispers back, even though it sounds more like a question than an answer. “Felt a bit sick.”

He nods slowly. “The shrimp?”

“The fucking shrimp,” she agrees.

Lando shrugs. “Ew.”

His reaction triggers a wave of warmth that washes over her, forcing a smile while thinking about the past. The memory flashes rudely uninvited. Still, she weclomes it with nothing but nostalgia in her heart. They were eight, crammed into a bed on a family vacation, and she’d eaten her weight in shrimp and clams at dinner, proudly declaring herself a seafood queen. Hours later, she threw it all up, right there, in bed, all over him. Lando woke up screaming, drenched in the smell of stomach acid, fish and betrayal and, ever since, he couldn’t even stand near a fish without gagging.

Cautious, she edges forward, bracing her arms on the railing only a couple feet apart from him, eyes fixed on the black stretch of sea. The moon paints a silver path across the water, waves shifting like oil under its light. For a few minutes, they just stand there like two ghosts, side by side, watching the view, but probably stuck in different memories.

“So, I’ll go back inside,” she says a little unsure.

His voice cuts through the quiet, “Stay,” says Lando without hesitation.

It’s not just the gentle plea that catches her off guard, but the way he says it. Like he means it more than he means anything else right now. Possibly more than he meant anything else ever.

Awkwardly, she moves forward, letting herself lean closer to him. That’s how she finds out that physical distance means absolutely nothing when it’s the emotional distance that kept them apart. More than that, there are many things left unsaid that fill that void.

Out of sheer curiosity — or plain stupidity, she’s not sure yet — the girl begins to walk uncertainly towards the edge of the space that separates them.

“You remember New Year’s?” she asks, the words coming out softer than she expects.

There is no trace of hatred or resentment behind her voice, which surprises her. She understands that she has, without realizing it, moved beyond their most tensed moment so far. And all that’s left now, besides her curiosity, is the fact that no matter how much time has passed, the two of them still know each other on a level they haven’t reached with anyone else.

Lando doesn’t look at her, but his jaw flexes. “Hard to forget.”

“I threw your jacket at you,” she continues with a small laugh.

“And stormed off like you were in a romcom.”

“To be fair, you were being a dick.”

He chuckles then, and the sound is gentle yet painfully nostalgic. “I probably was.”

“You talked like you knew everything. It was…” she hesitates, fingers tightening slightly on the rail, “A bit cruel. Even if it came from a good place.”

Lado nods. “I know,” he says, “I guess I didn’t know how to talk without sounding like some immature tantrum just because I was missing my friend.”

She glances at him then, studying the curve of his profile in the moonlight. The familiar slope of his perfect sculpted nose. The way his curls fall just a little longer then she remembered. The way he speaks but seems so deeply forgotten in the memory of that winter night.

“I broke up with him the next day,” she admits.

He turns, his eyes searching for hers. “Yeah,” says Lando, “I figured.”

Even though she tries her best, she can’t read his demeanor. He seems tense, even though their conversation isn’t hostile in any way. Not yet, at least. Still, Lando looks as if he’s bracing for some sort of impact that she’s not aware of. There something softer in his expression, though. Something hesitant that encourages her to keep him in that memory.

“I think about it sometimes,” she continues. “That night. All of it.”

He nods again. “Me too. ”

She looks over, eyes wide and cautious, but Lando doesn’t look away.

“But,” he continues, “I won’t apologize for what I said. Because I wasn’t wrong. You do deserve better. And maybe I had no right to say it the way I did, but I’d rather have fought with you than keep watchig you shrink yourself for someone who didn’t even appreciate you.”

His words hit like the waves, tightening her throat. “I get that. But in the moment, it made me feel…” she begins, eyes filling up with tears, “Like you stopped respecting me because of him. And I felt stupid for being so blinded that I lost sight of all the things that were the most important to me.”

The way Lando looks at her now makes her heart sink. Not with pity. Not even with regret. Just a dull ache, like he’s been carrying it with him for months, and he’s too tired to hold it tightly anymore.

“Come on, you know that’s not true,” he says. “I was just irritated and drunk. Watching you disappear like that wasn’t easy, and I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding like a selfish prick. I should’ve just said something,” adds Lando. “Instead of sulking and keeping score and acting like you betrayed me for living your life,” he looks away then, back to the endless sea, eyes half-lidded like the movement of the waves might offer him something easier to face. Anything but this.

He had time to think and weigh his actions. But it all came down to those last few minutes, when it suddenly became too much for both of them.

“I missed you, Lando,” she confesses after a while, letting the words out in a small voice.

The silence that follows is no longer heavy with avoidance, but an intimate warmth that somehow infiltrates under her skin. It merges with all the sadness caused by the time they spent apart and, together, they create a new kind of feeling that she doesn’t yet know how to name. And, for some reason, she’s in no hurry to do so.

Uncertain yet courageous after hearing her admission, Lando’s hand finds hers along the railing and, to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she threads her fingers through his, like she was already waiting for it. For him.

It’s weird, she thinks, how their hands fit together like the end of a sentence that finally makes sense. So she keeps it there, feeling his pulse in her palm like it’s the most normal thing in the world. They can’t look at each other, though. And suddenly, the waves are so much more interesting than the mess they’ve created, their soft undulation bewitching them both, mirroring their feelings in a sick, twisted way; tamed at the surface, yet storming somewhere deeper.

In the chaos of her mind, she can feel the gentle way his thumb brushes the side of her hand. The way he squeezes her afterwards. Like a promise. And she knows, without either of them saying it, that this was always going to happen. That they are inevitable, like gravity pulling them toward the center of each other.

“Are we gonna go back to being cold in the morning?” he finds the strength to ask, voice barely above the hush of the tide.

Truth is, she doesn’t even know what the next few minutes will bring, let alone the next morning.

The girl turns her head slightly, her cheek pressing to his shoulder. “Well, I don’t know how to be your friend nowadays,” she admits, not to make him feel bad, but because that’s the only thing she’s sure of. Her truth.

Lando sighs, “Yeah, that’s not quite us anymore, hm?”

It takes another crushing silence before Lando turns to her completely. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter they can’t be friends anymore, because they’re way past that. Lando is way past that. All he wants is one chance to show her how much it means to him; every word, every touch and every single thought that’s been haunting him for days on end.

He looks like he’s on autopilot when he brings his other hand up to brush her jaw. After his movement, she takes the next step and leans into his touch. She opens her mouth, maybe to say his name, but the words don’t get the chance to get out, because Lando grabs her firmly and pulls her toward him. Hard. Like he can’t take the distance anymore.

His mouth crashes into hers without any warning. It isn’t careful. It isn’t sweet. It’s the result of months of silence, of aching, of watching and wanting and never having. It’s teeth clashing, breath catching, fingers curling so hard into skin that it’ll leave marks.

She gasps into his mouth, as if the ground is crumbling beneath her feet, but at the same time, it’s the most exciting feeling she’s ever felt. Her arms are instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer like she’s been just as consumed by what they didn’t say. Lando fists a hand in her hair, the other gripping her waist tight enough to bruise. He’s all fire, hot and desperate, and there’s not enough water that surrounds them to cool what’s raging in his chest.

He gives her the kind of kiss that says I missed you too and I’m sorry and I never stopped thinking of you all at once. Her hand constricts around his bicep, grounding herself in the feel of him: his salty lips and the way he exhales with a relieved sigh like she’s air after being underwater for far too long. It’s impossible not to feel how much he needed this, because there’s nothing left unsaid in the way he holds her. The truth — his truth — was always there, waiting for the moment they’d both be brave enough to let in.

The kiss deepens before either of them realizes what’s happening. And it’s her who leans in a bit further. That brings him back to the present moment, not because she is just as desperate, but because of how much she means it. How much she wants this. It’s right there, in the way her mouth moves over his, open and urgent, like a need that’s been burning for too long. It makes Lando groan silently when her teeth graze his bottom lip, her tongue flicking against his like a dare. A dare that he answers to, meeting her halfway, teasing, then licking into her mouth with a skilled confidence that makes her head spin.

Oh, he’s a good kisser.

Dizzy from the sudden intensity, she clings to his neck, tilting her head as he takes control, his hands finding their way back to her waist after roaming up and down her body, guiding her back a few steps until her spine presses lightly to the railing. The breeze kisses across her bare legs, her thin nightdress doing nothing to hide the way her body shivers. Or how hard he gets against her. She feels it instantly, like a sharp contrast between his swim trunks and her body, and it sends a jolt of heat right between her thighs.

Her breath hitches once they stop, glancing up at him, caught between amusement and want. “What are you so excited for?”

Lando meets her gaze with an innocent grin twitching at his lips as he shrugs, “Sorry.”

She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation she finds herself in. Loud. The kind of laugh that throws her head back a little and makes her cover her mouth when she realizes its heat.

Lando just watches her, enchanted by her mere existence. And, without thinking twice, he asks, “How can anyone be embarrassed by that laugh?”

The sudden comment silences both of them. Lando, because he just heard himself saying it out loud. And her, because of how sincere he sounds. How tender.

Still grinning, he lets his forehead fall against hers. They may never encounter such a moment of peace again, so neither of them hesitates to take it where it’s supposed to go to: her tiny cabin. The narrow door clicks shut behind them, and the space is barely big enough for one person, let alone the two of them tangled in something so close it’s hard to tell where tension ends and need begins.

She backs into the bed, and Lando follows, eyes fixed to her like she’s the only girl ever. When they finally collapse onto the mattress, it creaks under their weight. Their knees bump. Shoulders brush. Lando’s arm wraps around her waist in an instant, and she fits there like it’s hers. That grip. Him.

Somehow, he’s bigger than she remembers. Or maybe she’s just never noticed how broad his chest is, how his legs stretch past the foot of her bed, how small her frame feels when she pulls him into her. And now, in the closeness of their embrace, it’s impossible not to feel it.

It intimidates her, but she keeps her hands all over him, warm skin meeting her palms. Her eyes roam without shame, wandering from his abdomen up to his pecs and then stop on his freshly kissed lips. Her fingers trail along his arms, feeling the strength carved into muscle by years of racing and tension. She watches the way goosebumps rise under her touch, and when her hand flattens over his chest, just above his heart, Lando exhales heavily, with a slight shudder.

He doesn’t look away, though. He doesn’t have the heart or enough willpower. He simply looks back at her, eyes burning, as if seeing her underneath him like this is the only normal thing in their messed up lifes.

“I need to know where’s your head at,” he says, his long fingers brushing the outside of her thigh.

She closes her eyes for a moment. Mostly because she finds it hard to pay attention when her childhood friend — the skinny little boy who used to be blown away by the slightest breeze — is now on top of her in the flesh, displaying groups of muscles she’s never seen on his body before, let alone touched.

Her hand stays on his chest, “Am I ever going to get my best friend back?”

His hearts breaks a little, because he realizes that both of them know the implications of her question. The answer, too, but she still wants to hear him saying it, because that’s the only thing that’ll make it true.

Lando’s eyes search hers for a moment too long, and something in him rearrange, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he leans in. “No,” he simply replies.

She figured. Still, it is not necessarily the answer itself that makes her emotional, but the way Lando said it, as if it is torture for him to even admit it.

“I can’t ruin myself over and over again, pretending that what I feel for you is small. It never was.”

She nods, lifting her hand to the back of his neck, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him down until their lips are barely brushing. Lando’s hands are pulling at her, slowly sliding the straps of her dress down. He takes his time, undressing her like he’s unwrapping a present he’s waited far too long to touch. And when she’s standing there, bare and warm and only for him to see, he sits back to stare and take as many mental pictures as he can.

“You’re…” he starts, voice nearly breaking, “So fucking beautiful.”

She presses closer, hands moving to his shorts with urgency. Lando lets her, barely breathing and, when the last layer falls away, she looks down at him. All of him. His golden skin that glows in the dim light filtering through the porthole, muscles tightening under her hungry touch.

Impatient, his hand slides between her legs while maintaining eye contact, his fingertips brushing over the soft skin at her inner thigh before he presses just lightly against her entrance. The reaction is immediate, a sharp breath followed by a soft whimper that catches in her throat. Her hips instinctively lift toward him, and his own breath wavers at the sound.

“So wet,” he breaks off, almost spiraling from the realization, from finding out just how much she wants him. Just like he wants her.

For a moment, there’s something feral in his gaze, something that won’t let her move her eyes. Like he’s balancing on a tightrope of restraint, and she’s the drop waiting to pull him under.

“It kills me,” he admits. Then he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “But you need to be quiet, darling.”

She nods, her breath still uneven, knowing it’s going to be anything but easy.

Lando presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone before he continues, “Even though I love it when you’re loud, you’ll have to save that for later.”

Just the thought of her, waiting for his next move all warm and wanting, has his cock already pulsing in his palm. He strokes himself slowly, gaze locked on her as she shifts beneath him, spreading wider with a shaky inhale.

As curious as ever, she glances down between them, eyes filled with want, and he watches her bite her lower lip at the sight of him, so hard and ready. The gap between them closes quickly, suspended in that final moment before everything changes. Her fingers curl into the sheets, watching Lando lining himself up, just barely brushing against her clit. Then, he pushes in with a whimper that sounds like it’s been clawing at his throat for months. Like this moment has been sitting just under his skin, waiting to become real.

“Fuck,” he pants, silently. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”

Right now, all her senses are inhibited by him. The weight, the stretch, the warmth, the way his hands frame her hips like she’s the only thing keeping him in check, and she’s the only reason why Lando isn’t unleashing hell yet. Her legs wrap around his waist, holding him close, as if her body already knows what her heart won’t let her say.

Lando. Lando. Lando!

But he shakes his head, his voice going lower than normal, “No, baby, Let me.”

The bed is laughably small, making Lando huff out a frustrated breath, one arm sliding under her thigh as he shifts them both, gripping her firmly to guide her where he needs her. It’s not graceful in any way, but there’s something about the way he manhandles her, lifting, adjusting, controlling the angle until it’s perfect, that makes her head fall back with a gasp.

He exhales through his nose, lips pressing in a thin line to avoid making sounds that could get them both into trouble. “There. That’s it.”

She lets him move her, pliant and trusting, her breath getting heavier when their skin brushes in all the right places. Every thrust is slow at first, drawing soft moans from her mouth that only make him harder. The way her body reacts only fuels him, encouraged by the way her lashes flutter, and the way her hands slide into his hair when she can’t find the words. She couldn’t say it anyway. Can’t give voice to what’s blooming and breaking inside her.

But Lando feels it in the way she moves with him, and how her body opens like it was always meant to. That pushes him to thrust harder, feeling like the entire boat shakes at the force.

“Easy. You’re gonna break the bed,” she says against his jaw, her voice a breathy laugh.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve broken over you,” he mutters back, but there’s no malice in his tone, except a dangerous affection that’s always lived under his skin when it came to her.

It makes her curious to know what he means, but just as she’s about to ask, Lando finds that angle where their bodies align like puzzle pieces that should’ve never fit but somehow do. He rocks into her so sweetly, and that’s enough to silence her. The answer is in the way her breath stutters. The way her fingers grip his arms. The way her body pulls him in and clenches around his length like it’s never known anything else.

“Shit. Again, please,” Lando breathes wetly against her skin. “Do that again,” he repeats, already buried to the hilt, grinding against that perfect spot inside her, that once he found it, it’s impossible to stop. “Mhm. Let me make it right.”

“You said you can’t,” she challanges him, barely able to speak. “So stop taking your sweet time, Norris,” she pants, breathless but defiant, smirking even as her thighs tremble around his hips.

Lando lifts his head, curls damp against his forehead, eyes dark with a sudden annoyance. “Yeah? That’s how he’s had you all this time? Quick, in and out, job done?”

Her smirk drops into a scoff, her hands pressing against his chest like she might shove him off. But she arches into him instead, loving the way her back rubs against the mattress with each push.

“If anything, he had the balls to be honest with me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he thrusts deeper, making her gasp mid-retort. “Stop defending him, will ya?”

The sheets are already half off the bed, twisted and forgotten, heat pulsing like a heartbeat between them. Lando starts moving inside her with a relentless rhythm, as if trying to erase anyone who came before him with every shove. But she won’t give him the silence he craves.

Not anymore.

Her head tilts back, sweat glistening at her collarbone, but her eyes are sharp, ready to catch his reaction. “No wonder you drive like that. Always trying to prove you’re better than the last guy, aren’t you?”

His hips slam forward, hard enough to make her gasp again, fingers bruising against her waist. “That’s rich coming from the girl who settled for someone who didn’t even know how to fuck her, let alone treat her right.”

She bites her lip, not in surrender but to hide the moan that slips out anyway. Her nails dig into his back, dragging down like a punishment until he grunts. “You’re such a coward,” she snaps. “At least he didn’t treat every conversation like a race he had to win.”

All of a sudden, Lando slows his movements, grinding deep, making her eyes roll before he fucks back into her harder than before. Only to make a point. Only to see all the places he takes her to.

“‘Cause he had the habit of abandoning before it even started, isn’t it? How many times did you have to fake it?”

Her eyes snap to his, speechless, but Lando doesn’t blink. He grins at her, knowing he is waiting for an answer he’ll never get.

She kisses him then, hard and angry, pouring all the emotions she never thought Lando, of all people, would ever awaken in her. Then she pushes him, her legs squeezing around his waist, her action emphasizing the duality of the thoughts going through her mind.

“Just so we’re clear. You’re not the first to try and fuck me into forgetting,” she finally replies.

At that, Lando stops for a breath, not from exhaustion but from the way her words claw straight through his big ego. He slams into her again, smiling at her, hand catching her thigh to spread her wider. “But I’m the one who’s going to succeed.”

She’s so close, he can feel it in the way her body aches to keep his cock inside and how her insults start to blend with moans. What amazes him, though, is the strength she has to continue their little argument, as if they’re not in the middle of something else right now.

“Never thought you could be such an asshole, it’s unbelievable.”

Lando doesn’t even blink when he speaks again, “He made you cry on New Year’s,” he growls, voice sharp, like a blade slipping between her ribs. “And I’m the asshole?”

Before she can throw a retort back, he tilts his hips, changing the angle, and drives into her so sudden that it knocks the breath from her lungs. Her back arches, while her hips are lifting to meet every punishing thrust.

“Lando,” she moans his name, arms winding around his shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.

She can feel him in places she didn’t even know could feel. He’s fucking her with such intensity it turns into a blur of slick skin and strangled whimpers, the bed creaking beneath them.

The banter dies somewhere along the way, and all that’s left behind is the heat, the pounding rhythm, the kind of pleasure that makes thoughts disappear and stars dance behind their eyes. Her brows are scrunched, eyes glazed, and she realizes she’s about to scream. Actually scream.

Luckily, Lando places a hand over her mouth just in time, muffling the broken sounds pouring out of her throat. It takes her by surprise, realizing how well he knows all her signals without ever telling him. But it’s easy for him. Especially when he sees the way her body’s trembling under his weight, and the way her eyes plead and challenge all at once.

He nods, hips pistoning into her, watching her come apart beneath him, a quiet, shaking mess.

“Yeah,” he grunts as quiet as possible through gritted teeth, “That’s it. Just me now.”

The words hang in the sweat-soaked air as she comes around his length, clenching so tight it nearly takes him with her. Lando doesn’t stop moving. Instead, he talks her through it, his voice breathless against her ear.

“That’s my girl, let it all out. So fucking perfect.”

Her nails sink further into his back, riding the aftershocks with his cock still buried deep, stretching her in all the ways she was craving. It brings him right on the edge, and with a frustrated cry, Lando pulls out, the head of his cock flushed and swollen as it rests hot and heavy against her thigh. He lets himself go at the sight, thick ropes spilling messily onto her skin. Sticky. Warm. Heavenly.

“Lan,” she breathes, half a protest, half a moan, reaching up to drag him back on top of her.

Lando can’t resist the pull. Not when her touch unravels him with every glide of her fingers over his skin. He used to dream of it, but the reality is always better. He kisses her again, softer this time, letting the moment stretch before his hand finds the curve of her breast, fingers teasing with just enough pressure to make her arch against him. Patiently, his thumb sweeps over her nipple, circling, pressing, feeling it harden under his touch.

It makes her whimper, her hands fisting in his hair. Lando’s lips find the column of her throat then, biting gently just beneath her jaw. Her sounds light him up like the fireworks they didn’t witness that night. He trails his kisses down to her collarbone, one palm flattening over her stomach before traveling back up.

Somehow, the chaos has slowed, but the heat is still there.

Their bodies are tangled in ways that no one could tell where she starts and where he ends, the mess between them so satisfying. When their eyes meet again, he sees her flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on her brow, and her chest heaving. Her eyes are so vulnerable as she looks back at him — her Lando, stripped down and completely wrecked.

And without a single word, he slides back in.

No sharp words, no angry breathing. Just the sound of their pants, the wet glide of his cock moving inside her, the weight of emotion that neither of them dares to name. Every thrust is unhurried this time around, his sweaty forehead resting against hers, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of her walls fluttering around him, the way her thighs lock around his waist with each roll of his hips.

It’s not just sex anymore. Is so much more than that, something that will linger for a quite some time after they part tonight. And they both know it.

When the pressure builds again, it’s different. There’s less fire. More ache. She blinks up at him, and her lips tremble. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes, not from physical pain, but from the overwhelming closeness of it all.

Lando sees it, and kisses them away.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

And when he comes again, it’s with a quiet groan right against her lips, buried deep as her body pulls him in, taking every drop of his pleasure and keeping him as if he belongs to her from now on. All of it. All of him.

The silence that surrounds them afterwards feels too full. She lets him stay there, wrapped around her, her fingers idly tracing his back. But her gaze is distant, fixed on the ceiling, already somewhere else.

For now, at least, they can coexist in the same world, breathing each other in until the reality will catch them from behind.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[httpsserene]

Lando smut driveroom after hia dnf🫠🫠

𝐝𝐧𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬

summary: what goes down in their driver’s room with you after a dnf. content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. hurt/comfort (in a way). sexual propositions. angry sex (implied). depressed charles. mercedes f1 team slander. sir kink. periods. face-sitting, vaginal sex, masturbation, voyeurism, blowjobs, cunnilingus, shower sex (light or implied). pairing: the grid x fem!reader (1,4,16,44,55,81) genre: drabbles.

from serene: river baby, this one’s for you xxx we all know what inspired this one lmao !!! oh, i will not be doing extended fics for any of these, they are just quick drabbles as a little writing exercise for me! (okay, okay, okay, fine i’ll finish toasty part two i promise it'll be released soon)

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𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐦𝐚𝐱 #𝟏

You’ve never found Max’s skill for talking endlessly annoying or draining. In fact, you can recall telling him that hearing him eagerly explain about racing or other topics that interest him is attractive, multiple times. However, you’re not sure if you can withstand much more of him rambling through a retelling of every single lap he raced before he had to retire, looking for any possible point where he could’ve done something different to prevent it. 

The two of you are sitting on his small couch, pressed side to side, and you’re offering small nods of agreement and hums of understanding during his pauses between words that echo in the small private room. His helmet was shoved in a random cubby, his balaclava draped on top of it but, he hasn’t made any other progress in taking off his race gear. His gloves are still covering his hands as he fiddles with the straps around his wrists, his race suit and boots still properly secured, the smell of sweat and gasoline–the scent of man alluring to your nose–the heat of his body radiating against your side instigating the warmth that floods your cheeks, and the sound of his lisp curling seductively around his speech prompting less than pure thoughts as your heart flutters and thighs press together.

Max is unaware of the sudden twist in your thoughts as he verbally attempts to calculate just exactly where he could’ve improved his outcome, his voice rumbly with an undertone of displeasure, when you cut him off.

“Let me make it better,” you offer.

The Dutch driver cocks his head at you, his expression confused and humored, “How can you make my DNF better? I do not think you can go back in time and—”

“No, Max,” you interrupt, teeth tugging at your bottom lip gently, “Let me sit on your face.”

Visibly, you see his breath catch and eyes widen. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to formulate a response, tongue flicking out to dampen his lips as he thinks—before his pupils blow large, and he swallows audibly.

“Oh,” Max starts, finally tugging his gloves off and tossing them to the floor, then moving to undo the strap of his race suit, “That would make it better.”

𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 #𝟒

He’s pacing the small length of the room angrily, ranting about his retirement loudly enough that you know it’s seeping through the thin walls. You stare at him with a slightly concerned gaze, getting slightly annoyed as his race suit tied low on his hips threatens to smack you in the face every time he turns around. 

You’re well aware that Lando is quick to anger and brood as he freely makes everyone aware of where the blame needs to be placed. But, the dark and unyielding look in his eyes leads you to believe that he’ll be a little too real to the press today and you would hate to have to deal with a simultaneously enraged and ashamed Lando once he realizes what he said. Then, you’ll have to comfort him as he overthinks his words and doom scrolls through Twitter to see what people are saying about him. You would like to sleep tonight, so you can’t have him embarrass himself today. Thankfully, Lando’s a man, a very simple man at his core. 

You stand up from the couch and pull off his hoodie that you stole. Lando continues to rage and pace, not aware of your movement. You undo the buttons of your shirt, shrugging it off to stand in your bra and jeans. Lando doesn’t notice your state of undress until he spins around to find you topless and shimmying your jeans down your hips.

“Um,” Lando stutters, eyes fixed on your tits, “Why are your clothes off?”

“Get over here and fuck your anger out,” you command, “So when you talk to the press, you don’t say the stupid shit you're telling me now.”

Lando mumbles and pouts offended as he scrambles to lose his race suit, “‘s not stupid shit.”

You roll your eyes and reach out to tug him forward strongly, humming as the length of his body knocks against yours, easily stuffing your hand down his fireproofs and kissing on the meat of his neck, “mhm–I’m sure it isn’t.”

𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 #𝟏𝟔

The room is silent as Charles blankly stares at the wall, you’re not sure if he is aware of your hand comfortingly scratching along his back. He only offered words of exhaustion and depression as he slipped quietly into his room and curled next to you as he dissociated from his retirement.

You’ve tried everything. You cooed soothingly, you complained about the result, and you even loudly expressed how terrible you think the car and Ferrari are and he didn’t say a single word. He simply continued to stare at the wall, his suit and helmet still on, visor down, and expression unreadable. Anxiously, you shifted next to him, not used to experiencing Charles this out of it. And suddenly, the idea came to you. Breaking the silence, you suggested giving him head to relieve his stress. Charles said no. Your brow furrowed perplexed at his denial; he’s never rejected a blowjob before. You took it one step further and offered to let him fuck it out of you (you were previously adamant on the “no sex in the driver’s room” rule because sound carries), and you were sure the Monegasque was about to say yes before he shook his head violently like he was forcibly removing the thought, and mumbled something along the lines of, “I don’t deserve it.” 

That is something you will not let slide. Charles doesn’t need to punish himself after he’s already out of the race, but if he won’t allow himself to indulge in you, you’ll strongly encourage him to.

“Okay, Charlie,” you whisper, “If you’re sure.”

He doesn’t zone back in until he hears your whimpers seep into the air, snapping his head to look at you. He finds you with one hand tugging at your nipple and your other hand shoved under your skirt—from the movement, he can guess that you’re two fingers deep. You hear Charles choke audibly and you can’t help but toss your head back and giggle, the laughter turning into a moan of pleasure as your fingers pass over a sensitive spot.

“I-I think–merde,” Charles cuts himself off as he stares at your show, “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

The helmet stays on.

𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬 #𝟒𝟒

You’re unsure if Lewis is even mad about his retirement. The man seems mentally deranged as he laughs gleefully about ending his race early. Understandably, he is complaining about the bottoming of the car and the hell it’s wreaking on his back–so, maybe the joy is justifiable, your man is…older.

The thing is, Lewis switches from rambling about his back pain to complaining about Mercedes and repeating how he can’t wait for a change in scenery at Ferrari. In the Mercedes motorhome. Loudly. You know he’s doing it on purpose based on the vengeful look in his eyes. He recalls almost every single moment the team dismissed his critiques and suggestions, every single moment they didn’t appear at his podiums, every single moment they thought he wouldn’t leave, every single moment they took him for granted. And, Lewis is more than welcome to express his grievances—but you would still like him to leave on good terms as Toto did promise you a custom G-Wagon (not that Lewis can’t get you one himself; you would just hate to see him ruin his connections).

Lewis also can’t help being hot. He sits comfortably splayed out on his couch, a towel tied loosely on his hips from his shower, chest bare as beads of water fall downwards and get caught in the maze of his toned abdomen, his tattoos become art pieces as you appreciate the sight fully. He continues to partake in his amusing one-man conversation as he clasps his chain around his neck—and you break.

“Let me suck your dick,” you blurt out, cheeks flushing, surprised at your own words, “...sir?”

Lewis pauses, raising an eyebrow at you from where you’re leaning on the room door. 

“Well, I don’t know why you’re still standing over there if that’s what you want. Kneel.”

The sound of your knees hitting the floor sings in the air, “Yes, sir.”

𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢, 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 #𝟖𝟏

Oscar’s already sequestered himself away in his room before you were able to intercept him on his way. The mechanics are lowly gossiping about how mad he was when he pulled himself out of the car and they watch after you in fear as you make your way to your boyfriend.

Oscar? Mad? He’d never take it out on you, there’s no reason for the mechanics to be worried. Except when you enter the room, the vibes are peculiar. Oscar’s calmly folding his race suit, boots tucked away into their proper place, standing in just his fireproofs—they compliment his body well, extremely well. He turns to look at you and there’s a smile on his face as if he hasn’t retired from a race. He opens his arms for a hug, and you hesitate for a moment before fulfilling his request. His arms wrap around you warmly and he nuzzles his face into your hair, pulling back briefly to press a kiss on your forehead before tightening his embrace. It feels more like he’s comforting you than you’re comforting him. He walks the two of you backward to his couch and pulls you down to sit on his lap. 

Somehow, Oscar brightens more, “Hi, baby,” he grins, hands moving to fiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Uhh, I’m sorry about your race?” Your tone of voice is unsure.

“Oh,” he laughs dismissively, “It happens sometimes–it was listed in the job description.” His right hand slips underneath your shirt as he speaks, moving calmly to tug the cups of your bra down underneath your chest, squeezing lightly at the plush weight in his hand. 

You’re convinced he’s severely concussed, but it doesn’t stop you from arching towards him, your hips rolling forward unconsciously, “Ummm— ‘s there a-anything I can do to help?”

Oscar’s hand draws out of your shirt and halts the grind of your hips in a flash, he coos at you, “Aw, that’s so sweet of you to offer…let me fuck your tits—please?”

What were you going to do, tell him no?

𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳 𝐣𝐫, 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 #𝟓𝟓

You’re going to slam your head on the corner of the sink and hope it knocks you out. You’ll do it if means the sounds of Carlos’ whining stop. He forcibly pulled you up on the counter of the sink and told you to stay put as he showered so he could talk it out to you.

Naively, you thought the sound of the shower running would muffle his words and you were wrong. On any other day, you would be fine to support him through his complaints but your period is due to start in a couple of days and the irritation and sore muscles are already affecting you. Originally, you were eager to watch Carlos shower—that’s a sight plenty of women and men alike would kill you for. Then, the glass fogged with steam depriving you of something to ogle. And, if there’s one thing a woman is experiencing besides pain, sensitivity, and anger before her period, it’s being horny. You rationalize your thought process as you get undressed; Carlos gets some stress relief and you get to hear moans and grunts of pleasure instead of his huffing, grumbling, and whining. 

You slide the glass door open and closed as you step in the shower, completely bare except for the necklaces, earrings, and anklet with the #55 charm he gifted you randomly, “Carlos, por favor, be quiet.”

The Spanish man’s mouth is agape as he stares at you, frozen in the middle of his motion of scrubbing soap along his arm, “¿Qué?”

You roll your eyes, tugging the soapy cloth out of his hand and setting it on the shower shelf, “There’s better things you could be doing with your mouth.”

Carlos blinks, returning to the present and sinking to his knees in the too-small shower. 

He stares up at you with his big, sweet, lust-drenched, brown eyes, his hair a mess from the spray of the shower, and his voice cracking as he speaks, “Yes, definitely.”

© httpsserene2024

[megameatymatt]

Pretty Baby - Billie Eilish

“TMI, but self-pleasure is an enormous, enormous part of my life, and a huge, huge help for me. People should be jerking it, man"

Credits to @prttyribbons for the divider 🖤

Summary: Billie reminds you how pretty you are by touching you in front of a mirror

A/N: idk why this took so long for me to write cuz its nothing special btw tysm for all the love on my last fic i really appreciate it!!!! love you guys ok bye!🖤

CW: SMUT, insecurity, edging, fingering, Dom!billie. fem!reader, excessive use of the word pretty

word count: 813

Billie: purple

Y/n: Pink

You stand in front of your bed, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you try on yet another outfit. You've always had some insecurities about your body, but today, it feels like it's all you can focus on. You and Billie were supposed to go out today, but after two hours of searching for something to wear, you still can't find an outfit that hides the parts of yourself you wish weren't so visible.

After trying on what feels like the 100th outfit, tears fall. "Whats wrong with me, why can't i be pretty?" You whisper, eyes scanning your reflection in the mirror. After some time Billie walks in and sees you crying. "What's wrong babe? You alright"

You wipe your eyes quickly, but your voice cracks when you answer. "I just… I can't find anything that looks right. I feel—" you pause, the words hard to form, "—I feel like i'm not good enough."

Billie steps closer, gently pulling you into her arms. "But you are good enough, more than good enough." She pulls back and cups your face. "In so many different ways" she says with a smirk, her eyes glued to yours.

She spins you around, making you face the mirror. "in fact, i could name a lot i like about you." She says, hands snaking around your waist. "Bil-" you start, a hesitant smile tugging at your lips. Billie leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "But you're gonna have to take this off for me first." She whispers, tugging on the straps of your black dress.

Without thinking, you pull the straps down, feeling the fabric slide off your shoulders. Billie’s eyes follow the motion, her gaze soft and full of admiration. She lowers her hand, resting it lightly on your thigh as she kisses your neck and for a moment, the weight of your insecurities feel miles away.

Your pulse quickens, the intimacy of the moment replacing the self-doubt. "Bils..." you whisper.

She unclips your bra, leaving it on the floor, "I love these," she says as she squeezes your bare tits. she slides down your panties leaving yu completely exposed. "Fuck, you can talk all the shit you want about yourself but you drive me crazy"

She squeezes and traces your thigh as you sit on her lap. "Look at you, baby, you're fucking gorgeous" You look yourself in the mirror, Billie is completely infatuated with you. Maybe I am good enough, you think, a smile landing on your face. "Spread for me, mama." You do as you are told, and spread your legs, causing whimpers to escape your throat.

She takes her finger and swipes from down up, "So wet baby, you're so pretty" She takes her two fingers and begins to rub your clit. "Billie," you moan, reaching down for her hand. "uh-uh Y/N, just keep looking in the mirror, pretty girl." she takes her other hand and lifts your chin to make sure your eyes stay fixed on yourself.

without warning she slides both fingers inside you. "Fuck!" you cry out, your back arching as Billie's fingers plunge deep inside you. "you're so tight, baby," she says, thrusting her fingers in and out at a punishing pace. Your eyes flutter closed, but Billie insists you keep them open, watching your own reflection as she finger-fucks you senseless. 

"You're so beautiful", she breathes, her free hand cupping your breast, thumb rubbing your nipple until it's hard and aching.

"Your pussy is so fucking good when it's wet for me. Isn't it, pretty girl?" she says, breathless. She slides a third finger in, watching your face for a reaction." Say it, baby. Tell me how pretty you are."  Billie demands, her voice urgent. You can barely speak, your need for release building with each stroke."Billie.." you plead. "Do it, or i'll stop right now"

You whine as she slows down her pace. You thrust your needy hips against her fingers, making her pull them out. "say it" she says a lot more stern than before. you hiss, your need for release almost painful.  "Fuck- i- I'm pretty"  you manage, your voice strained. "I'm so pretty"  Billie's eyes blaze with hunger as she watches you through the mirror.

"And you better fucking believe it" she growls, her fingers digging into your hips. "Now come on, baby. Show me how pretty you get when you cum for me." Billie commands, her voice dripping with lust. She slides her fingers back in and continues to fuck you.

"Billie, I'm going to— I'm gonna—" "Come for me baby, let it all out", Billie encourages, fingering you harder, faster, pushing you closer to the edge. "Oh fuck- my god, bils' You throw your head back, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Billie smirks as she watches you in the mirror, "that's it, so pretty, baby"

[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely :)!

I have a Spencer Reid x Reader req

(I’m new to requesting, and I also completely understand if you don’t want to write this)

Reader has been working at the bau for about less than a year, and hasn’t gone to hang out with anyone outside of work. Eventually one day she gets invited over to Garcia’s house for a team party, and to everyone’s surprise (especially Spencer’s) she dresses completely different outside of work, almost like a hyper manic pixie dream girl straight from the movies. Spencer complements her, and it leads to some budding romance and silly flirting :)

you can make any adjustments you’d like, I really don’t mind.

thank you!

- 🐞

dreamgirl — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing a/n: hiii 🐞 !! this request is so cute !! i loved writing this <3 also the pictures r just here for the aesthetic not necessarily representing readers outfit :) and i did a bit of research on hyper manic pixie dream girsl and i hope it's what you were thinking of ( i mostly took inspo from jessica day😭 )

The scent of vanilla frosting and freshly baked cake filled Garcia’s apartment as Spencer Reid carefully poured a bag of chips into a large glass bowl.

At the counter, Garcia was meticulously decorating a cake, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as she attempted to pipe a perfect heart in the center. “Ugh, this won’t work,” she muttered under her breath, squinting at her creation. 

Spencer glanced at her before the sound of the doorbell pulled his attention. 

“Can you get that?” Garcia asked, not looking up. “My hands are kind of full—literally, full of frosting and frustration.” 

He placed the half-empty bag of chips down and made his way to the door. As he pulled it open, his mouth fell slightly open, words momentarily escaping him. 

Standing there, holding a neatly wrapped box of cookies, was you. 

You, who always dressed in neutral tones at work. You, who usually blended in with the professional, serious atmosphere of the BAU. 

But this? This was a whole new side of you. 

You were wearing a vibrant, oversized cardigan covered in mismatched patterns—flowers, stars, maybe even a tiny dinosaur if he looked closely enough. Underneath, a pastel pink t-shirt featured a giant, cartoonish strawberry in the center. Your bag, also pink, was slung over your shoulder, covered in pins and keychains that jingled softly as you shifted on your feet. 

“Hi, Spencer!” you greeted cheerfully, eyes bright. “I’m so glad I found the right place.” You let out a small, nervous laugh. “I got lost, like, five times.” 

Spencer was still standing in the doorway, staring at you , trying to process what he was seeing. This was not what he had expected. 

Before he could formulate a response, a voice piped up behind him. 

“Boy genius, are you going to let her in, or are we just gonna leave her standing out there ?” 

Garcia appeared behind him, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel before stopping in her tracks. Her eyes widened as she took you in from head to toe. 

“Oh. My. God,” she gasped dramatically, hands flying to her chest. “This outfit is everything.” 

You laughed, cheeks warming under the attention. “I usually tone it down for work.” 

Garcia shook her head in mock disappointment. “Such a shame. We’ve been robbed of this fabulousness for months. But not tonight! Come in, my little pastel dream!” 

Spencer finally blinked, stepping aside to let you pass, still visibly processing the contrast between your work self and—this. 

You smiled at him as you walked by, completely unaware of the way he was still watching you, fascinated by this entirely new version of someone he thought he already knew. 

Garcia linked her arm through yours as she led you toward the kitchen. “Okay, we need to discuss this transformation immediately. Where do you shop? How do I get a cardigan like that? And—” she gasped dramatically “—please tell me you brought something sugary in that little box.” 

“I did,” you confirmed, holding up the cookies. 

“I knew I liked you.” 

Spencer lingered near the door for a moment before closing it behind him, a small, curious smile tugging at his lips. 

Half an hour later, nearly everyone had arrived, the team had been nothing but warm and welcoming. You’d lost count of the number of compliments you’d received—Emily had gushed over your cardigan, JJ had called you “adorable,” and even Derek had thrown in a playful “Look at you, all cute and colorful. Who would’ve thought?” 

Even Hotch—stoic, serious Hotch—had cracked the smallest hint of a smile and simply said, “It’s good to see you here.” 

Now, you found yourself drawn to one of Penelope’s many shelves, admiring the collection of trinkets she had displayed. Tiny figurines, colorful glass bottles, and an alarming number of cat-themed items covered nearly every inch. 

As you reached out to gently poke a ceramic cat with oversized eyes, a familiar presence appeared beside you. 

“It’s so cute,” you murmured, turning slightly when you realized Spencer was standing next to you. 

Spencer, who had been staring at you practically all night. Spencer, who had endured teasing remarks from both JJ and Derek about his obvious interest. 

He cleared his throat, glancing quickly at the figurine as if he hadn’t been watching you the whole time. “Yeah,” he nodded, a little too fast, trying (and failing) to act casual. 

A small smile tugged at your lips as you noticed his gaze lingering—not on the cat, but on you. More specifically, on the colorful hair clips securing small sections of your hair. 

“Do you like them?” you asked, amusement dancing in your voice. 

Spencer blinked, caught off guard. “What?” 

“My hair clips,” you clarified, tilting your head slightly. “You keep staring at them.” 

A faint pink dusted his cheeks. “Oh. Yeah—yeah, I do,” he admitted, a small, sheepish smile forming when he realized he’d been caught. 

Your smile widened. “You can borrow them if you want.” 

That made him huff out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think I could pull them off.” 

You playfully squinted at him, pretending to assess. “I don’t know, Reid. I think you could totally rock the look.” 

His lips quirked at the teasing tone in your voice, but before he could respond, he blurted out, “I like your outfit.” 

It came out too quickly, like his brain had tried to filter it, but failed at the last second. His eyes shut briefly, as if he was mentally kicking himself for how awkwardly it had slipped out. 

Your heart skipped slightly at the unexpected compliment. “Yeah?” you prompted, tilting your head. 

He nodded, gaze flickering to yours before quickly shifting to the shelf again. “It’s... really different from how you usually dress at work. But it suits you.” 

“Thanks, Spencer.” You nudged his arm lightly, lowering your voice just enough to make him glance at you again. “I like your outfit, too.” 

His brows raised slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. “This?” He glanced down at his usual button-up and cardigan combination. 

You grinned. “Yeah. Classic Reid. Wouldn’t change a thing.” 

He exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. But you could tell, from the way his lips curled at the corners, that he liked hearing it. 

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then , you leaned a little closer, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “You know, if you ever want to borrow the cardigan, I wouldn’t say no. I think you’d look... interesting in pastel dinosaurs.” 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and then he let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to my usual look, thanks.” 

“Suit yourself,” you said with a shrug, your grin widening. “But just know, the offer’s always open. You might surprise yourself.” 

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “You’re full of surprises tonight,” he said quietly, his tone warm. “I like it.” 

Your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in his voice, and you looked down at the ceramic cat again, pretending to examine it more closely. “Well, maybe I’ll have to surprise you more often.” 

Spencer didn’t respond right away, but when you glanced up, he was smiling—a small, genuine smile that made your stomach do a little flip. “I’d like that,” he said simply. 

The moment lingered.

And then, as if on cue, Garcia’s voice cut through the room.��

“Reid! Stop hogging my guest and come help me with this cake!” 

Spencer blinked, startled out of the moment, and you laughed softly. “Duty calls,” you said, nudging him again. 

He hesitated, his gaze lingering on you for just a second longer before he nodded. “Yeah. Duty.” 

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your fingers brushing against the ceramic cat one last time.

[missdynamighttt]

can you pretty please write something based on the song Would You Fall in Love With Me Again from Epic? I was thinking like, barbarian bakugo but he went to war or somethin’ and finally gets home to his wife?

the village gates loomed in the distance, barely visible through the morning mist. the scent of rain and blood clung to the air, but for the first time in years, katsuki bakugo paid it no mind. his fingers twitched at his side, the leather of his armor worn from war. his sword, heavy as the burdens he carried, hung loosely at his hip.

he had returned. but would she still want him?

his steps slowed as he neared the familiar path leading to their home. it was still there—unchanged, untouched as if time had waited for him. the wooden beams, the carved symbols of protection along the frame, the worn stone path leading to the door. a home he had built with his own hands.

a home he feared he no longer belonged in.

the door creaked open before he could knock.

“katsuki?”

there she stood. his wife. his love. the woman he had fought for across a thousand battlefields.

you.

you looked just as he had remembered and yet… not. there was something in your eyes, something weary, something knowing.

"is it really you?" your voice trembled, your hands gripping the doorframe as if to steady yourself. "or am i dreaming again?"

his throat went dry. he wanted to say something—anything—but all he could do was stare.

he had imagined this moment a hundred times, had whispered your name into the cold night air of distant lands, had prayed to gods he no longer believed in just to see you again.

but now that you were here, he didn’t know if he had the right to reach for you.

"you look... different," you whispered. "your eyes… they look tired."

his lip curled, not in anger, but in some bitter, broken thing that resembled a smile. "that ain't the only thing that's different."

you took a step closer, hesitant, searching. your gaze trailed the hollows of his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw. your fingers twitched as if aching to touch him, but you held back. 

a sharp breath left him. he knew what you saw. he wasn't the man you had once known. he was something else now. something ruined.

"i'm not the man you fell in love with," he admitted, voice rough like gravel. "not the man you married."

you flinched, but you didn’t look away.

"i'm not your husband anymore," he continued, his voice quiet, pained. "my love... would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all i've done?"

your breath hitched. "what... have you done?"

katsuki shut his eyes. when he opened them, they were dark with memories he wished he could forget.

"left blood on every fuckin' battlefield," he sighed. "traded soldiers like weapons. hurt more lives than i can count." his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "but every goddamn thing i did… was to come back to you."

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "so tell me. would you still love me?"

your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. you studied him again, truly seeing him, the man he was now—the weight he carried, the sins etched into his skin.

then you turned, walking deeper into their home. katsuki's chest ached as you disappeared from view. maybe this was it. maybe you couldn’t—

"could you do me a favor?" your voice drifted from within.

"what is it, my love?" his brow furrowed as he followed, stepping inside for the first time in years. the air smelled of you. of home. 

you were quiet for a long time, the wind whispering between you. then, at last, you stepped forward, eyes steady. 

you turned your gaze to the large wedding bed in their home, carved from the sturdy olive tree that had stood as a silent witness to your love since the beginning.

“that bed,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “could you lift it? carry it far away from here?”

his blood ran cold.

“how could you say that?” his voice cracked, the anger, the exhaustion, the heartbreak all colliding into one. “i built that bed with my own fuckin' hands. carved it from the tree where we first met. the only way to move it is to—”

his breath caught. he looked at you, realization striking him like lightning. his chest ached. his arms, worn from war, longed for your warmth.

“…you knew."

you stepped closer, cradling his face in your hands. his hands came, gripping your waist as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

a small, trembling smile touched your lips. "only my husband would know that. so i guess that makes you... him."

his knees nearly buckled. he surged forward, hands cupping your face, his forehead pressing against yours.

tears slipped down your cheeks, but you smiled, truly smiled, as your hands finally touched him—fingers ghosting over scars and bruises and the remnants of war.

"i will fall in love with you over and over again, katsuki," you whispered. "i don't care how, where, or when. no matter how long it's been. you are mine.”

he crushed you to him, burying his face into your hair, his body shaking. katsuki swallowed hard, his vision blurring. “i told you… i’m not the same.”

"you're always my husband, katsuki," you murmured. "i've been waiting for you. i would have waited forever."

katsuki's arms tightened around you, grounding himself in your warmth, your love, your unwavering belief in him.

"you don't have to anymore," he whispered. "i'm home." 

katsuki held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. the weight of years, of battles, of bloodshed, all crumbled beneath the warmth of your touch.

you swallowed hard. “how long has it been?”

katsuki exhaled, his forehead resting against yours. his voice was barely above a whisper.

“twenty years.”

a breath hitched in your throat. twenty years. twenty years of waiting, of uncertainty, of praying that the man you loved would return to you. “god, katsuki…”

“i thought i’d never make it back to you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “i thought—” he stopped himself, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. “i don’t deserve this.”

"don’t say that," tears spilled down your cheeks as you cupped his face, your fingers trembling. “i love you.”

his breath shuddered. he had been through war. he had seen death, had taken lives, and had lived in the darkness for what felt like an eternity. and yet, nothing had ever struck him down the way those three words did.

a harsh, broken laugh escaped him, and he pressed his lips against your forehead.

“i love you more. always have. always will.”

you sobbed, burying yourself in his chest as he held you tighter, his body shaking from exhaustion, from relief, from love.

and for the first time in years, katsuki bakugo finally let himself fall. back into the home he had fought so hard to return to. back into you, his wife.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[imagineshere-forall]

- the calendar ✰ e. buckley (smut version)

Summary: an unexpected person stars for the 118 in the firefighter calendar  Genre: angst & smut Warnings: smut (quickie at work, oral m receiving, unprotected p in v) & swearing & jealousy  Pairing: evan buckley x fem!reader Word count: 2.6k Note: this is my first ever time writing smut so pls pls be kind (or i’ll cry) but also pls leave constructive criticism, if it is bad i need to know so i can get better.

Due to the strict ‘no fraternisation’ rule at the 118, you and Evan had kept your relationship a secret. There had been a few times where someone had nearly caught the two of you, including Eddie walking into the shower room while you and Buck were sharing one cubicle, but no one had caught on yet. In this scenario, Buck had quickly picked you up, wrapped your legs around his waist and covered your mouth with his hand. 

Everyone had just assumed the two of you were best friends, you guys had lots of inside jokes and were always working out together, and today was no different. All the men were working out extra hard as the firefighter calendar had just been announced and they were all fighting to star.

Last year, Chimney had surprised everyone and had represented the 118 in the calendar, so the competition was on. Today was the last day of submissions, and impulsively you had decided to enter some photos for the calendar. You didn't need to take any new photos as for Buck’s birthday the month before, you had done a sexy photoshoot and periodically sent them to him, printing off a few which he kept in his wallet. 

After the submissions had closed, everyone had been eagerly checking the mail for the calendar delivery as they had decided not to announce who was featuring for each firehouse prior to the release. 

Weeks later, you walked into the fire house and were met with whistles by some of the men who you had not spoken to much. Forgetting you had submitted pictures for the calendar you were confused at the sudden attention you were receiving. 

“Why is everyone being so weird today?” you asked walking up to Hen, who was also looking at you funny.

“You don’t know?” questioned Hen, to which you simply shook your head.

“Good morning, Miss August!” Eddie exclaimed as he saw you appear upstairs. Suddenly the pieces clicked together, you must have been picked for the calendar.

“Miss August? What are you talking about?” Evan looked up, pausing as he poured himself a drink.

“y/n here, was chosen to represent the 118 in the firefighter calendar.” Eddie said as he pulled the calendar off the wall, flicking to August.

Suddenly, you were met with a picture of you on your knees, wearing your fireproof trousers but no top, the suspenders on your trousers over your shoulders, giving you a small bit of modesty. The strips of fabric only just covered your nipples, the outline of piercings visible through the fabric of the suspenders. 

You looked up to Buck whose jaw clenched as he took in the picture before him, which he had seen before, as a copy of it lived behind his driver's license in his wallet. You could see as he tried to regain his composure before deciding what to say next. 

“I, uh, I wasn't aware you had submitted pictures for the calendar?” Buck questioned, his voice wavering as he tried to hide his agitation. Now, Buck was usually not a jealous guy, but seeing that picture of you on display on the wall of the firehouse made him want to drive to every firehouse and rip up all the copies of the calendar that had been printed. 

“Yeah, I did it on the last day of submissions, I didn't think I'd get picked so I just forgot about it,” you smiled as you spoke to Evan. The two of you held eye contact, not paying attention to the rest of the crew bustling around you. “I must admit I was confused with the wolf whistles when I walked in this morning.” 

This sentence triggered Evan’s protectiveness.

“People have been whistling at you? Who? Point them out.” Buck demanded as he walked over to the balcony overlooking the main floor.

“Buck, dude, calm down,” Eddie said as he walked over to Buck “She’s single, and she looks great, of course there’s gonna be some attention.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Buck said, rubbing the back of his neck. Eddie looked at Buck as he paced, clearly confused by his behaviour.

“Oh y/n, I’ve been meaning to get your help with something, could you come help me?” Buck asked, ignoring the looks Eddie was sending his way.

“Uhh, yeah, just let me drop my bag,” you said as you headed to go put it down.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Buck grabbed your bag and walked to the locker room downstairs and put it in your locker. 

“Buck?” You asked repeatedly as you followed him, getting louder each time until he finally stopped pacing in the locker room. 

“Sorry, it’s just, I don’t like everyone seeing you like that,” Buck whispers as he walks towards you. Thankfully the two of you were in a blindspot to the rest of the firehouse so no one could see as he put his hand up to your face and raised your chin so you were looking into his eyes. “Everyone keeps looking at you, because they think you’re single and I just wish I could tell everyone you’re mine.”

“I’m sorry Buck, I should’ve asked you first,” you whispered.

“No, no, it’s your body and you look great in those photos. I just get a little insecure sometimes,” Buck whispered, fiddling with your fingers as you spoke. 

“I love you Buck.”

“I love you too. Also, I’m going to be having a boner for the entire month of August at work now, so thank you for that.” Buck laughed

“You know, my shift hasn’t officially started, and I was thinking I needed a shower. Plus, jealous Buck is kind of hot.” you said as you pulled Buck towards the showers.

“That's interesting, because I was thinking I needed a shower after that last call,” Buck said as he used his free hand to start unbuttoning his shirt. 

“You definitely do,” You said as you started to unbutton your own shirt. 

Buck’s hands quickly copied yours and raced to unbutton his shirt, as he did he leant forward and harshly attached your lips to his. With your shirt unbuttoned, you placed your hands on Buck’s shoulders, pushing him into the shower cubicle behind the pair of you and easing the shirt off his torso. You and Evan moved in sync as he simultaneously pushed your shirt off your shoulders.

Your feet tangled together as you passionately tumbled into the cubicle. With your lips still locked you reached down and began undoing your belt, Buck quickly following suit. Within seconds, both of your clothing was heaped on the bench, leaving the pair of you in your underwear. 

You reached your hand down between the two of you and you could feel Buck’s hardness through his underwear. You gently palmed him, causing him to groan and lean into you. He very quickly shed his underwear in a desperate effort to feel your skin on his. 

You separated your lips, causing Buck to groan at the loss of contact. Buck’s disappointment was short lived as you began to kiss your way down his neck and his torso. As you dropped to your knees you looked up at Buck who gently stroked your head, beginning to clasp your hair into a ponytail. 

You leant forward and used your hand to hold Buck as you began to deliver small licks to his tip, causing Buck to groan loudly. 

“Please stop teasing,” Buck whimpered. At this you took him in your mouth causing him to drop his head back against the wall in pleasure. 

As you knew your time was likely to be cut short any moment, you sped up your bobbing on Buck’s cock. After a minute you removed Buck from your mouth and licked a stripe all along the underside of him and cradled his balls as your tongue serviced him. 

“Get up here, I’m going to finish soon if you keep that up,” Buck pulled your head away from his crotch and pulled you up so you were standing again. As you stood, precum and saliva leaked from your mouth and you wiped your mouth as you looked back at Buck.

He quickly reached behind and unclasped your bra, kissing your neck and chest as he did so. He kissed down the gap between your breasts and then paid attention to your nipples. He took one of your nipples in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the piercing that lived there, while his other hand twisted your other nipple. Unable to speak from the sensations, you just moaned in pleasure, holding tightly onto the curls at the nape of Buck’s neck. 

His lips went back up to your neck, and his hand went down to your underwear and started pushing your panties off your hips and helping you step out of them. Once your underwear was flung to somewhere in the cubicle his fingers danced over your pelvis before landing on your clit. He rubbed gently with his thumb before his fingers slowly worked their way down to your opening. His fingers gently pressed against your thighs, encouraging you to slightly part them to give him better access. 

“You are so beautiful,” Buck breathed. His face was mere millimeters from yours, with his curls sticking to his forehead from the sweat of the excitement. 

“Buck please,” You groaned, his fingers were slowly exploring you, causing you to gently bite down on his muscular shoulder. 

“Please what baby? I need to hear your words,” he breathed heavily. His fingers were delicately reaching the most pleasurable place while his thumb worked your clit. 

“I, I need your cock, please” You spoke breathlessly. Despite being with Buck many times, the passion had never ceased and every single time with him was exhilarating. 

“Where baby? Where?” He teased. He knew damn well where, he just loved watching you writhe under his thumb. 

“B-Buck, Please, in-inside,” Every syllable was hard for you to push out as you edged closer to the brink. 

“Just let go first,” He said. As he did, you felt your legs begin to wobble, luckily Buck had began to hold you up with his other hand before. You let out a loud moan as he fingered you over the edge and then he quickly retracted his fingers. He maintained eye contact as he licked your juices off his two fingers. 

“Delicious,” he muttered. 

“I think we’re going to need this for the noise,” Buck said as he leant past the wall and turned the shower on. You both stood in the far end of the shower part of the cubicle as you had learnt the hard way that shower sex, under the water, was very dangerous and ended up in fits of giggles. 

Buck grabbed your thighs and lifted you up, pressed your back into the wall and littered your neck in light kisses. 

“Who’s teasing now?” You asked as you felt Buck’s length gently stroke your pussy but not going in. He breathed a laugh and pressed his lips to yours for a moment. 

“As you wish ma’am,” Buck whispered as he maneuvered himself to your entrance. You hissed as he started to push himself into you. Another thing you were not used to despite being with Buck so many times, was his size. 

“More, please.” you grunted, trying to grind yourself into him to get him deeper. 

At your request, Buck’s hands tightened on your thighs, his mouth attacking your neck and pushed himself all the way in. For a moment, he stilled, allowing you to get accustomed to him and then slowly began to thrust. 

Each thrust hit you so deeply, putting you in a state of bliss. So much so, that you nearly didn’t hear the door to the bathroom open. You quickly tapped Buck’s shoulder to alert him as he was borderline drunk on you, and could not form a coherent thought, let alone be aware of his surroundings. 

“Buck? Is that you?” Eddie’s voice rang out.

“Y-Yeah,” Buck stuttered. He was still inside you and struggled to reply without moaning. You gently pushed your hips into him in a desperate need for friction. 

“Are you okay? You sound funny?” Eddie asked. This made you nearly laugh so one of Buck’s hands quickly covered your mouth, and he glared into your eyes. 

“All good, water just went cold,” He shouted back, focusing on trying to sound normal.

“Have you seen y/n? Her shift is about to start and we need to do a handover?” Eddie asked. 

“I think I saw her take a phone call, I’m sure she will be back in any minute,” Buck replied as he slowly began pulling himself out of you. 

“Okay, thanks. See you back upstairs when you’re done” Eddie said.

“I’ll be done any minute,” Buck smirked as he slowly re-entered you. 

You both waited for the bathroom door to close, and once it did Buck began pistoning his hips into you at an ungodly pace. You must have looked like a mess as you leant back into the wall, holding tightly his shoulders. 

“Buck, please,” you moaned. He reached on of his hands down between you and rubbed your clit causing you to lean forward and bit his shoulder. 

“I’m so close,” He grunted as he continued to pound into you, his pace unrelenting. 

The edges of your vision began to blur as you felt yourself getting closer and closer. The coil in the pit of your torso clenched so tight until you finally let go. Your legs began shaking, unable to catch your breath as you came all over his cock. 

Buck kept his pace as he worked his way to his end, his load shooting deep inside you as you milked him. He leant forward, his forehead against yours as he tried to regain his breath. He was still inside you and was still leaking cum as he kissed you gently.

Once you had both caught your breath, he slowly pulled out of you and set you gently on the floor. 

“That was amazing,” he sighed as he began to get feeling back in his legs. 

“Now I really need a shower,” you said as you pushed the two of you under the water, beginning to wash the two of you. “I love you, Evan.”

He gently kissed you on the shoulder before lathering the two of you up with soap. The next few minutes were spent with him delicately washing you, and then you him. 

This moment of intimacy felt so special, you almost didn’t want to get out of the shower. You were in pure bliss in this moment with him.

“You are the love of my life,” Evan breathed as he kissed you gently. 

[lemonlover1110]

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇!

Pairing: Firefighter!Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: Toji tries to be the best father he can to his baby boy

Warnings: Fluff

*This isn't finished and it probably won't be but do enjoy what I did end up writing🥹🫶 I'll do a different AU for firefighter Toji

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Toji!” You call out for your husband, wondering why he isn’t in bed. You approach the nursery, and that’s where you find your husband putting his finger under his son’s nose to check if he’s breathing. You never thought that you’d find Toji of all people doing this, but he really is doing everything he can to make sure the baby is breathing, while also making sure he doesn’t wake Megumi up.

Even after six months of having Megumi, Toji makes this part of his nightly routine. Megumi’s tiny stomach very visibly rises and falls, so there’s no need for Toji to be doing all of this. But Toji’s scared, and a new parent, so he still does.

He shushes you before you even dare speak too loud, you better not wake up the baby. You roll your eyes, a chuckle leaving your lips as you walk back to your bedroom, and your husband follows behind not too shortly after. 

“I love seeing you worry about the baby, but don’t you think you’re doing too much?” You ask him as you get in bed. Toji takes off his shirt before getting into bed right next to you. He pulls you into his warm embrace and kisses the top of your head. “Please tell me you turned off the alarm.”

“I have to get up and check up on him.” He responds, and you would laugh if you weren’t affected by it. Toji’s alarm wakes you up, and it’s annoying to be constantly woken up in the middle of the night. 

“Toji, you’re also really tired. If Megumi needs anything, he’ll cry.” You assure him, but Toji won’t listen to any of it. You understand him better than anybody since you’re also a new parent, but you already have to wake up to feed the hungry baby in the middle of the night, you don’t need to be woken up four other times by Toji.

“I still want to make sure he’s okay. What if he’s just sitting in his crib, waiting for daddy to come?” Toji asks, and you let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re so right, Toji. But can you please go to the couch? I need to rest because I actually have to wake up and feed him.” You tell him, and Toji groans before letting go of you and sitting up on the bed. 

“You don’t mean it.” He says as he grabs his pillows. He drags his feet as he walks to the door, waiting for you to stop him. You hate to sleep without Toji but you’re tired and you don’t want to be woken up multiple times in the night for no reason.

“Close the door on your way out!” You yell at him, getting comfortable in your space. You want to go one night without interrupted sleep, and you hope tonight is that night. As much as it sucks to sleep without Toji, you need at least one night of good sleep. You hate to hurt his feelings, but you’re also too tired to care.

“Look here, Megumi!” You put on your baby voice as you talk to your son, attempting to get him to look at your phone camera. Megumi doesn’t care though, he’s looking away, kicking his feet and yelling for the dog. He’s opening and closing his little fist in the direction of the dog, he can’t make it more clearer what he wants. “C’mon, baby, I want to send your father a cute picture.”

He keeps ignoring you, yelling to the dog. You watch the dog walk toward you and the baby, so you pick Megumi up from his play mat before the dog can lick the baby’s face. You take Megumi back to your bedroom, hoping that once you put him down on your bed, you can finally take the picture that you want to send to your husband. 

You put him down on the bed, and just as you open the phone camera to take the perfect picture before he can look away, you receive a call. Toji is calling to facetime, which is perfect timing. You accept it, immediately flipping the camera to put the attention on the baby.

“Oh my god, is that my cute little urchin wearing a sailor outfit?” Toji isn’t the type to fawn over this type of stuff, or so he thought. Toji has grown soft, in his own ways at least, for his baby boy. He’s laughing, calling his coworkers over to show off his baby. Yup, Toji has become that person.

Toji just loves being a father, he was scared that he wouldn’t. He knows some parents love their kids to death but don’t like being a parent at all– Luckily for him, that isn’t the case. He loves the fact that he’s teaching this little human the basics of how to live while also filling him with love. He loves it so much that he’s almost about to ask you for a second baby.

“You look tired.” You tell him when he stops showing off Megumi to everyone, flipping the camera on you. Toji is barely getting any sleep, even though you keep pushing him to get rest. 

“I’m fine.” He replies, and before you can argue with him, he changes the topic to more important manners, “Show me the baby, I miss him.”

“I was just showing you the baby.” You roll your eyes but you still turn the camera so Toji can watch his baby boy. 

“Megumi! Look at the phone.” Toji says, noticing how Megumi looks away. Megumi is stretching. Your hand goes to his tummy, tickling it which causes the baby to look back at you and giggle. It fills Toji up with immense joy but also regret that he can’t always be by Megumi’s side to experience it all.

Until he hears a sound you both dread, something that makes the loudest sigh leave your lips. That part is the only thing he hates about being a father. 

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” You hang up the phone before Toji can even mutter a goodbye, picking up the baby and taking him to the changing table.

You realize that in the past six months, you haven’t had any proper alone time with him. You’re both too focused on being the best parent to Megumi, that you’ve completely put your relationship on the side. He’s put everything on hold, even his own health, to be there for Megumi whenever he’s free. 

You miss him, and while you knew that your life would completely change the moment Megumi came along, you didn���t expect to be so separated from him. You want to get Megumi off your hands for a couple of hours so you can spend some nice alone time with Toji, without having him worry about Megumi needing something. 

It’s hard to get Megumi off your hands, especially when he’s so attached to you. He’s also a crybaby which certainly doesn’t help your case. 

“Do you want to go see your daddy soon?” You ask your son, picking him up from the changing table. It’s not like he can answer, so you take his coo as a yes. You need to arrange something with the help of a couple of people, and who’s better for this than some of Toji’s coworkers?

“Fushiguro! You have some visitors here!” Toji hears from the kitchen, and he raises his brows, wondering who’s looking for him. When he walks into the kitchen, his heart skips a beat at the sight of his wife and son. Toji practically runs to your side when he sees you, pecking your lips before he takes Megumi from your arms.

“What are you two doing here?” Toji’s happiness radiates off his voice. Out of all things, he didn’t expect you and his son to come visit, but here you are. Toji kisses Megumi’s chubby cheek, while the baby’s hand grips the collar of his dad’s shirt.

“Just wanted to visit daddy for a bit since you’re always complaining about not spending enough time with Megumi.” You give him your best smile before you catch a glimpse of the woman that you came here to talk to. You squeeze Toji’s forearm before telling him, “I have to talk to Yuki, I’ll be right back.”

“Huh?” Toji furrows his brows but ultimately he doesn’t care because he has his baby boy in his arms and Megumi is trying to shove his hand into Toji’s mouth. He often wishes he could trade places with you– Toji loves his job but the moment Megumi took his first breath, he became Toji’s first priority. His favorite person; and you, of course. 

“Yuki, can we talk?” Your voice comes off as a whisper, and she raises her brows. A smirk comes to her lips before she lets out,

“Are we getting another mini Toji?” She’s rather loud, and you feel your face burn. You look absolutely mortified, and she bursts into laughter. She nudges her head to the table and begins to walk to it, making you follow behind. She pulls out a chair for you, but you shake your head since you don’t really have plans of staying for long. “What’s up?”

“You’re the person here that I trust the most… And you’re great with baby Megumi.” You bring up, and you feel yourself dragging it out. She knows, but she waits for you to say it, tapping her finger on the table as she waits for you to ask the question. “Can you take care of Megumi on Friday? I want to go out with Toji.”

“Man… I don’t know, I’m not that great with kids.” She responds, and you know it’s a lie, at least from what you’ve seen she’s great with Megumi. You’re willing to argue just about anything because you want to get Megumi off your hands for a night. 

“Really? Baby Megumi adores you.” You claim, which isn’t a lie, but Megumi likes just about anyone. “It’s a way for baby Megumi and his favorite auntie to get closer.”

She laughs, she knows what you’re doing, but she doesn’t mind. She has Friday off and has no important plans so she might as well try to figure out what goes on in a baby’s mind. She ends up saying, “As long as I don’t have to take him anywhere, I’m not sure how I’d work a carseat on a motorcycle.”

“Of course! If anything comes up you can call me and we’ll be at home within minutes.” You answer excitedly, and before you run in search for Toji, and even though he was just in the kitchen, he’s nowhere near the place when you look for him.

“Toji!” You call out for him, unsure of where he went with the baby. The firehouse is a big place, you sure aren’t going to look in every room. 

“Check the fire truck!” You hear from Yuki, and you roll your eyes at the mere suggestion. She’s not looking at it, you’re not going to entertain it– But she also knows Toji and that sounds like something he’d do. You stop in your tracks and let out a sigh before going to the firetruck. 

You walk over to the driver’s side, opening the door to find Toji putting Megumi’s hands on the wheel– A sight you find the most hilarious since Toji made it his mission to put a firefighter hat on the baby’s head; but you notice it’s smaller, leading you to assume that Toji bought this just for him and kept it hidden until now.

“Look, honey, Megumi told me he wanted to be just like his daddy when he grew up.” Toji chuckles, moving Megumi’s hands on the wheel which Toji finds hilarious. Megumi doesn’t find it as funny though. 

“Baby, he can barely sit up. Try it again in a few more months.” You say as you take the baby from his arms, and Toji clicks his tongue. He follows behind you as you walk back to the kitchen to take the diaper bag and go back to your car.

“Why are you leaving so soon?” He asks, annoyed that you’ve given him his baby and taken him away just as quickly.

“We just came to say hi and talk to Yuki, and since we’ve done that, we can go home now.” You respond. The man is pouting, something that you never thought you’d see from a man as big as Toji. When you have the diaper bag in your possession, you peck his lips, “Go save lives, baby.”

“What did you need to talk to Yuki about?” Toji questions, wondering what was so important that you decided to come all the way here.

“Babysitting, we’re going out on Friday.” You tell him, and his brows perk up. He’d think that would be more of a question instead of a statement, but it’s the latter. “You can’t say no, we haven’t had some proper alone time in months.”

“I wasn’t going to say no.” He mutters, crossing his arms and looking at the ground like a child. He was going to say no, and you can’t help but chuckle. Your hand goes under his chin and you begin to inspect his face.

“You’re also turning off those alarms to get proper rest. I think you’re annoying Megumi too by constantly coming into his room to invade his space.” And before he can argue with you, you leave him alone to share his thoughts with himself.

He guesses you're right.

[prettieinpink]

REBRANDING YOURSELF

COLLAB WITH THE HOTTIE????!!!!!!! @honeytonedhottie. LMAO NOT US PLANNING THIS IN LIKE DEC THEN RELEASING IN APRIL. I luv you so much ur my fav moot. moots who collab together, stay together. Check out her post on her page too, as usual, she makes the best points so y'all better listen.

Rebranding is a process in which you redefine who you are and how others perceive you. Each journey of rebranding yourself is personal and individual. When you rebrand yourself, you further align yourself with your higher you. This post is a guide to getting started on your journey!

UNDERSTAND YOUR CURRENT SELF.

So, take a step back and think about who you are as an individual right now. What are your values and beliefs? Does your external self reflect your inner self? Are you comfortable in your current environment?

These questions and more will help to see which aspects of your life you may need to redefine. See if there’s anything that doesn’t align with your higher self. 

After that, pick those aspects that need to be redefined. Why do you want to change this? How has this been impacting you internally/externally? Does this aspect stem from your environment or yourself? See why this aspect needs to be improved. 

DESIGNING YOUR BRAND

This is more of a fun step! So, using your aspects design how you want that specific thing to look and feel like. Avoid being vague or non-specific. Try to put in as much detail as you can for each aspect. 

If you’d prefer, you don’t have to use ‘aspects’ and instead use your life generally. This is your redesign, so do whatever is more comfortable and achievable for you.

ASPECTS

Health

Social life

Career

Hobbies

Family

Finance

Spirituality

Personal development (mindset, goals, improvement)

Self care

Culture

Well-being

Things to include

Achievable goals

How your environment looks like

How your daily life like

How you see yourself

What do you feel after

Why this is alignment within yourself? 

You can do this any way you want. The one I would recommend for redesigning your life would be a vision board, preferably a physical one. If you don’t want to do that, there are still a lot of options such as writing it down into a pretty poster, creating a playlist that will reflect your brand, creating a pretty list, or having sticky notes around your room as reminders. 

Be creative and detailed with this. You should spend at least an hour if not more trying to redesign your life/aspects.

CREATING GOALS

Goals are so important, especially when we are moving in a different direction than we were before. As we’ve got the current status of who we are and what we want to be, creating goals should be easy. 

Make your goals visible. Put a sticky note on your mirrors, put it as your laptop background, put a reminder on your phone, listen to a playlist that motivates you of your goals or anything else that will constantly remind you of your goals. 

Other than that, remember that goals have to be achievable, mindful, and flexible.

ESTABLISHING HABITS

Habits are so important to rebrand yourself. Habits make up your identity. The way you act, speak, and do daily, can subconsciously influence you to be someone who isn’t in alignment with your higher self.

 As much as it’s important to establish new habits that align with you, you have to root out the habits that are pushing you off track from achieving your goals. 

The good thing is that you can do both at the same time. Replace those old habits, with brand new ones. For example, when you open your phone first thing in the morning instead of opening up TikTok, get YouTube opened and start a 5-minute meditation to start your day.

However, just because a habit is beneficial for you, it doesn’t mean it is in alignment for you. For many people, they prefer to read books as a productive alternative for leisure, however, you may not be able to read a book and focus. In that case, you may want to watch an educational video instead. You’re still getting the benefits, but just in a different way. 

STEP FIVE: IMPLEMENTING YOUR BRAND DAILY

Think about all the little details of how this person would act, from morning until night. Embody their actions, words, aura, and vibes. This is when having a visual of your goals is good, so you can see what you need to do.

This includes no longer indulging in things your higher self wouldn’t do. Regardless of how much comfort, entertainment, or dopamine something gives you, you have to let it go if it is destroying your mind. 

I way I recommend implementing your brand daily by creating a daily routine that focuses on a different goal each day of the week. E.g:

Monday - Practicing being mindful (meditation, journaling, connecting with your religion)

Tuesday - Fitness (pilates, weightlifting, hot girl walks)

Wednesday - Socialising (going out to meet new people/connecting with old friends)

Thursday - Productivity (Schoolwork, studying, business, workplace tasks)

Friday - Self-care (taking a slow day however you’d like)

ta-daa!! thanks 4 reading. now go follow @honeytonedhottie 💕😍