#it’s just so funny watching this all go down

[incomplete-leclerc]

　𝗔𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝟭 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗗.　formula one · #f1

　　　the f1 grid drivers' favourite ways to show affection.

genres : fluff ... established relationships ... f1 grid x reader (lando norris, kimi antonelli, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, oscar piastri, ollie bearman included).　word count : 1.2k (around 200 per driver).　warnings : kissing in carlos' ... just cute fluff ... not proofread.　 note : these are finally done yay!! super happy to be posting this, and hopefully more headcanons otw soon.　　　( masterlist )　( taglist )

　𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗜𝗦 · 𝗧𝗢𝗨𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗥

You love tousling Lando’s curls, taking any chance you can to mess up his hair. But he loves to do it in return and it eventually became your love language. Always calling each other funny names like idiot, muppet, moron, or dummy, but it all comes from a place of affection, and you’ve grown quite attached to the names.

Lando also loves trying to style your hair, whether it’s short or long, he figures he can do something with it. He can successfully do a ponytail, and you’ve tried to teach him braiding to… limited success. But what he does love is hair accessories (bows, clips, ribbons, headbands, anything he can get his hands on). But, of course, you turn the tables on him eventually and he ends up with pink hair clips all over his dark curls which look both adorable and silly. He might say he doesn’t like them, but deep down, he would let you have full reign over his hair again just to see the excited smile on your face and contagious giggles. 

After tough races or when you’re both tired, playing with Lando’s hair makes him super drowsy, and he’ll often fall asleep on your lap. You let him doze off whenever he wants, but not before snapping a few cute pictures of him for future teasing.

　𝗞𝗜𝗠𝗜 𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗜 · 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦

Kimi needs to hold your hand whenever possible. Needs seems like an exaggeration, and indeed, Ollie ruthlessly teases him whenever it gets mentioned, but no other word quite describes it perfectly. Whenever there is an opportunity to clasp his hand with yours, he takes it.

When you get up to go out the door, his hand leads you outside. When you’re standing in line to get food, his thumb traces your knuckles. Before he gets into his car for a race, he gives your hand one last little squeeze for good luck. It became more than just a mere gesture over the years. It’s his habit now. Kimi holds your hand so often that it feels wrong when he doesn’t have the option.He loves the feeling of your soft skin, the fact that it keeps you two close but not too close. He can keep it on the downlow as well, hidden away from cameras, and it still works when he has his helmet on (which is where kisses fall short). It’s the perfect mix of romantic and subtle. When he needs comfort, he already has your touch, and when he feels extra affectionate, he can press a small kiss to the back of your hand. Hand holding is Kimi’s way to show affection.

　𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗘𝗦 𝗟𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗘𝗥𝗖 · 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘

Charles loves your face. He loves to look at it, hold it, kiss it, see it scrunch up in annoyance or melt with a look of love because of him. And there’s something so gentle and careful in the way he cradles your jaw or brushes his thumb over your cheek. It has butterflies swarming to your stomach at the sight of his smile. You can tell he adores every feature of you, watching his green eyes study your face so lovingly, because it’s his favourite thing to look at. Sometimes Charles swears he could drown in your eyes because of how beautiful they are. I just can’t look away from you, mon ange.

He’ll press kisses to your forehead, or lead your face closer to his so he can give you a kiss on the lips. It is usually only during quiet intimate moments, after a long day, or during a romantic date, that you both get completely lost in each other’s eyes, finding some sense of calm by getting lost in the way he looks at you. There’s overflowing love in each look and gaze, and only the sweetest words would fall from his lips during these moments.

　𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗢𝗦 𝗦𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗭 · 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦

Some would save romantic kisses on the lips for a special moment, but not Carlos. He will make up any excuse to kiss you every hour of the day. And he quite literally does. Every moment calls for a kiss from Carlos, whether it was a race win, waking up in the morning, before a meal, during his morning coffee— he really finds excuses at any time of the day.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the taste of your lips, and he really hopes he never does. Because that would be tragic as far as he’s concerned. 

There have been multiple times when he showed up to work with lipstick smudged on the side of his lips that he never noticed (he likes to interrupt you when you do your makeup). You rarely tell him when it happens because you think it’s funnier to send him off oblivious. 

He likes all the romantic moments between you two, but especially when he gets lost in a kiss, holding you gently in his arms, sometimes swaying back and forth. The laughter in between kisses and touches that speak a million silent words. Those are the moments that Carlos adores and thinks back to often whenever he daydreams.

　𝗢𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥 𝗣𝗜𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜 · 𝗙𝗢𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗦

Oscar shows his affection in the way his eyes are always on you; in the way he is always listening to whatever you have to say like it’s the most important thing, even if it was a silly comment that didn’t matter; in the way there is always a smile playing on his lips as he watches you do anything. 

His attentiveness speaks for itself. Perhaps he isn’t the most overly romantic person. He likes things to be simple. But you could never doubt how much he cares, because it’s clear every single day.He really doesn’t think he’s that obvious with how much he is endeared by you, but practically everyone else can tell by how much Oscar stares. If you follow his line of sight, it’ll almost always lead to you, and even you tease him about this. Not like anything would stop him, though. He’s just too fond of you, and you love the genuine smiles that can always be found plastered on his face. People say Oscar doesn’t show much emotion, but with you, he can’t help but let the happiness and affection that he feels show on his face.

　𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗡 · 𝗛𝗨𝗚𝗦

Fitting to his name, Ollie likes to give you bear hugs at least once a day. After winning a race, he’ll come running and scoop you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet at times. Hugs that sway back and forth and knock the breath out of you— those are the kinds he adores.

Although he’s very good at being gentle, his excitement manifests itself into his hold on you, and he sometimes forgets exactly how strong he is. But you love how he gets swept away with the emotions of it and though you might shriek in shock at times, you trust Ollie with your life. He would never drop you. 

On a calmer day with less adrenaline, he likes back hugs, following you around the house attached like a koala. He’s quite clingy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. His schedule forces him away from you often enough that you savour the moments you get with him to just be close and romantic. The regularity of you missing him only feeds your affection whenever you are together, and over time, the feeling of being in Ollie’s arms becomes more familiar than home to you.

[vampstarkey]

provocative mini skirt ୨୧ ⊹ ˚₊‧♡

warnings: pussy slapping, semi-public sex, hair pulling, dick sucking, ass slapping & degradation.

Note: English is not my native language, so sorry for any mistakes in advance.

You and Rafe had been together for a few months, but the relationship seemed like a tightrope about to snap, full of possessiveness and arguments that seemed to have no end. He hated your sassy behavior sometimes, but at the same time, the idea of ​​having to punish you later seemed exciting, and he made sure to make that clear at every opportunity.

The loud music from Topper's party echoed in the background, muffled by the walls of the house, but that didn't stop Rafe's cutting words from reverberating in your mind. You watched him from across the room, leaning against the doorframe, trying to process the weight of the look he was giving you, intense, but at the same time filled with fury, it made you wet.

Rafe paced back and forth, his fingers tightening his glass of whiskey as if he wanted to crush it. The reason for the fight was another of the usual absurdities: the short skirt you were wearing at the party.

— Next time, I'll rip that shit off you and make you change. — He growled, his blue eyes shining with an anger that seemed ready to explode. The sound of glass hitting the table accompanied him as he approached, his breathing heavy and the smell of alcohol already present.

— This is stupid. It's just a skirt, it's not like I'm walking around naked. — You replied a little frustrated, but deep down you found all that jealousy funny.

— You think it's fun to make me go through this, huh? Everyone was staring at your ass, damn it. — Rafe stopped, clenching his jaw.

The blond could feel his blood boiling with your air of indifference. It didn't take long for him to approach you. Rafe cornered you against the wall, not leaving you the slightest space.

— Honestly, I do find it fun. — Your eyes fixed on the lips of the boy in front of you, you were challenging him, after all you knew where this would lead.

— Oh, really? I want to see you find it funny when I fuck this little pussy right here without making you scream.

He ran his fingers up your thigh, massaging the area while he slowly moved his hands up. Your pussy could already throb just imagining all the things he would be able to do to you there in the room that was only occupied by the two of you at that party.

— What are you waiting for? — Your voice came out almost like a plea, he found it comical, the way you always seemed like a desperate whore for his cock, in fact it wasn't a lie. You loved the way your boyfriend fucked you so well, the environment only made you hornier, it was tempting.

Rafe quickly pulled up your skirt, playing with the elastic of your red lace panties. He pulled the thin fabric to the side, placing his fingers on your clit while rubbing it feeling your wetness.

— I didn't even have to try very hard, you're begging for me right here. — He slapped your pussy a few times and then laughed with satisfaction. Rafe could feel his cock almost exploding inside his pants. You were so ready, so wet for him. His fingers slid so easily inside you. It was killing you. It was torturous.

— I need your dick. — You bit your lip hard, then leaned against a small table.

— I'm going to play with you a little bit more. — Rafe quickly slid two fingers inside your soaked slit while his other hand was still caressing your swollen clit. His fingers went in and out inside you so deliciously that it made you hold back your moans, even though you wanted to make the scene he loved. One of your hands went to his wrist, squeezing it as you tilted your head back.

— My little slut is so desperate. — His hands went to your thigh once more, but this time giving it a hard slap on the outside. — Turn your back to me and lean on the table

Without thinking twice, you did exactly what he asked, like the good, obedient slut that you were. Then you turned around, placing both hands on the table while your ass was completely raised for him. Rafe slid your panties down your legs while he analyzed your body from behind, then slapped your ass. He loved doing that.

— You made me really angry today. Don't you understand that I'm the only one who can see this delicious body? — Another slap was given to your ass, this time harder than the last time.

— Fuck, Rafe… — With the tension in the air, your body was completely at his mercy. After the slap, a scream came from your lips.

— Shh, be quiet. — Your ass was turning all red thanks to him. The boy slapped you several times without caring about the pain he caused you. After all, he knew you wouldn't complain. You were a real slut to him. — I'm going to fuck you so good, baby..

Still with your back to him, he moved his hands up to your breasts, squeezing them over your bra and playing with them.

— Be a good girl now and suck your man. — That came out more like an order than a request, and of course you didn't refuse, so you turned to Rafe and got on your knees.

Your hands went to the older man's pants, unbuttoning them skillfully. He helped you unbuckle his belt without much patience. You looked at the large bulge formed in his black boxers as soon as his pants fell to the floor. You salivated just imagining sucking that damn delicious cock.

— Yes sir. — Your said as he touched his erection, groping his thick cock. Without delay, your hands pulled down Rafe's underwear, making his pink cock jump out. Your lips slowly went to his thickness, touching the sensitive head of his hard member.

— Oh, you damn slut, stop beating around the bush and put that cock in your mouth at once. — He grabbed your hair tightly, wrapping it in a tight ponytail.

You soon took Rafe in your mouth, putting every inch of him in your mouth. He was so big, but so tasty that whenever you gave him a blowjob, it seemed like a challenge, but exciting at the same time.

— That's it, good girl. Swallow that cock. — He pulled your hair and tilted your head back, feeling your tongue massage the entire length of his hardness. Rafe moved his hips back and forth, seeking more contact with his hot mouth. — Stick your tongue out.

— W-what? — You asked, a little confused, as you looked at him on his knees.

— Don't ask anything, just obey me. — He said, as he waited for you to do what he told you to do, and so it was done.

Your tongue was now out as you looked at your boyfriend. Rafe quickly put his cock in your mouth again, but this time fucking you. He fucked your mouth with everything he had, with anger and a mixture of lust. The sight of having you kneeling for him was surreal. He just wanted to put you on that table and fuck you until you couldn't walk. Well, since he took your virginity, you've become a thousand times hotter and there was no time or place to want to fuck. You coughed with the thickness that invaded your throat.

— Daddy's girl is so greedy, do a good job and I'll eat all that pussy that's begging for me. — Rafe pushed his hips harder into your mouth once more, your eyes started to water. Your eyes rolled back with each thrust into your throat, your hands were resting on his knees, your pussy was burning, you felt like you could cum just by sucking that dick, your face was all smeared with pre-cum.

— Do you like that? — You asked provocatively as you caressed his balls. Your hand masturbated the rest of Rafe's cock that didn't fit in your mouth as soon as he stopped moving his hips.

— You know I do. — Rafe laughed with that damned rogue smile full of evil. He let out small hoarse moans trying not to lose control completely. — But I need you to stop, I don't want to cum in your mouth.

You just nodded. Rafe pulled you up in a sudden movement, catching you by surprise, and placed you on the table, still facing him, spreading your legs.

— Rafe… — A murmur left your lips as you waited for any action.

Rafe pulled your skirt and fit between your legs, rubbing his hard member against your wet pussy.

— Damn bitch, I know you were crazy for this. — He rubbed his cock against your slit, making your skin shiver all over.

— Yes, yes, please. — Your legs wrapped around the boy’s hips. He soon held your legs tightly, letting himself be enveloped by you.

— I love it when you beg, it just shows what a real whore you are. — Rafe attacked your lips in a burning kiss as he rubbed against you, containing the naughty moans that came out of your mouth.

His tongue swirled around yours, losing each other. Without warning, Rafe thrust his cock inside you, which made you gasp in the middle of the kiss. Your fingers went to his back, scratching.

— Fuuuck — You cursed as you pressed him against you. Rafe broke the kiss as he moved skillfully. He had no mercy when it came to fucking you.

— What a hot pussy, fuck, I’ll never get tired of feeling how delicious you are. — Rafe groaned, looking at your expression of pleasure. He found you so hot, you were a temptation for him.

— Yes, yes, yes, just like that. — You said, feeling every inch of him touch your pussy, he went so deep that it left you in ecstasy.

— You like it like that, huh? You like it when daddy goes deep inside that greedy little pussy? — He slapped your clit as he thrust inside you.

Your body vibrated in small spasms, you could only nod as he fucked you faster and faster on top of that table. The fact that anyone could show up there made both of you even hornier. A loud moan left your lips, hard to hold back.

— Moan softly, you’ll get everyone’s attention outside moaning so deliciously like that. — Rafe pushed your body even further onto the table, making you lie completely on it while he grabbed your legs and fucked you like a dirty little bitch.

— I can't, you're fucking me so good. — The table creaked as it hit the wall, you grabbed onto the cold wood trying to find support. Your moans were muffled by the music echoing from the party outside.

Rafe covered your mouth with his hand as he thrust deeper and deeper into you, increasing the speed of his movements.

— Noisy slut. — A growl came out of his mouth. — This is to teach you not to be a very badly behaved little slut. — Deep down you like it, yeah?

You nodded, completely unable to say anything since his hand covered your lips. He slapped your clit again, making you twitch on his cock. Rafe pounded you deep, making your body writhe.

— Daddy wants to cum good inside you. — Rafe took his hand off your mouth, letting you moan freely now. — Tell me that's what you want, little slut.

— Yes, daddy, I want to feel your cum dripping inside my pussy. — You whimpered. The mascara from your eyes ran down your cheeks, edging the makeup on your face.

— Look at that, so mine, so delicious. — He hit you so deep now that a high-pitched scream left your lips. Rafe grabbed your neck, squeezing it with desire as he thrust his cock in a clumsy way, looking at your face, now not caring at all if anyone could hear your delicious moans. — You're close, aren't you?

— Yes, I need to cum so bad. — Your legs opened wider and wider for him, it was hard to control yourself.

— Then cum for me, you little bitch, cum really good on your man's dick. — He said as he played with your clit, still thrusting his cock inside you.

Your legs began to tremble, Rafe also felt that he was getting closer and closer to orgasm. He rolled his eyes back, moaning hoarsely, holding your soft thighs tightly.

— Fuck, I think I'm going to… — You couldn't finish the sentence, a great orgasm hit you, leaving you totally sensitive.

— That's it, like that, just like that. — Rafe kept pushing his cock into you, wanting to reach his peak. Your body was very soft and full of spasms, the feeling was delicious, you loved it.

Rafe pulled his cock out of you, rubbing it on your clit.

— It's delicious to cum like this, you know? — He kept rubbing his cock on your pussy, leaving you all goosebumps.

— Shit, Rafe, I'm so sensitive. — Your voice broke, but he didn't care, he had fucked you so well.

A hot jet of cum came out of Rafe's cock, smearing your slit. He grunted as he pressed you against him.

— Fuck, you're hot, girl. — He said right after, wiping the sweat from his face. He had finished you.

— You left me dead, Rafe. — You complained.

— It's not like you don't like it. — He laughed, lifting his boxers and pants again. — Let's go to the bathroom, you need to clean yourself.

You got up from the table, putting your clothes back on.

— Okay, I can't deny it. — You bit your lip mischievously.

— Don't think it's over, when we get home I'm going to make you cum again. — Rafe gave your ass a little slap and winked before going upstairs to the bathroom to clean himself.

[marbofmoorock]

Would love to see Kinger and Queenie, as well as Zooble and Caine drawn in this AU TOO. PLEASE MAKE IT HAPPEN! Fantasy Winter Wonderland, so perfectly in season. Maybe Caine and Zooble could have a dynamic of some kind, where Caine could be like Zooble's caring Uncle who wears goofy sweaters and tells funny stories about from his imagination about a fictional life in the circus as a ringmaster (he's a chatterbox beause his head is a mouth, lol), and Zooble is like an angsty college student caught in a feud betweenn divorced parents, moving in with her uncle to get away from all of the mess.

I'm gonna make a short story of it, would love to see accompanying art!!!

-----

Cainooble: A Winter Wonderland Special!

It was a wonderful Winter Wonderland of a day, Christmas had just passed, and everyone was out playing in the snow to enjoy the winter days before the new year. Pomni and Gummigoo laugh and play out in the snow, sliding down the hill on Gummigoo's new sled his parents got him for Christmas. Gangle watches them timidly from the top of thr hill as a sort of happy third wheel to their group, wearing a kimono and a fluffy coat as well to stay warm, preferring to watch them play. Ragatha and Jax share a hot cocoa in a nearby house as siblings, chatting away about what they loved most. Kinger and Queeenie in another house enjoy some quiet time together, with a few friends over, including Dobby Dog, Orbsman, and many others.

Then there's Zooble, a frustrated 20 something, having just quit her job due to transferring colleges, unable to stay at her local college due to how much her parents fought. Zooble was so done with their fighting as an only child, she literally was having trouble with her identity, looking for support and help, but they're too distracted with yelling at each other over such silly things like money. She decided to put her foot down and move to the University in the next town, packing up her stuff to go live with Uncle Caine, his father's brother whom was usually fun to be around and actually cared about Zooble. He lived in Mulberry, a Picturesque Town in Minnesota, that was postcard worthy during the winter.

She drove the somewhat icy roads carefully and found herself pulling up to Uncle Caine's nice house. He was a bachelor who never married, so he had lots of room in his big house for his precious niece! Growing up she would visit and make Christmas cookies and chill with her cheery Uncle, although they had stopped that recently, due to her mother trying to be possessive a out stuff and starting fights with her dad, them trying to leave Uncle Caine out of the feud. Zooble, while slightly disgruntled over all of what happened at home with mom and dad, was slightly relieved at seeing Uncle Caine's house as she found his neighborhood.

Not too long after she carefully parked the car in the driveway, Caine came out of the house in a coat.

"HEY HEEEEEY, THERE'S MY FAVORITE NIECE, Salutations on thus blustery cold daaaaaay!"

Zooble, seeing Caine, smiled weakly, happy to see Caine after all that she'd been through, leaving the house to come live here.

"Thank you do much Uncle Caine. Mom and Dad haven't been their best lately..."

"DON'T YOU WORRY YOUR PRETTY LITTLE HEAD, YOU'LL HAVE A FRESH START HERE IN MULBERRY. It's the quietest town in Minnesota, and it's SUCH A MIRACLE you didn't skid off the roads, they're quite icy here. I'm so glad you made it, I was tempted to call, but i knew how competent you were Zoobie!"

They both hugged it out for a moment in the cold, Zooble felt like crying because she was so grateful to her uncle Caine. Caine noticed she's clinging to him as they hugged and held her close as well.

"It'll be okay, Zoobie, it'll be like your last visit, but LONGER! THAT'S RIGHT, YOU GET TO STAAAAAY HEEEEERE, FOR AS LONG AS YOU'D LIKE." Said Caine, with an exuberant voice that sounded like a game show host. "WE'RE FAMILY AFTER ALL. Go on in. There's hot cocoa in the kitchen. I'll get your bags! Oh, and feel free to just call me Caine, I think you're old enough to just call me by my first name now, hahaha!"

Zooble nods silently, her smiling expression more present as she's happy that her Uncle took her in.

Inside, she sips her hot cocoa, and Caine comes in shortly after, with most of her bags, of which he gets the rest in a second trip.

Then he joins Zooble for some hot cocoa once he's fully back inside with Zooble's luggage altogether by the door.

"So Zoobie, what do you think of Mulberry? It's so lovely here, no?"

"Yeah, it's pretty great Caine, I'm gonna like it here."

"I'm soooo delighted to hear that! It's so nice here Zoobie, you'll love plenty of people your age here, and the college is small and cozy. Mulberry U was my alma mater, you know. Aaah, it seems like yesterday when I walked out with my communications degree! The TV station has been a perfect job for me, telling everyone about the weather is certainly a real peachy job with its own challenges, but as Mark Twain once said, make your vocation your vacation, and all will be well, hahahaaa!"

Zooble smiles, happy to see her uncle in such good spirits.

They chat the rest of the night, and Zooble gets a good night's rest. As she goes on, she adjusts to her new life in Mulberry and becomes friends with Pomni, Gangle, and Ragatha, as well as the other tadc cast in the neighborhood, including new characters.

The End.

Knock knock! Guess who's online again! 🥂

For now, check out the sketches of the characters in the form of teenagers / children + bonus ( AIS AU ⛸️❄)

+bonus (I drew the art a long time ago, but decided to show it only now)

Unfortunately, I was away for a long time due to personal problems. The beginning of the year turned out to be difficult.

I was COMPLETELY deprived of the opportunity to draw on a graphics tablet.I also had to move in with my dad after a fight with my mom. Now I'm drawing on my phone in the Ibis Paint X app with my finger, which is unusual for me.

However, there is some good news! It's my birthday next month, and my dad promised to give me an iPad! (I've never used it before.)

Therefore, I will temporarily post less art on Tumblr.(sorry)

[seungcheorry]

it pains seungcheol how his new girl's heart breaks at the way he looks through the window of that goddamn restaurant. maybe it's his fault afterall, he was the one to convince her to go to that place - he swore the food was amazing, and while it was far from being sitty, that wasn't the real reason why he wanted to go there.

it's one of your favorite places, the one he always took you whenever you felt sad or just a bit under the weather. in fact, the moment he walked into the lobby with his new girl, seungcheol couldn't hide the shame in his eyes as the owner's smile faltered when he didn't see you with him.

maybe part of him wanted to just reminisce you; maybe a tiny, tiny part of him just wanted to feel your presence again, somehow. maybe one of the pieces of his heart wished you to be there, somehow, somewhere.

and that little piece of his still broken heart was right, because what do you mean you're outside, laughing with your friends, apparently waiting for someone? what do you mean you're just a window away from him?

seungcheol knows, he knows he should look away, but the moment he realizes you're really there, he can't help but stare - at your face, the way you laugh, how you hair has slightly changed, your clothes that were once thrown at his bedroom floor; at you.

the longer he stares, the faster his mind races. he can't pinpoint what he's feeling, but he knows it comes with love. maybe longing? maybe sadness because you're no longer his, although he will most likely always be yours?

and in the very back of his head, there's guilty too. again, it saddens him that he's hurting someone in the proccess - and his new girl could never deserve any of that, to be honest -, but he can't help it. she's great, really funny, emotionally available and so smart, probably even more than him. she treats him just right, his dad loves her even though his mom seems like she's just polite towards the girl sometimes, exactly like jeonghan, for some reason.

she's everything - except, she isn't you.

she isn't you and she could never be you. you, who's now staring back at seungcheol through the window glass; you, who look taken aback by his presence there, and who looks from him to his girl and then back to him.

no, no, no. you're getting it all wrong. he's not over you, he could never possibly be over you. he can explain why he's there with her.

seungcheol watches as you discreetly tells something to your friend, who snaps their head back to where he is, giving you an apologetic look. you shrug it off, a tiny smile in your lips as your friend throw an arm around your shoulders and pull you closer. seungcheol's chest tings with jealousy.

he watches, powerlessly, as one of your friends he actually knows arrives. she greets everyone, and suddenly there's a shift in the mood as someone tells her something, and she also looks back to where seungcheol is.

do they hate him? do they think seungcheol hurted you somehow, that he's an asshole? do they judge him for being with someone else? what did you tell them after the breakup? do you hate him him too?

he can't do much but continue to watch, his hands slightly shaking as he sees your friend saying something and, suddenly, walking away with you still under their arm. everyone follows, leaving the restaurant's porch empty.

it kills seungcheol that you didn't look back.

"you still love her", he hears someone - his girlfriend - say. when seungcheol finally looks at her, she offers him a sad smile. there's something running down his cheek, but he's not sure when did his eyes got glassy like that.

"i'm sorry", it's all he manages to whisper, cleaning his throat as he looks down. 'i'm really sorry."

seungcheol doesn't expect an answer, and he's actually glad when it doesn't come. the sound of the restaurant is already buzzing in his ears, and he can't help but think that he had never noticed how noisy that place was, not when he was with you.

but then again, he always only had eyes for you. and that? that didn't change. it will most likely never change.

a/n: i wrote this while listening to mingyu's cover of glimpse of us. full os angst, just how i like it. (:

[drgnflyteabox]

a little continuation of this. john price x cashier fem!reader. verbal abuse, anxiety, yelling, hurt/comfort, price comes to your retail rescue<3<3 1.4k words

The only good part of a 5am wakeup is watching the sunrise slowly climb the sky.

There’s a quiet sort of tiredness that lets you appreciate it more — and though the lot associates have made a joke about the morning crew and their sunrise photos, there’s an element of truth there that’s both funny and a little beautiful.

It’s a drag to wait outside the doors for a manager to open them, trying not to make eye contact with the early-bird oldies and the impatient contractors who think they should just be allowed in before everyone else based on the amount of money they spend.

When the doors open and the 6am hardware warriors stroll in, ready and chipper, you’re half asleep leaning against your counter.

Another good thing about the early shift is the lack of uptight managers. None of them want to wake up before ten, so you’re safe to lean and lounge while waiting for customers.

A call comes through your earpiece after a few customers, nearing the cusp of 8am.

”Hey, we’ve got the guy coming your way,” your head cash – Lisa – says, voice crackling in the mic. The guy is a rude jerkoff, some contractor who thinks abusing staff is the way to get good service and better prices.

What’s worse is that your managers allow it. In fact, you get warnings like this all the time. The guy is here, the guy has a big order, make sure to cash him out fast or he’ll start shouting. Be pleasant. Smile.

The guy is walking down the store lumber aisle with a pinched expression on his face and two other employees dragging his stacked carts behind him.

You try to ignore his caustic vibes, thinking instead of the pink, purplish sunrise you’d seen earlier. Clouds like magic, cotton candy, floating above you 

You ignore the incessant tapping of his feet, the annoyed groan he makes when you lift a package of insulation up and find flat saw blades.

Sure, you can’t accuse him of stealing. But you can make a cheery, passive aggressive comment–

“Oops, I guess you forgot these!” you chirp, scanning them a little slower than necessary. It’s not mature, but it does make you feel a little better. Nice try, bozo.

Playing the idiot cashier helps with these types. Why are you mad, sir? I’m just a cashier? And though you could answer more questions than you do, you don’t. Playing the ditz makes life easy.

Lisa’s definitely judged you for it, but hey. She’s not stuck at the register like you are.

Sometimes, it works. You get a scowl, but they’ll go quiet. Sometimes.

Today, it backfires.

“Excuse me?” 

Oh here we go, you think. It’s way too early for this.

“What was that, sir?” you play dumb, voice squeaking.

“Are you accusing me of stealing?” his volume raises. You see redness crawling up his neck. Fuck.

“No, no, I only meant–” you try to backtrack. Fuck, fuck. This is the result of your hubris. Your reasoning flies out through the massive lumber area doors as his rage climbs.

“No? No? Because I think you just accused me of stealing. Do you understand how much I spend here, you moron?”

“I do, I didn’t mean to imply–”

“Get me a fucking manager, now,” he snaps. God, you have no clue if he acts like this to get his way, to get discounts, or if he’s really this angry half the time he comes in.

Regardless, the effect is real. You’ve never been good with anger, and you’re shaking a little as you press the call button on your pager.

“C-Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?” you broadcast to the store.

All you can think of is looking away from his angry gaze while you wait. Oh, a bubble bath – you have an aloe and green tea bubble bath packet at home waiting for you.

Hot water. Bubble bath. Manager to fix this mess. Maybe a hot chocolate after work?

A couple minutes pass. Longest minutes of your life.

No answer. The guy taps his foot, sighing loudly, angrily. You try again.

“Can I please have a manager down to lumber cash?”

Oh fuck, is that someone else in line? You turn away bodily, speaking again into your mic. Trying to look like you’re doing something about the wait.

Another couple minutes. Despair washes over you like a cold blanket of snow.

“Need a manager at lumber cash,” you try.

Typical, really. Lisa is likely on break, and you have no idea who’s managing the store at the moment.

You imagine it’s likely Cody, who’s good with contractors like this because he's personable but he’s also lazy it almost cancels out. Also, he takes a smoke break every 5 minutes.

And never takes his pager.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” you hear behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, turning. “My manager is busy at the moment but–”

“Busy?” his voice is like a gunshot in the airy space, an absurd volume for the time.

“Yes–”

“Do you know–”

A third voice cuts in.

“Think you better learn a little patience, mate,” British?

Oh, shit. It’s that guy from before. He’s got one hip a little cocked, a frown on his face like he’s smelled something bad. His boonie hat is titled down, nearly covering his eyes. You can see them because you’re shorter than he is.

“Excuse me? And who are you? Mind your business,” the guy says.

“I think you’d better let the nice girl check me out while you wait,” he motions for you towards the parallel cash desk, and you’re grateful to just follow.

You scurry away from the guy faster than is appropriate, calling out again as you cross the open space towards the other cash desk for a manager.

You can only hope they arrive while you’re helping this one. John Price, you think his name was. He's a memorable man. Him and his moustache and his expensive company.

John Price has left the guy flabbergasted. He also has twice as many carts as him, and when your eyes widen to see them he just says take your time in a smooth, deep voice.

Oh man.

You do take your time, already calmer for John’s presence. Strange maybe to feel safe in the company of a stranger, a contractor no less, but it’s a nice change of pace.

Beep, beep. You scan methodically. John has no hidden items, and he doesn’t pressure you. He leans up against his lumber order and watches you check underneath things, under the cart, doing everything you’re trained to do.

“Start early?” he asks.

“Hm?” you lift your head. “Oh, yes. 6am.”

He whistles.

“Hard worker, I see,” he helps you lift a heavy bag of concrete.

“Thank you,” Marx look away, you think. Your face is only a little hot.

Cody strolls in the lumber doors missing his apron and – you guessed it – his pager. You fix him with a look as he smiles in greeting.

“Need a manager when you’re free,” you rush. Cody is nice, but you’re kinda miffed now.

“Oh, sure,” he says, walking by you toward the breakroom.

John Price raises a brow.

“Not everyone’s up to the task, eh?”

You feel hot again.

“It’s just early.”

John smiles. He looks remarkably silly doing it, you think. His facial hair makes him look approachable, cuddly. Like a teddy bear.

John’s order totals double the guy, which isn’t really a victory for you but it feels like one. Ha! See, you aren’t the richest guy here. You feel vindicated. Cody looks miserable cashing him out, which makes you just a little guilty.

“Will that be cash or card?” you ask, finger hovering on the POS.

He pays with card. You certainly do not notice how he cradles the machine. You aren’t that down bad.

Only you are, and his fingers are huge. His knuckles are hairy.

When you go to hand him the receipts, printed twice for record keeping, he manages to slip a 50 into your hand before you notice.

“Oh, no! I’m not allowed to–”

He folds those big bear paws over your hand, enclosing the cash in it with a sh sh sh as you protest.

“For the trouble,” he winks.

“You didn’t give me any trouble,” you try. The warmth of his palm, the roughness of his calluses. You’re a goner.

He chuckles, and you wonder how he can be both so intense and so disarming.

“You know what I mean, sweetheart,” he squeezes your hand, pushing it gently back towards you until you can put it in your apron pocket.

“Thank you,” you squeeze out.

“Don’t let him get to you,” he says.

“I’ll try,” you thank God or the universe or whoever that Cody and the guy finished a while ago.

“Attagirl.”

Yeah, you’re a goner.

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

jjk men x streamer!reader

╰┈➤ Collab?

chapter two.

ೃ⁀➷ you and gojo get matched with toji, sukuna, and choso, much to the viewers surprise! ft. everyone thirsting for you + jealousy

* not proofread

masterlist. prev. next.

you tried to focus on the game in-front of you, but the fact that your usual 10-50k audience grew to 300k was freaking you out. just a bit.

not to mention your chat going crazy. usually, it was easy to catch every message and interact with everyone, but now? it was moving so fast, how did gojo put up with this stuff?!

thankfully, everyone was talking about the same thing. the thing being that you matched with toji and his friends.

just like toji, you lived under a fucking rock. yea, gojo was your best friend, but you’ve purposefully been avoiding him since he’s gotten famous. this kinda stuff isn’t your thing- you didn’t even mean to gain 50k without his help, it just sorta happened.

you were a student and you worked at the cutest little cat cafe, you didn’t have time to watch streamers. the only influencers you knew of were gojo and utahime, not because you watched their streams, but because they were your friends. maybe you were a loser.

you tried to act surprised, but honestly you were more surprised with how shit this iron fist was playing.

“chat, which one is the iron fist?” you asked, all of which responding ‘toji.’

unfortunately for you, living under a rock seemed to only bring misfortunes to your life. as the minute you knew his name, you spoke,

“can someone tell toji to swap. he fucking sucks.”

even gojo looked a bit shocked by your comment, but he immediately burst into laughter.

“y/n, you are so lucky you’re streaming with me.” was all he said, and now you were stuck furrowing your eyebrows together and pouting in confusion. even your chat was going crazy over your comment.

who even is toji? you wondered with a huff. when you died, you took the time during your characters respawn to quickly look him up.

oh no. he was hot.

he was also famous, you noticed, but you were more focused on the fact that you just disrespected an extremely hot man!

well, it’s not like you had a chance. you reassured yourself, and once you had finally calmed yourself down, reminding yourself he was just another random man, you realized he is in fact not random.

was this the guy gojo was always whining about? something about him stealing his viewers or something- oh god. you must’ve just woken a wild pack of fangirls, cause you were totally going to be ripped to shreds on twitter after this.

despite internally freaking out about how toji’s fanbase now viewed you, you kept a stoic face, emotions unreadable as you continued the game.

suckunathesenuts: gojo ur friend is funny asf

suckinathesenuts: y/n say something about toji again he doesn’t believe us when we say he’s trash but he will if a pretty girl does

chochoso: pls i can’t keep losing my rank games because of him ):

you couldn’t help but laugh at his teammates messages in chat. you knew your chat would snitch on you to toji, but at least his friends were backing you up. you think.

the comment ‘pretty girl’ had you head spinning, a small blush coating your cheeks. you were going to say thank you, but gojo cut you off.

“don’t respond to these losers,” he spoke, his voice gruff. he sounded uncharacteristically mad.

you just hummed in response, “it’s not a big deal, they’re just messing around. sorry toji,” you waved at your screen as if he was watching, hoping someone in your chat could relay your apology to toji.

toji didn’t believe his chat when they told him you had said he sucked, “yea, nobody thinks i suck. i’m the best iron fist in this server.” he grunted, in which sukuna burst into laughter and called him delusional.

even choso giggled a bit. now that pissed toji off.

“okay, sure. i don’t believe it.” toji grunted. but, the moment he opened twitter, his notification boxed was filled with people tagging him in the clip of you saying he sucks. man, things spread fast.

“yo, toji, play the fucking game.” sukuna yelled into his microphone, clearly upset toji went afk to look at his phone.

“i think it’s better with him afk. now there’s nobody for the other team to farm.” choso giggled, in which sukuna thought that was the funniest thing on planet earth because he legitimately slammed his fist against the desk with each laugh.

“it wasn’t that funny, dude.” toji growled, though his tone seemed uninterested. he was more focused on you in the clip.

not only did you say he sucked, not only did you not even know who he was, but you were hot??? this hurt his ego, a little (a lot).

damn. even his fan page called him out.

grunting as he ran a hand through his hair, he noticed sukuna and choso talking to you in game chat. what the hell? since when did they get all friendly.

and sukuna calling you a pretty girl might’ve made toji grit his teeth.

“everyone shut the fuck up. i’ll change.” he said, letting his character die so he can switch to another character. sukuna looked absolutely flabbergasted, toji was actually going to listen to advice for once?

toji wasn’t about to admit it, but he was totally trying to impress you.

you were surprised to see toji actually listened to your request. you felt kinda bad for making him swap, but he was way better on adam warlock than iron fist.

“wow, he’s going crazy now.” you laughed. it was true, but you were mostly saying that to butter him up. not only did you not want to have one sided beef with a huge streamer, but he was hot as hell! if you had a chance, you were going to take it.

gojo did not seem to agree, as he laughed at you rather than with you. “yea, right. he still sucks.”

you narrowed your eyes at the webcam, confused why gojo was acting so hostile. he was never outright mean. yea, he could be passive aggressive and sarcastic with those he didn’t like, but you’ve never seen him like this.

“says the one who has no team assists,” you laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but that only made gojo even grouchier.

gojo was also playing really bad, that wasn’t usual for him. he was naturally talented at every game he played, you never knew how!

it was like he was distracted with something, and when you looked down at your phone, you found out why.

he was too busy tweeting instead of playing the damn game!!!!

it crossed your oblivious mind that he tweeted that because he was jealous and upset about the attention you were receiving.

chochoso: y/n… i think we are the only ones left playing. all our teammates are afk ):

whoever this chochoso was, was right. everyone on your team except you and him went afk. even the random went afk!! it was remarkable you haven’t lost the point yet, choso was a crazy spiderman.

y/nissleepy: our friends suck!!! does this by default make us best friends now???

chochoso: yes!

you wondered if choso had a social media too, considering he was friends with toji.

you very discreetly opened your twitter to look at toji’s mutuals, and low and behold, there was choso.

how could someone be so cute yet so sexy at the same time.

you were usually shy about this sort of thing, but without hesitation you followed choso. he followed you back almost immediately.

you looked up at your video call to see what gojo was doing, he was completely immersed in his phone. it looked like he was texting someone- very harshly, by the way he was practically hitting his phone with each tap.

biting your lip, you decided to message choso. your stream just started, you didn’t want to awkwardly end it just because everyone’s gone afk.

playing with choso was fun. he was such a cutie, and after the first two games, he asked if you wanted to video call. you did not hesitate to say yes.

gojo hadn’t even noticed you left the call.

“hi!” you waved at your camera, the confidence you had when you initiated the conversation with choso drowning away in an instant when you saw him appear over the screen. he was even cuter than on his twitter, he had this messy hair held in ponytails! how adorable was that?! your mind started to drift when you wondered how easy it would be to tug on his hair, and that’s when you had to remind yourself it’s truly not that serious and this is a man you just met.

but god, did you have a soft spot for scary men that were actually cute.

you guys loaded into another game, making small talk as you played. both of your chats brought up the chemistry between you two, but both of you chose to ignore it (not without blushing first).

not only did your chat notice the chemistry, but so did your friends.

“since when did y/n leave the call?”

“since when did choso leave the call?”

both gojo and toji questioned this as they looked at their empty voice chats. sukuna realized it a while ago, when they were talking in game chat, and didn’t bother trying to stop choso.

toji on the other hand, looked angry. “what the hell. he left us to play with her! she wasn’t even relevant until today,” toji growled. sukuna raised his eyebrow, though didn’t reply.

gojo had been busy messaging geto. geto is BEYOND thirsty to stream with you, he’s not even trying to hide it to his stream or nanami.

gojo didn’t even know why he was so jealous. you may have been oblivious, but this guy was downright stupid. he had maybe one brain cell and three jellybeans in that head of his. he couldn’t even decipher the motive behind his jealousy was the attention you have been receiving, especially the attention of toji and geto.

and now, apparently choso.

this video is so funny i love you roblox shrimp games

tag list

@estella-novella @ourfinalisation @definetlynotanalien @fuckisthatahotghost @m-0ona @sillybillylamb @ayla-1605 @l-ilysm @randoperson22 @mentallyunpresent @poopooindamouf @1ennj4 @ex1acy @lunavelha @trsh-kitty @b3bybunny @onna-musha-mari

[elliezlils11utt]

fluffy domestic farm life with farmer!abby <33

‧₊˚ ☆

a/n: coming from a texan this is genuinely my dream life. also this is like semi headcannons? the format is a tad funny bc i didnt have enough plot for a full fic but its mot just headcannons either?? idk man😪

summary; abbys grown up on a farm, its all shes ever known. and she CANNOT see her life not in the fields. and you, while still being from the south wanted nothing more than to escape it all. so when you told her you wanted to move to the city with her, she made it her mission to prove to you farm life could be happy. <3

‧₊˚ ☆ when you first moved into the farm house with abby, it was perfect. (you only thought this because there was no work to be done yet) but soon planting season started, then the animals started to accumulate, and all the sudden your back on a farm. exactly where you wanted to escape from. but this time its different. your with you’re person. you’re abby. and as much as you wanted to hate it, you couldn’t. not to admit abby was right but, she was right.. every morning you wake up, braid Abby’s hair, eat breakfast with her, and you go separate ways for chores. you tend to the animals as abby works on the farm in the fields. its peaceful.

‧₊˚ ☆“can you put one of y’r pretty bows in my hair t’day baby?” abby whispers to you in the early morning light as you lay cuddled in her arms. you hum in agreement, a smile laid on your face. Abby’s long golden locks have been one of your favorite things for the longest. and ever since the first day you french braided it down the back, shes had you do it everyday since. its become morning routine for her to sit between your legs on a pillow, with her cup of black coffee in hand, watching the morning news as you plait up her hair. now one of the ribbons that holds your hair up everyday, ties at the end of abby’s. a dainty blue bow holding her braid together.

“watcha think?”

“s’ pretty babe, thank ya s’much.” her tall frame scoops you up from in front of the hallway mirror and plops you back on the coach, tickling the crap outa you.

“abigail!!” you squeal

‧₊˚ ☆ oh and you definitely screamed when a farm cat showed up & abby had to scold you for trying to take it into the house.

“but abby! look at him.” you force a pout, pointing at the orange feline who genuinely had a dead mouse in its mouth. abby looks at you, then back at the cat, then back to you.

“baby. look, i love you. but no way in hell is that coming in the house.”

she then proceeded to drive out 40 minutes to the nearest pets smart & bought the little guy food to set out weekly ‘just incase’.

‧₊˚ ☆ i also like to think she brought one of jerry’s old projectors from her childhood home & sets it up on the side of the barn every once and a while. like when theres a new movie you wont stop nagging her about, at the end if the day as you go to get her for supper you see the bed of the work truck all set up with cozy bedding. abby appears from behind the truck. “Abigail Anderson. what is all’ this?” you cheese.

“oh nothinggg, i js’ rented that movie you wanted t’ watch” she says jokingly. she pulls you in by the waist and places a kiss on the top of your head.

“did you get anyy of your chores done today?” you say, pretending to be mad she hasn’t been tending to the farm.

“uh, thats a problem for tomorrow me.” she giggles.

‧₊˚ ☆ and you best bet that if you both finish your chores early there will be nap time. sometimes intentional, sometimes not. but either way its one of your favorite moments with her. one day you had fallen asleep on the porch swing after brushing the horses. abby had came to the house for a glass of water to find you softly snoring in the summer breeze. a smile tugs at her lips watching your stomach rise and fall with your breath. she lightly picks you up and carries u inside the house, abandons whatever chore she was doing before and lays with you. now its your turn to wake up to her baby snores (loud ass snores) & blond hair tickling your nose. your cutie baby.

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ baby fever .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

⤿ after babysitting eri, bakugou develops unexpected baby fever, leading to sweet and heartfelt moments with yn as he imagines future with her.

⋆˚✿˖° j speaking . . .

- I got inspired by @sweeturavity story that is also called baby fever. I hope you don’t mind, I can take it down if you want to!

It wasn’t something Bakugou ever expected to feel. The mighty future Number One Hero, Katsuki Bakugou, did not get distracted by the thought of tiny humans with chubby cheeks and big eyes. Or so he told himself.

But lately, it had been hard to ignore.

It all started when he babysat Eri for an afternoon while Aizawa had an emergency. Bakugou was initially hesitant—kids were loud, sticky, and unpredictable. But when Eri reached out her small hand to hold his and gave him a shy smile, something in his chest did a funny flip. She had fallen asleep on his lap while watching cartoons, and Bakugou couldn’t stop staring at her peaceful face.

From then on, Bakugou started noticing babies and kids everywhere. During a trip to the mall with his friends, a toddler waddling around in a dinosaur onesie caught his eye. At a park nearby, a dad was teaching his little boy how to kick a ball, and Bakugou found himself watching longer than necessary.

He was annoyed with himself. He was Katsuki Bakugou. He didn’t have time to think about babies. But the thought of a tiny hand gripping his finger wouldn’t leave his head.

And then there was YN.

YN had always been the calm to his storm, the quiet presence that softened his sharp edges. She had a way of making him feel seen, understood, even when he didn’t say much. They weren’t officially a couple—yet. But Bakugou was sure she felt the same way he did.

Today, Bakugou found himself sitting on the couch in the dorm common area, scrolling through his phone. He wasn’t looking at training videos or hero interviews. No, he was watching videos of babies giggling at their parents’ silly antics.

“You okay, Katsuki?”

He nearly dropped his phone at the sound of YN’s voice. She was standing behind him, her head tilted in curiosity.

“Tch. What do you want?” he muttered, locking his phone quickly.

YN walked around the couch and sat beside him, her soft smile disarming him as always. “You’ve been acting weird lately,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “Are you sure everything’s fine?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Her gaze drifted to his phone, which was still unlocked on the home screen. “Were you watching baby videos?”

Bakugou froze. “No!” he barked, his face going red.

YN’s laugh was light and sweet. “It’s okay, you know. Babies are adorable.”

“I wasn’t—ugh, fine!” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, okay? Ever since I babysat Eri, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“About what?” YN asked gently.

“About… having a kid. Someday,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. He refused to meet her eyes, staring instead at the coffee table. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’m too busy trying to be a hero to think about crap like that.”

YN’s heart softened at his vulnerable confession. She placed a hand on his arm, and he finally looked at her. “It’s not stupid,” she said softly. “It just shows you have a big heart. You’d make a great dad one day, Katsuki.”

He blinked, startled by her words. “You think so?”

She nodded. “You’re tough, but you care deeply. You’re protective and hardworking. Any kid would be lucky to have you as their parent.”

For the first time, Bakugou felt a weight lift off his chest. He allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. “You’d make a pretty great mom too, you know.”

YN’s cheeks turned pink, and she looked away, flustered. “Oh, um… thanks.”

Bakugou smirked at her reaction, feeling a rare sense of peace. Maybe one day, when they were both ready, they could tackle the adventure of parenthood together.

For now, he was content knowing he wasn’t alone in his thoughts—and that maybe, just maybe, his future wasn’t so far out of reach after all.

[frutigerfischl]

Heyyyyy

Saw your post about wanting some requesting some arcane stuff and I’m so down bad for some jinx stuff 😫😫

Could you pretty pls do a one shot for a jinx and a fem reader where theyre enemies and they have a steamy makeout sesh I am so in love with enemies to lovers😍😍

YOUR KISS AND I WILL SURRENDER

⌗ SONG┆the sharpest lives ★ ₊ ˚⟡

⌗ TAGS┆wlw, fem reader, enemies to lovers, making out, tension, gayness to the max, dominant reader, bratty jinx, violence (nothing too graphic) ★ ₊ ˚⟡

⌗ NOTE┆jinx is my favorite character THEM FOR REQUESTING HER OMFG 💙💙 I loved writing this it was so fun!! (Song doesn't have much to do w the fic, I always link the songs my fics are named after), I AM NOT GREAT AT WRITING MAKE OUT SESSIONS SO BARE W ME ★ ₊ ˚⟡

The mission was already a disaster.

Jinx, of course, had made sure of that.

You crouched behind a stack of rusted shipping crates, fingers tight around the grip of your pistol, ears ringing from the explosion she’d set off not ten minutes ago. Smoke curled through the air, cutting visibility to hell, while muffled shouts and the clang of boots echoed from the far side of the docks. Whoever ran this operation wasn’t going to let you or Jinx leave without a fight.

If only you were working together instead of at each other’s throats.

“Nice job, powder-keg,” you muttered under your breath, shifting your weight as you scanned for movement.

“Wasn’t my fault you tripped the silent alarm!” came her sing-song reply, disembodied and maddening.

She wasn’t far, judging by the faint static of her comm. You swore you’d smash it the second you caught her. “You blew the damn shipment before I got to the vault, you twitchy lunatic!”

A laugh, high and sharp, cut through the haze. “You’re welcome. What can I say? Big booms make big fun.”

Your jaw tightened. Typical Jinx. You weren’t sure why you’d ever thought stealing from Silco’s warehouses would go unnoticed. The moment she showed up, the job became less about money and more about survival—keeping up with her shit and staying one step ahead.

Somehow, she always made it personal.

Another explosion rattled the air, closer this time, and you ducked as the force slammed against the crates. Sparks danced in your vision as a blur of color—blue hair, shredded bomber jacket—darted into view.

You lunged.

Jinx barely had time to react before your shoulder slammed into her, throwing her back against a support beam. She yelped, twisting in your grip, but you pinned her wrists in place, inches from her flare gun. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping through your veins. “Are you trying to get us both killed?”

Her lips curled into a grin, wide and unhinged. “Only one of us, really. You’re just collateral.”

“Funny.” You leaned in closer, ignoring the way her pupils flicked down, just for a second, to your mouth. “Here’s the thing, sweetheart: I’m not dying tonight. And if you ruin another job for me, I’ll make sure you don’t, either.”

Jinx giggled, head tilting, her breath warm against your cheek. “Ooh, scary. Got a thing for threats, do ya? Maybe that’s why you like chasing me around.”

“Like hell I—”

She interrupted you with a headbutt. Pain burst across your skull, but you didn’t let go—couldn’t. Instead, you shoved her harder against the beam, forcing a startled gasp from her lips.

“Watch it, brat,” you hissed, voice dropping low. “You’re playing with fire.”

Her laugh faltered, blue eyes widening just slightly before narrowing again. “And you’re no fun. Bet you don’t even know how to lighten up.”

Something inside you snapped. Maybe it was the headache she’d just given you, maybe it was her smug grin, or maybe it was the way she kept testing you, daring you to cross the line.

You kissed her.

Hard.

Jinx froze for all of a heartbeat, her sharp edges softening under the sudden force of your mouth against hers. Then, just as quickly, she surged into it—biting, demanding, her teeth scraping against your bottom lip as if she wanted to take something from you.

Her hands twisted in your grip, but you didn’t let go, keeping her pinned as you deepened the kiss, rough and unforgiving. Your teeth clashed, lips bruising against hers as she arched into you, a frustrated sound escaping her throat.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she mumbled against your mouth, taunting even now, her breath hot and heavy.

“Shut up.” You bit her bottom lip in retaliation, drawing a startled, delighted moan. Your free hand tangled in the tattered fabric of her bomber jacket, yanking her closer until there was nothing but heat and chaos between you.

Jinx kissed like she fought—with reckless abandon, no plan, no care for the consequences. Her tongue slid against yours, teasing and fierce, and you hated how good it felt, how her chaos pulled you under like quicksand.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against hers. Her lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, and her grin was wider than ever.

“Aw, leaving already?” she teased, her voice breathless, taunting.

You smirked, brushing your thumb against her cheek in mock tenderness. “Don’t flatter yourself, powder-keg. You’re not worth the cleanup.”

Before she could respond, you pushed her back and stepped away, letting the shadows swallow you whole.

“Catch you next time, sweetheart,” you called over your shoulder, your voice dripping with mockery.

Jinx’s laughter echoed behind you, sharp and wild, but your pulse was louder, your lips still burning from hers.

[concreteangel92]

“Have You Ever Tried This One?”

Noah Sebastian x female popstar reader

18+

Got this idea from @lunabuna991’s post and couldn’t get it out of my head haha this idea is so cute and I just had to do something for it but of course I added in a little bit of spice haha

Warnings: smut, PiV, praise kink, talks of edging

Permanent Noah Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomenslullaby @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

The large crowd in the stadium was screaming and chanting your name as the lights came up on the first night of your sold out world tour.

You were one of the hottest A-listers of the moment with your latest album still number 1 in the charts and you were living your ultimate dream. All of the hard work has lead you to this, you had the most incredible fan base, you were selling out arenas all over the world and your music was adored by everyone.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach as you waited for your queue to take the stage, microphone already in hand.

You felt more nervous tonight, not just because it was the opening night, but because your boyfriend was watching in the VIP area of the crowd tonight.

You and Noah had been dating for 8 months now, he was your perfect man, loving, kind, funny and an absolute beast in the bedroom, he matched your energy in every way.

Hence why a lot of your songs had very provocative lyrics in them.

A particular fan favourite was your song called ‘Juno’ and you knew you wanted to give the fans a show on this tour by mimicking sexual positions after the line “Have you ever tried this one?” and then changing it in every country.

Tonight you knew you were going to do one particular move, it was going to be the same position that your boyfriend had you in the night before

Flashback

Noah’s inked fingers dug into your thighs in a bruising grip as he held your crossed legs up against his chest as he pounded into you mercilessly.

“Shit…you feel so fucking tight!”

You couldn’t respond, the only sounds that would come out were your choked cries as you squeezed your eyes shut and your head fell back onto the pillow and your hands gripped the sheets beneath you.

You could feel every inch of Noah, like he wanted to make sure you remembered all of him while you went on tour for the next few months.

Noah’s hips continued to slam into you, the sounds echoing around the room.

“You were made for me angel…so fucking perfect”

You knew you wouldn’t be lasting long, Noah had edged you by having his face in between your legs for an hour before he showed some mercy on you and gave you what you wanted, said that he’d been enjoying himself too much and needed to make sure he’d had his fill before you were separated.

“Noah…oh my…”

You felt your thighs shaking under his hands, your back arching and your body convulsing on the mattress as you screamed the house down, not caring if anything was heard.

You barely had time to come down from your high before Noah suddenly pulled out and hooked his arms around your thighs and went to dive back down again.

“I just need a little taste baby, I bet you taste fucking delicious after cumming all over my cock like that, got to make sure we make the most of tonight”

••••

You skipped out into the stage and the crowd went wild, you smiled and waved before you started your set.

You sang and danced along side your back up dancers, loving every second but what made you smile more was when you finally caught sight of Noah.

He was in the VIP section with Nicholas and Matt, he was smiling and singing along to every word you sang and they wolf whistled and cheered for you after every song.

Finally Juno had come on, you had such a cheeky smile as you got to the line “wanna try out some freaky positions?”

You ran to the front of the stage, made sure you looked directly at Noah before you lied down in your back and lifted your legs up and crossed them over each other.

“Have you ever tried this one?”

Noah’s face was priceless as the crowd roared, he smiled and his hand came up to his face as if to hide the blush on his cheeks as he shook his head, Matt and Nick instantly laughing and giving him the elbow with raised eyebrows as they laughed.

You winked in his direction, smiled and carried on with the song.

•••••

Later that evening, the concert was over and Noah had joined you at your hotel, instantly lifting you up into a huge hug and telling you how incredible you were.

You settled down in bed together knowing it was the last night for a while as you were jetting off in the morning early.

Your social media had been flooding with the fans telling you how good you were and what an amazing night they had.

Your favourite video of the night however was a video a fan had taken of Noah during ‘Juno’ and his reaction.

Just as you went into the position, Noah’s face instantly showed he remembered the night before and he was all smiley and almost blushing. It was the comment underneath it that made your night.

“Noah watching y/n’s set and you just know that he was twirling his hair and kicking his feet when she done this! Clearly something he’s seen recently 😏”

[pricegouge]

In Your Web

part two - masterlist

nikolai x f!reader

cw: stalking, mention of alcohol, male masturbation MDNI

By all accounts, you need a return address to ship to Latvia.

Rather, you need a return address to ensure your package doesn't get opened by customs, where agents will laugh at best, or steal your panties at worst. Maybe even steal your DNA? To what end, anyway? No! Worse than that - what if they used their connections to trace the package back even without your address and -?

One is predictably unsympathetic. 

» Then send it with one.

It doesn't surprise you that he thinks you're that dumb. 

You toy with the idea of leaving a random address in the return spot and cringe when you imagine a surly Russian man accosting some random family four states over. It's a mental image you carry with you over the next week, playing it on repeat every time you get cut off in traffic, or you find a coworker has pissed on the toilet seat without cleaning it up. Once, you even catch yourself thinking of it when a particularly annoying regular dominates your feed during a regularly scheduled live performance.

But One is not your knight in shining fiber optic cable. Neither do you actually wish to inflict him on anyone.

So you send it without a return address, watch the shipping updates closely, and feel your stomach slowly boil when it sits for five business days at an importing station. Evidently, One watches it as well.

» You did not do as I asked.

He's uninterested in your offer to refund his money - half now, half later. All you can manage.

» If I wanted my money back I would simply cancel my subscription and request a chargeback from the service.

» I want what I purchased.

Talk of chargebacks makes you flighty. There are only two things you know about One, those being that he is very wealthy, and very rude. The bane of all customer service operators. You don't think it's likely the service would honor a reimbursement for a tip issued over a week ago, but it's not something you want to risk seeing as, unlike your plan to split his reimbursement, OnlyFans would reach into your bank account with the cold unfeeling hand of a multi-million dollar company and steal it back all at once, a prospect you simply can't afford at this time, as embarrassed as you are to admit. Long ago you'd made a promise to yourself that any and all large tips received from this side gig would go immediately toward paying off debts - student loans, ill advised credit cards you'd taken out while still living off said loans. It was a decision that had done you nothing but good up until this very moment, when his money was already spent and you were staring down the barrel of having to pay him back using your own funds.

Or, barring that, he could cancel his subscription and not only get a chargeback for the remainder of his pay period (probably the year, knowing him - you'd have to check) but you'd also stand to lose your best customer. One you're not entirely sure how you managed to land in the first place and one whose income you'd likely never manage to replace. Already, One's singlehandedly paid off an entire card for you, and until now he's showed no signs of stopping.

« i'll fix it

It's a bold promise to make when you have no recourse, but one you don't see your way out of making.

» No, I will.

—

For as much as the line had made you nervous at the time, One does not make any overt moves to follow up on it that you can see. Lapses into an uncharacteristic sort of radio silence for a time. He even skips the next few liveshows, something that strikes you as very unlike him. One does not seem the type of man to let a service he's already paid for go unused. The first night it's kind of nice, seeing as he has an annoying little habit of just paying the target price within the first ten minutes because he 'doesn't have time for this' (funny, how he always has enough time to request a private cam after) but then it's three shows later and you've barely raised anything because, apparently, all your other customers are used to sitting back and reaping the benefits of One's impatience. Something you'll have to address. He stays out of your DMs, too. Offers no tips in exchange for personal requests.

You'd be lying if you said it doesn't light a fire under your ass, gets you chatting with other creators searching for ideas on how you can fix the situation. People much smarter than you say to cut your losses and just refund him. Be done with it. But mostly it just leaves you with a large level of concern. You know these people aren't dumb, but you can't imagine the level of trust they've placed in some of their own favorite customers. Maybe it's because they're lucky enough to have attracted nice people, or at least people with enough social aptitude to know how to pretend to be nice. Something to be said for One, he's never once let you forget he's not the sort of man you should trust with your personal information.

Finally, inspiration strikes in the form of another stupid suggestion, one creator admitting they've put their work address in the return slot. They do not comment on whether or not they used their legal name, but given their stage name contains the word anal, you have to assume.

No desire to let One know where you work, or even the town you're from, you begin to think about other nameless faceless organizations you can use as a fall back instead, finally settling on a random Walmart two states over. You use your stage name and post it, sending One the new tracking number along with a free vid of you getting the replacement pair all messy in hopes that he returns immediately to his normal spending.

Of course, he doesn't so much as thank you. When another two pass with no contact, you begin to grow concerned. You triple check your account to make sure he hasn't unsubbed, but he's still right there at the top - even with no tips given in over a week.

He's disappeared for a few days in the past, but this is different. You think. Or maybe it's not. You wouldn't know seeing as you don't know him. Seeing as he's never given an excuse for his absences. Not that you'd ever asked… It's normal to be worried for someone you talk with nearly every day, right? You don't know him, sure, but you'd be a bit worried if your favorite barista from the shop you frequent just up and left one day. And your income doesn't even depend on her.

Perhaps that's why you break character when he finally resurfaces, the joy on your face when you see his handle pop into chat the next night genuine. Your giddiness is infectious, even. At least one other regular bothering to welcome him back when you stop your stream dead just to say hi. Foam falls around you, slips over your bare skin down to the tarp laid over the floor where already a good foot of it has accumulated like a blanket of snow. It was an idea you'd been quite proud of, always a fan of a simple dance party. The foam machine was a small expense given the high engagement you've received so far, your subscribers happy enough to watch you shake your ass while covered in soap bubbles and glow sticks. The machine had already paid for itself, but now that One was back, you couldn't help the building hope that you'd even meet your goal for the night, which could make for a pleasant weekend full of meeting friends for drinks.

"Glad to see you're alive. Was getting a little worried about you," you grin, settling back into your roll easily. You pinch your tits between your arms as you mime snapping on a pair of gloves. "Got thinking maybe it was time for a visit from your favorite nurse."

But One is not feeling very playful tonight, if he ever is.

» Check your phone.

You huff and kick some foam at the camera obnoxiously, pleased when it falls short and hits the TV it's mounted on top of instead. You don't need to kill the mood even further by stopping to clean your lens. You eye it now, pretend you're staring up at him defiantly when you refuse, tell him you're in the middle of something with one hand snaking down your belly. On the TV below, large enough you can read even from the middle of the floor, you watch the feed as they would see it: yourself on the left while the chat bubbles in excitement on the right, egging you on. You nod at them, a silent promise, check to make sure your position looks good and that you've got a smattering of foam on you, at least enough to keep some mystery for them to unravel as the show continues -

» Now.

Irritation doesn't sell well, but sometimes you can package it as chastisement. "Play nice," you caution, voice whistling through clenched teeth. It's not One's thing specifically, but there are other regulars who you know will eat it up. "Gotta learn to share."

But One goes above and beyond simply not liking being nagged at.

He waits until your fingers are just barely tracing your thatch of curls, movement from your laptop screen catching your eye. You drop pretenses entirely when a new window opens, your private chat with One maximized so you cannot possibly miss it. Carving a path through the accumulated foam, you slink out of the field of view of the mounted camera, show long forgotten as you approach your laptop, mounting fear confirmed as you watch your mouse move across the screen of it's own accord to hit play on the video he'd evidently sent you while you were otherwise occupied.

You know what it will be based on the thumbnail, but it shocks you anyway. The panties he holds look like nothing more than candy floss in his thick fist, wrapped around a fat cock so tightly the lace is stretched. Distorted. It's weird, the things you notice when adrenaline bends time. The camera work isn't great, doesn't let you see his the root of his cock or even his belly. Its focus shifts a few times, undecided if it wants to settle on the display before it or the dark hardwood below. He wears a watch, a simple leather band nestled in a pelt of dark hair. His knuckles are dusted too, hiding the glint of a thick gold band on his pinky. Uncut, thick. He grunts the next time his foreskin pulls back enough to reveal his glistening head and your breath stutters with his when the lace catches, synthetic fibers relaxing back into a recognizable pattern as he eases them off, untangles it from his grasp to flatten against the table, flimsy gusset laughably small framed between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand.

His native tongue spills from him like his seed, molten and thick. Language, even if you can't understand it, is enough to tug at you and you yelp, your brief moment of shock fracturing enough to compel you into movement.

Nik likes the way the suds paint her, the rainbow foam a nice contrast with her skin. It slides down the valleys of her body naturally, highlighting recesses he'd previously been unaware of. Pesky self consciousness, always framing herself so carefully to hide away the bits she think he won't like. They won't like, he supposes.

He's never minded sharing. Nature of the beast, paying for it. But he doesn't see why he should have to suffer the same experience as these others, not when he gives so much more.

It was one of the first issues that had lead him to this little perversion, the impersonal uniformity. The self-editing. He pays to see her body, not the careful curation of videos and stills which she deems tasteful enough. So he settles in behind the wrong camera most nights, his field of view lower. Off center. Only watches the proper stream - the one he actually pays for - when she looks dead at the camera to talk to him, ring light glowing eerily in her irises.

Close enough, for now.

He's logged into a burner account while he works himself up, watching as she bounces around her room to an obnoxious beat. Her audio mixing is off tonight, the club music she plays just a hair too loud. He likes to watch from alternate accounts sometimes, likes to see how well she fights her dismay when these other viewers struggle to collectively pay her bills. She's more likely to grant him special requests the longer he waits to show up, he's learned. Off the menu orders, she calls them. Cute, but not what he's looking for tonight.

Her thong hangs from the corner of his screen. He hates to have already ruined it, but consoles himself with the knowledge she'd been sweet enough to send him another pair. They won't smell as good, he's sure. Another censure she'll have placed on herself. None of the sweat from having been worn all day. But she tried. Wanted to please him. Desperate thing.

It's laughable, thinking Latvian customs would be able to stop him from acquiring what's his, but it's not like she would know that. It's why he prefers small, no-name performers like her. So unsuspecting. Passably genuine, smile growing on her face when he switches to his regular account, the one she has memorized. It makes his cock twitch, excitement growing when she showers him in attention, singles him out in the middle of her show. Forgets to keep dancing, even. As she should. He wonders if he paid for her new toy, the noisy machine currently leaving soap scum on her walls. Wonders if she'll let him pay for it again or if she'll have him summarily blocked within minutes. It won't matter, of course, but he's excited to see how she'll unfold. Another off-menu order. One more bridge too far.

What she gets, taking so much of his money yet never offering more. He just wants to see sides of her no one else has.

It's hard to control himself when she starts to get catty, shows her teeth. He'd imagined stretching this moment out a bit more, thoroughly ruining the mood for all other viewers. But when she looks right at her camera and tells him to behave, his breath goes ragged, and he has to let go of his cock to show the little bitch better - taking over her laptop to bring up the video he'd sent, a low grumble building in his chest like a warning when she slinks closer, as if proximity will give her a better understanding.

Three monitors, one for every angle of his omniscience. On the right, the chat in her official feed grows annoyed as she walks out of frame, a few of them even accusing him of foul play. Hero-types. He's going to enjoy watching them try to comfort her if she doesn't delete her account entirely after tonight - after he mouses over the video displayed on his middle screen, the mirror of her own laptop. On his left, she looms closer, expression open and honest in a way he's not seen it yet. Painted in the blue light of her monitor, it contrasts garishly with the heavy makeup she'd applied for the show, all warm-toned to match her pink neons; catches on the tiny pockets of popped soap bubbles which fleck over her cheek. It's not a good look, one she'd likely touch up before even taking a selfie for her Instagram account, a post-show teaser meant to make potential viewers feel like they'd missed out. And now that he's seen it, he knows how much he's been missing out, fist working over his cock with renewed vigor as he imagines all the ways he wants to see her now, all the ways he can, even if -

He fights the cursor when she tries to take control, but she's clever enough to know some keyboard commands. His right monitor blinks back to her profile when she cuts the feed, the middle one slowly returning to her home screen as she closes out of each window. She pulls away quickly after, palms clamped over her jaw as she breathes through the panic, soft belly caving with each pant. Foam still spews from the machine, dye having run out. It catches in her hair, paints her skin milky. He has half a mind to open a word doc on her computer, tell her she should skip the dye next time, the white more suggestive.

Doesn't get a chance. Cums when she scrambles back to the desk, his left monitor dropping the feed when she smartens up and rips the battery out of her laptop.

Left languid and lazy, he tracks her movements across her socials from his bed, thumbing through his phone. Detached, he watches her accounts blink out one after the other. A small city going dark under the approach of his hele. She deletes some outright, settles for blocking him on others. Even issues an apology to her viewers from a site she doesn't know he even has an account on. It's vague, boring. Doesn't mention him. He gets an email around midnight, her time, telling him to expect a refund for the remaining term of his payment, but is pleased to find her account still in place when he checks from a burner. The save of her live show is taken down shortly after, but he's not worried. Had it saved locally.

Can't rely on strangers from the Internet to behave, after all

[pampushky]

and I hate the way the townspeople gather outside

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 4 - 5.5k words

And we're back baby! Warnings for this chapter: uh, just lore building. Lando thinks maus is lying lol. apologies for the possibly incorrect german, I'm rather rusty on it lol, but I'm brushing back up on it lol

oh and eggroll the service hound is a queen ofc.

also in need of more beta readers. dm if interested.

don't worry it'll make sense soon...ish

previous part | next part | masterlist | series masterlist

The Previous Day, 2024. Sakhir, Bahrain.

Lando Norris watches the conveyor belt at the baggage claim, standing next to Oscar. The Australian’s arms are folded. You’re casually drinking a tall can of Red Bull as if you hadn’t gotten them into this situation, with a hands-free leash looped around you like a cross-body bag, connected to your little beagle, sitting patiently at your feet.

His eye twitches when another bit of luggage comes out that’s not his.

“Doesn’t your sire literally own a private jet company?”

“Not anymore. He sold it. Gained quite a bit of money from it.” You shrug. Offering a sip of the can to Oscar, who actually takes a hard drink from it, tipping his head back. “Besides. I fly normally most of the time. Better for the environment, no?”

“Who gives a shit about the environment?” 

“I do. I actually quite like to hike.” You frown as you look at him, brow furrowing. Your beagle yawns. “So does Seb. Didn’t you flirt with him your first year?” 

“I did what— no! He was like my grid dam!” Lando screeches, almost immediately trying to banish the images of Sebastian and himself in any type of relationship beside that of a rookie and a veteran driver mentorship. 

“Ah.” You nod slightly, and then go back to looking at the baggage claim. Studying it. “We flew business anyway. Why are you so pissy about it?” 

“We could have flown private or— or at least first class!” 

“Why, though?” You tilt your head at him. Momentarily scowling at Oscar as he’s drunk all of your Red Bull— a fact only discovered when you try to take a drink for yourself. “It’s not even a long flight, just seven hours.”

“Seven hours is a long time,” Lando chuffs, folding his arms across his chest. “I need to be able to lay down!”

“Okay, next time, we’ll fly first class,” Oscar buts in, already trying to smooth things over between the two of you. You almost look offended until Oscar glares at you from the corner of his eye, which gets you to bite down on your cheek. “Lando can schedule that.”

“Fine.” Lando sniffs, watching as more luggage lands on the conveyor belt. “But we are so upgrading to first for the flight home.”

“But that’ll cost extra,” you whine, which makes the dog at your feet snort. Lando silently decides that your beagle is on his side, in this argument, even if you don’t acknowledge it.

“Compromises, Mousey,” Oscar just puts one of his hands on the top of your head, the way an older litter mate might do to quiet an argument. It’s quite funny for Lando to watch, especially with the little huff you let out, conceding. “Compromises.”

The little smirk that Lando gives you nearly makes you growl, until Oscar just pushes down on your head a bit harshly, saying something about grabbing his bag and leaving the two of you alone. 

“So….” Lando starts, standing a bit awkwardly as you both watch Oscar struggle with his frankly oversized duffle bag. Your dog has now sat back down at your feet, watching the Aussie nearly fall over himself. “Mousey?”

“Oh my god,” you rub your face in frustration and prepare to clobber Oscar for revealing that to Lando. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“What is it?” Lando grins widely, suddenly finding a new way to torment you. To possibly break down the walls you have set up, all in the interest as making yourself seem like a hardass. “Like— some pet name, from your Oscie?”

“My Oscie?!” You screech, just as the Australian in question lets out a loud ‘oof’ from where he’s finally managed to lift the duffel, only for it to get caught on someone else's luggage, forcing him to walk awkwardly beside it while trying to unhook it from the other bag. Both yourself and Lando watch in partial amusement on Lando’s part and disappointment on yours. “Do you think I’m— oh, no, that actually makes sense you think I’m dating him,” You murmur, more to yourself, before looking at him stoicly, as if to clear it up. “That idiot is more like my littermate.” 

“Hey! He’s not that bad, he’s quite smart.”

As if to prove him wrong, Oscar somehow stumbles over his own feet, and falls onto the conveyor belt, now moving along with all the luggage, looking somewhat surprised at his new situation.

“Okay, so he’s got some quirks,”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” you watch as Oscar just sits on the conveyor belt for a few seconds, as if relaxing, before realizing he’s tangled the strap of his duffel bag around himself. “Besides— he’s courting someone.” You follow Oscar’s movement on the conveyor belt as he further entangles himself. “And as for Mousey… it’s a stupid name the media gave me. Because my Sisi was die Ratte, so I was called die Maus.”

“Why not like— Rat two, or Rat junior?” Lando’s brow furrows. He seems genuinely confused about the nickname, instead focusing on how it didn’t seem to make sense to him. Oscar’s adventures and struggles with the luggage are completely forgotten to him, while the poor omega finally manages to free himself from the conveyor belt.

“Ich weiß nicht. The media is dumb.” You mumble. Not looking at him for fear of him calling your bluff. 

But you do know the origins. 

Before your identity was made public, a picture had leaked of you, when you were still healing. A rare moment when you were allowed outside of the hospital to get some sunlight, and to slowly introduce you to the new country you were now living in, Mathias and Lukas doing their best to amuse you.

The picture had been you, sitting on Niki’s lap, looking tiny and frightened by how loud Vienna was, despite sitting on a bench in a park near the hospital.

Your eyes were wide. Your little face was still bandaged, your hair shorn close to your scalp, and your hands so heavily wrapped in bandages that it made you look like you were wearing white mittens as your wounds healed. Sitting on Niki’s lap, oblivious to the paparazzi, while your sire was looking at the camera straight on, the calculating fury on his face a heavy contrast to your wide-eyed anxiety and innocence. Flinching at every noise that wasn’t something familiar, with a shy smile on your lips as you stretched a bandaged-wrapped hand towards Mathias. 

How had it been leaked? 

Published to the press not a day later, the front page of some gossip magazine Niki had sued into oblivion. But that was the first picture of you the public had ever seen, tucked under the headline: “Die Ratte und das Mäuschen!” The rat and the little mouse. 

The article itself was just blatant gossip. Theorizing about where you’d come from, based on the fact he’d just recently flown to the United States and returned not even a month ago. Who you were to Niki to make him so protective of you— and what an unfortunate event it was that such a pretty young girl was to be branded with the same scars Niki bore. 

Had Lando ever seen the picture before? Probably not. But you could never be certain. Especially not with your last name, and the weight it carried in motorsport. Not with how freely any information the media got its hands on became public knowledge. 

“I agree,” Lando said tartly, snapping you out of your little dissociative state. Eggroll sitting at your feet, now aware and pressing a paw to your shin. Alerting that you were experiencing the start of a dissociative episode. Not that Lando knew that part— he probably just assumed it was a pet asking for attention. “Is your dog… asking for Red Bull?”

“She’s alerting. I had a trigger, or something,” You mumble, already going to lower yourself to the ground so she can sit in your lap to help keep you calm, her weight reassuring and familiar. “Eggroll’s my service dog.” 

Before Lando can even question the fact that you have a service dog, and further, the fact that they dog's name is Eggroll, Oscar finally lets out a yelp for assistance, now pulling your bag and Lando’s from the claim, looking like he’s going to get pulled onto the little conveyor belt again by his bag.

The older driver rushes over, forgetting about Eggroll and your mystery disability that required you to have her, helping Oscar pull the two remaining bags off the track. And by the time they’re both heading back towards you, you’re standing up again, and Eggroll is alert by your side, and Lando’s already forgotten about the little talk you’d both had. 

Two Days Later, 2024. Sakhir, Bahrain. 

It’s the second day of pre-season testing. Everything is terrible. You’d always hated testing out your ideas and putting a driver in the seat. A chance to have all of your carefully laid calculations and strategies, brought to you by countless other mechanics and engineers, and then having to make the hard decisions on what should actually be included. Or. That’s what it was like at Williams. No one would dare say it to your face— but they underestimated you. You were, firstly, the child of a wealthy and famous Formula One legend. Secondly, a woman. And third, your worst crime, an incredibly well-educated and blunt omega who would never back down when you knew you were right about something. 

The Williams team who worked with you always seemed to regard you with thinly veiled loathing. Jealousy. You’d applied under an assumed name, wanting to strike out on your own without your sire’s name attached to you, cutting the symbolic umbilical cord. They’d already removed the fact that gender wouldn’t be taken into account, much less your designation. When you’d shown up, with James to back you up after you’d gotten the job, and the proof to show that all of the accolades under your name were your own, he had immediately sunk his teeth in. The investigation had revealed just how much he’d whispered about you to the rest of the team. The lies told about you from the very first moment you’d stepped in the garage. He had orchestrated it all as if it were part of his plan to have you as his mate, stuck in his web from the moment you’d joined Williams.

Only Alex had been truly welcoming. Understanding the struggles of your stepping up and the jump into Formula One after finishing your masters. And Nick… he’d been nice enough. A bit awkward. But that was alright. You’d both commiserate over being considered “outsiders” to the Europeans, occasionally joining Lance at separate events when the isolation grew to be too much.

But you were at least partially European. A dual citizen in the United States and Austria. And your name helped to at least cover more of the disappointment in your parentage, or what the public knew about. 

You were a Lauda. Plain and simple. 

The last name Lauda originated in the Latin language. Likely from the word Lauds. The Morning Office. The first prayers of the day in the old, old ways of the Catholic Church. A Lauda was someone who sang the praises of a god you’re not quite certain you or your sire even believed in anymore. 

You’d seen the way his hands twisted when he’d prayed after one-to-many accidents. How his head bowed lower with each life or career-ending injury of some promising motorsport legend. The way he had cursed and screamed and raged after Jules Bianchi had died. You were almost 15. The funeral had been quiet. 

All you remembered was how broken the F3 driver had looked as he touched the coffin before it was pushed into the vault. 

Lauda became a name that people sang praises about. Raising your beloved Sisi on their shoulders and holding their hands together, clasped in worship when they saw him in the holy red and prancing black horse on a golden background. And you. The little Lauda, the new light of the family. They stared at you and whispered as if you already had a halo about your little head, shining bright enough to hide the mottled scars on your jawline and neck, your wide eyes more reminiscent of a little mouse than the slick, calculating rat your Sisi was.

The drivers cried for his guidance there. Micheal would lean and talk with him in hushed tones, with you balanced precariously between the two of them. There’d been a picture of you looking up at the two of them from where you sat between them, as if you could understand what they were discussing. Already trying to figure out a solution to the worries that creased your Sire’s brow, and to make your uncle smile. It’d made its rounds on social media when Williams announced you were going to be a Race Engineer starting in 2021. Now with your halo photoshopped in. 

To extol. Everyone wanted to see another Lauda charge forward in a car, backed by a legendary team. McLaren or Ferrari, they didn’t care, the media just wanted to see you from the moment your identity became public. 

That’s what everyone wanted. 

But the notebooks stacked by you state a different story. An alternative ending. The true ending. The way your eyes watered from the thick contacts being in too long. But the glasses caused too much of a glare when you were out in the sun. The twitching of your hands and the lack of the compression gloves that’s stopped them from aching. 

You would not be charging forward with a team in a car. But you could atleast guide them. 

That’s what you liked more, anyway. It was what you could do. 

What you wanted to do. 

A mechanic drops a wrench behind you, snapping you from your daze. Lando talking over the radio as you sit along the pitlane wall. 

You haven’t spoken once. Just watching and listening carefully as Will walks Lando through a practice run to get an idea of what McLaren ran like. The Alpha smiles at you warmly, lifting up one side of the headphones. You follow suit, intent on listening to whatever advice he may give. Even if you plan on turning everything on its head.

“Lando does quite well with positive reinforcement! It’s really been able to drive him to success in the past,” Will explains, his voice soft and his eyes kind even as he glances at the screens with all of their data. “Would you like to try? There’s no time like the present—“

“I’d rather not,” you murmur, looking back at the screens. He was doing alright. But not what you expected out of the current car. Not with what all the calculations and simulations had been saying. Positive reinforcement or not, the results were lackluster at best, and you weren’t about to reward him for pretty much just taking the car out for a joyride when he was supposed to be getting you data to work with and to use for strategies. “I thank you for the advice. But his data is not looking good.”

“What does she mean it’s not looking good?” Lando’s voice crackles through the headsets. “That was my best lap yet!”

“I mean it’s not looking good.” Your words are blunt as ever. Will’s face seems to drop at your… rather indelicate speech. “You’re not following the race line, and you’re taking the corners much too fast. You’re just playing around with the car, honestly.”

“Better than losing speed.”

“Tell the mechanics that when you crash. You’re driving the car like it’s the shitbox you had from five years ago.”  

Will visibility winces at that comment, and Zak just raises an eyebrow as he listens in on your conversation. Andrea laughs. Then you can hear the huff Lando lets out, actively taking another corner and nearly clipping the front wing on the railing. You hear a few yelps from the mechanics behind you for the close call. 

“Rude.”

“It’s the truth. You’re understeering like crazy right now due to how fast you’re taking the corners. I’m literally looking at the data to prove it.” You close your notebook, the final page filled with ink scrawls of notes you’d taken. No more notes. Only bluntness. “Do you want to be a champion? Or are you content to be Lando Nowins?”

“You’re a fucking dickhead, you know that?” Lando starts to take the corners even faster as if to spite you. But he’s following the set path much closer now. Your brow furrows. “Just let me fucking drive!”

“Stop taking the corners fast. You will make your own calls when you have at least four wins to your name.” You snap back, adjusting the mic to be a bit closer. “A single win can be a fluke. Match your number and we will talk.”

“Just let me fucking drive!” Lando roars, the radio crackling from how loud he shouts. Another near miss with the railing seems to scare him straight, responding curtly to you as you start to give him guidance. And you just smirk, folding your hands in front of you as you watch the data start to turn upwards, Will beside you, looking shocked as you seemingly force Lando’s hand into doing better.

“He gets positive reinforcement for doing well. Not for throwing tantrums.” You say to him, muting yourself so that Lando won’t hear the little comment. Still facing forward. Will’s face flushes slightly, and Zak just leans in a bit closer, looking at the notebook you’d written in. 

“He’s not a dog for you to train,” Will mutters. “Not like that American you worked with.”

“Watch it,” your voice is cold, and your eyes narrowed to slits as you look at him. It’s bad enough that you’re already tired, and that your eyes hurt from the contacts. But having someone drag Logan’s name through the mud when he wasn’t there to defend himself nearly makes you snap, pulling your teeth back over your lips, your scarred skin making your mouth almost seem lopsided, with the way it creases under the heavy makeup you used to even out the bumps, not looking quite right to those who are too close to you. “I have my ways. You have yours. But I am the one with the job now.”

You just focus back on the screen above you, calmly giving directions to Lando, who complies with sullen responses. When he gets out of the car, you notice Will leaning down to whisper something to him. But you don't care.

You have your ways. He has his. But you will not feed yet another ego.

The debrief after the second practice session is full of tension. Thick enough that Lando nearly gags when he enters the room. Something that makes Lando’s blood boil a little, especially with how you’re sitting just relaxed, arms a bit folded, leaning back in the office chair as you look at the slide deck of all the data that’s still being edited by the strategists. You’re across from him, while Will is next to Lando. Oscar is next to you, and on his other side is his own race engineer. You should be sitting next to Lando. Will should be a bit further down, with his new position. 

Yet there you are, sitting beside Oscar and laughing as the two of you speak. 

That idiot is more like my littermate.

Your words ring oddly in his ears. Were you just trying to throw him off? The two of you have your foreheads pressed together, whispering and discussing something like it was just the two of you in that room. Oscar smells so undeniably happy, with his eyes shining, and a little smile on his lips to reveal his bunny teeth.

You seem so satisfied. Pointing out the positive turn in data when you had held Lando’s feet to the fire. Doing the opposite of what Will had recommended. Zak just listens silently while Andrea stands at the front of the room next to Randeep, the head of strategy. The praise makes you give a small smile— Lando’s not even sure he can call it that. The corners of your mouth tip up, just a tiny bit, almost imperceptibly— and you continue to pay attention as Andrea signals for everything to move on. Oscar seems to preen at your being praised, and that all-but-seals the deal for Lando, realizing you’d probably lied about not courting him, for whatever reason.

But Will raises his hand. 

“Uh— I actually have a few concerns,” The blond alpha is polite, but there’s clear agitation in his words. You stiffen a little, but ultimately tilt your head to the side, questioning. “Mainly about how Lando’s new engineer seemed to ignore my advice,”

“....Elaborate,” Andrea motions for Will to keep speaking, though he seems agitated, a prickle of annoyance scenting the air. “Please try to keep this unbiased, Will, and also remember that each race engineer does things differently.”

“Right. I’ll just get right into it. I don’t like the way Ms. Lauda talks to Lando,” Will stands, clapping his hands together, and looking directly at you. You, in response, raise both your eyebrows and meet his gaze head-on. Cold. Calculating. The way you’re addressed almost feels too formal. Like you’re not really welcome at McLaren yet, as he refuses to use your first name. 

It’s not lost on you. And it certainly isn’t lost on Lando, who suddenly realizes Will is trying to make a statement of some kind, as the other alpha smiles at him, like Lando’s his littermate, that they’re closer than they’ve really ever been. 

“Lando, in previous years, has done great with positive reinforcement, even with how often his race engineer changes—”

“He’s also never gone further than the top five in driver’s ranking, nor won a race yet.” You respond cooly. Under the table, you’re picking at your nails. The claws on your left hand extend to pick at the back of the compression glove you’re wearing, custom-made to match your skin tone and to hide the burn scars that mar your right hand. Being careful not to break the fabric. Practiced. A perfected nervous tick that had only worsened since he had been sentenced. Perhaps you should take your anxiety medication earlier, rather than at night.

Will ignores your response, though he does pause a bit, biting the inside of his cheek. “Yes, that may be so, but we’re here to uplift him, and help him go further than before. Admittedly, the car hasn’t been the best in the past few years, but that’s changing. I’m speaking as his race engineer here—”

“Former race engineer,” You remind him, looking at Will, who looks to Lando again, as if ask for him to jump to his defense. “You’re not his race engineer anymore.”

All Lando wants to do is curl up in a ball because he really, really doesn’t want to get into the political power struggle between his current and former race engineer right now, even if you’ve not exactly been the most… approachable, for this first month. 

He feels nauseous, caught between the two of you right now. With how you’re staring him down, lips turned downward. One of your upper canines slightly snagged on your lower lip. 

“Yes, but,” Will huffs through his nose, now looking straight at you. You no longer look as calm as when the conversation— confrontation, more accurately— started. Just staring down Will, sitting stiffly in your chair. Maybe trying to intimidate him, using the legendary Lauda death stare. Perhaps it’s working— Will isn’t even trying to talk to you directly anymore, looking straight at Andrea and Zak. “Be reasonable, the way she spoke to Lando is unacceptable, I mean, Lando can’t help that he hasn’t won yet— but to outright taunt him as she did, it makes me wonder why she actually left Williams!” 

No one’s quite sure when he’d started to growl. Or when his scent had turned so bitter with frustration and outright disgust as he spoke.

But the fact is, Will used his voice. The edges of his irises had flashed red, showing his designation, and showed exactly what he was doing, even if he wasn’t aware he was doing it.

The aggression from him is shocking. Completely unlike him, in all honesty. But everything is frozen by the loud, panicked baying of your dog, now pressing itself into your lap, her nose against your face and licking your cheeks. Your eyes focus on the table in front of you, while Oscar grabs you by the shoulders, turning your chair to look at him. You let out a low, defensive hiss, and Lando can see the way you bare your teeth at him.

An odd ripping sound fills the room, the tips of your fingers extending and stretching until Lando realizes you’re wearing a glove on your right hand, and that your claws had ripped through the fingertips of it as Oscar now holds to your wrists to stop you from clawing at him. The edge of a scent-blocking patch is just visible on your wrist, where the glove had partially stretched and ripped because of the extention of your claws. 

And your dog keeps baying. Ear-splitting and urgent, as you wrestle yourself from Oscar’s grip, before directly baring your teeth at Will. Sharp canines under your pulled-back lips, one side almost looking a bit… droopy, as if your skin couldn’t tighten the way it normally would.

That snaps Will out of his daze, and he pales, starting to stutter out a response. “I—I didn’t mean—”

You barely manage to make it from the room, a flash of white near the door, in what Lando can only assume is your canine form, Eggroll still hot on your heels, baying and howling as she chases you. Oscar sprints after, pushing past Zak, who tries to hold you there. You’re gone— god knows where— along with the younger driver and your beagle.

“Mr. Joseph. A word.” Andrea hisses, and motions to the door quickly, the team principal's face set in a rare display of utter fury.

Lando has no idea what to do. Because this goes against everything he’s been taught and everything he believes in, Alpha or not. No matter how angry you got, no matter how aggravating someone might be— you never, ever let it get to that point. Not like Will had just done. Using his Alpha voice and almost certainly setting off some episode that your service dog was trained for. 

Truthfully, Lando had never seen someone use their Alpha voice. Yes, he had it. All the other Alphas he knew had it. But he’d never seen it actually used on someone. Sure, he’d seen people speak with it, but that was when he was in school, in health classes, learning to control it so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt anyone. Just like how Betas had to learn how to properly recognize scents, and how Omegas had to learn how to control their own scents, so as to not cause accidental distress to those around them. That’s just how everything was. 

Zak closes the meeting with little decorum. His face is stoic, a mask that hides whatever he’s thinking. But it’s clear that not a single word of what just happened will be spoken about outside of the team and those who’d witnessed it. 

“Zak,” Lando walks up to him, flinching at how the older Beta seems to stare right through him, “I didn’t— he didn’t tell me he was going to do that. He only said he didn’t like how Mouse did things,”

“Mouse?” Zak says in confusion. “Do you mean— never mind, but— we’ll— we’ll get this figured out, Lando. Just.... take the night." 

The way he says it doesn’t fully convince him, though. Even as he trudges to the nesting rooms, following the faint trail of the heavenly scent from last night. Room 12 is open this time. And Lando is a creature of petty desires. So the moment his body hits the pre-built nest in the little room, he closes his eyes and hopes the third and final day of testing while somehow be less of a shitshow than today. 

You need to use your canine form more. The click of your claws on the floor is a dead giveaway that it was a bit... neglected.

You’re panting, trying to find a small place to tuck yourself to hide, like your instincts are telling you to do. Following your instincts is good. Great, even. But you can hear Oscar and Eggroll’s steps behind you, almost upon you.

The wind is knocked from you, and you tumble forward as a human, with Oscar in his canine form on top of you. Eggroll trots up to your face, lets out an angry bay, before sitting down and licking your face to help ground you. It takes nearly a minute before Oscar trusts that you’re not going to try and run, and turns human himself, gently lifting both yourself and Eggroll, while you try (and fail) to tuck yourself into a ball, still thinking you're being chased.

Eggroll, seemingly all-knowing, bays again. Shoves her nose against yours. And then leaves a slobbery lick up your face, forcibly grounding you as you glare at the little beagle.

“Okay. Let’s talk.” Oscar hums, taking you to the nesting rooms, haphazardly choosing one that won’t look too odd to be closed. He helps you through the paces, wiping off the remaining adhesive for your scent-blocking patches. Letting you hide slightly under him, Eggroll grumpily pushing her paws into your side. “What was that?”

"What was what?"

"That," Oscar moves his arms as if to gesture to the entire debrief. "What else could I be talking about, Mouse?!"

“I don’t know. He started getting so angry,” You mumble. And you’re genuinely confused— nothing like that, even at Williams, had happened before. There were usually warning signs, if it was something with your scent. It was hard for you to regulate it, with how damaged your scent glands were. But you could, and that’s what your scent blockers were for. 

An omega’s scent could cause those around them to feel whatever the omega felt if they so wished it. It was a defense tactic that had evolved back from the early days of humanity. To control one's scent was to control the pack, and it often became a task for any prime omega to keep the pack calm, able to make sure level-heads prevailed in any circumstance. Just as the prime Beta and Alpha served their purpose, the prime Omega had their own duties to uphold.

You’d never been able to control your scent. Even when you presented, with Marlene to guide you through your Omega schooling, the majority of your scent glands, were too damaged. Quite honestly, you were unable to scent anything. If you tried too hard, the damaged glands would start to ache, and the few untouched ones would blister from having to overproduce the scenting hormones. 

“Do you think your scent…?” Oscar trails off as you go silent. 

“Shouldn’t have. My scent blockers are prescribed.” You mumble, squeezing Eggroll a little bit tighter. “They’re meant to make it so I don’t have to try and regulate my scent.”

As if to show your friend, your pack mate, you tremble, squeezing your eyes shut to try and regulate it as you’d learned to from Marlene. The scarred part of your neck aches with the effort it takes for you to control it. The gland on the other side of your neck manages to splutter out a weak stream of your scent before it starts to sting. Trying to make Oscar feel calm. Oscar just frowns, and then lightly pushes you to break your concentration so you don’t continue to try and regulate your scent, obviously not affected.

“Point taken.” He looks at the mostly undamaged part of your neck, checking it carefully. “Jesus. That’s gonna blister.” 

Eggroll huffs, and digs her front paws into your chest. Her mournful brown eyes look up at you in seeming judgement for pushing yourself. “They always do.” You gently scratch the dog’s head. “She did her panic alert. Not the scent alert.” You look back down at her. 

“So maybe you set him off?”

“Maybe,” you shrug it off. “He probably got scared of my face, right?” You feel the uneven texture of the scar on your jaw, the makeup you’d been wearing to even everything out now sitting on a soaked cloth in the corner of the room. The media knew you had scars. Fuck, everyone did. But your strict skincare and makeup routine ensured that many didn’t know just how bad they were. 

“You have makeup on, though.”

“But it doesn’t always hide the… droopyness.” You frown. Feeling how one side of your mouth moves less than the other. “Be honest, does it look like I'm having a stroke? Like a chronic one, or some shit?”

“No, you're just dramatic. ” Oscar puts his chin on top of your head, huffing. “The new treatments have been helping.” 

The huff you make isn’t as convincing as he’d like it to be. But you’re too tired to try and argue with him anymore as you let yourself try to relax and focus on the next and final day of testing tomorrow. 

tags: @charlesgirl16 @boo8008 @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @vellicora @st0rmzi3 @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @seonghwaexile @mrsmelinda @actuallyazriel @noam-rosier-icr

[revelboo]

That trailcutter and hound one is going to be the funniest one, I just know it! I love both of those guys! I just gotta say that your writing is something I look forward to every day. It's like a reward for going to my boring job.

Hound taking full advantage of the fact that he can coerce his buddy into pretty much anything with enough high grade

Heavy Boots

Hound x Reader

• There’ll be guilt later and he knows it, but as he cages you in his servos, it’s hard to focus on anything beyond the hope that this isn’t a mistake. Because he’s been watching Bluestreak with his little human. Tries so hard not to stare at the way the young sniper’s human is constantly touching his servos, smiling up at him and relaxed. How Wheeljack’s human curls up against the engineer’s arm, draping themself against him in the break room. Convincing Trailbreaker that they’re saving humans, when really, he just wants that sort of companionship. Wants a soft, little mate that’s happy to see him. Waiting for him to return.

• Screaming as you’re caught and picked up, you can hear your friend also screaming, the sound cutting off suddenly to your horror. And you struggle as the giant monster that has you grins down at you. “Alright then,” he says. Pulling you close to his chassis before he comes apart and reforms around you, feeling like your heart is going to beat right through your ribs from the fear. And you find yourself inside a green Jeep. These monsters hiding in plain sight. Yanking on the door handle in a panic, you can’t get the door open. “Easy there, sweet spark,” rumbles a deep, soothing voice from all around you and you shudder. “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

• “Let me go,” you gasp, voice small and shaky and his spark constricts. Had expected this, but your fear still bothers him. How had Blue and Jack won over their little humans? Pulling out alongside Trailbreaker, they head back to the Ark. “What do you want with us? Are-are you going to eat us?” What? Primus, you think he’s a monster, don’t you? It’s not funny at all, but it still startles a laugh from him.

• “I’m saving you, sweet spark.” That deep voice is coaxing and you shiver unable to tell where it’s coming from or where to focus your attention. Saving you from what? Watching the steering wheel turn as the alien monster pretending to be a Jeep drives itself, you cringe. “Our enemies are kidnapping you lot. Doing awful things to you. You’re safe with us.” He kidnapped you to keep you from being… kidnapped. And what awful things? What is he going to do to you?

• You’ll come around sooner or later. Come to trust him. Running through the things he’ll need for you as he cuts his wheels to give Trailbreaker more space when he lists into his lane. He’s been watching the other bots with humans, learning from them how they handle their humans. What you need and he’s certain he’ll be able to take good care of you. He’s already been collecting things for the human he’d been wanting, sneaking off on patrol to steal things you’ll need or like. You’ll be happy with him once he wins you over.

[evermoreness]

quidditch | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you borrow your best friend's quidditch jumper, and he is thrilled to see you wear it in his game

obs: reader is james potter's sister!

The day of the Quidditch match dawned crisp and clear, with a faint breeze sweeping across the Hogwarts grounds. The chatter of excited students filled the air as they made their way to the stands. Slytherin versus Hufflepuff was always an entertaining game, but one thing was out of the ordinary: y/n Potter, a proud Ravenclaw, was decked out in green and silver.

Specifically, she was wearing a well-worn Slytherin Quidditch jumper with the name "R. Black" and the number "7" embroidered on the back.

“Merlin’s beard!” James groaned, spotting his sister as he climbed into the stands with Sirius and Remus. “What are you wearing?”

She smirked, twirling in the jumper dramatically. “Oh, this old thing? Just a little something Reggie lent me.”

“You mean the thing you stole from him after pestering him for a week,” Sirius interjected, grinning. “Nice move, by the way.”

“I did not steal it,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “He gave it to me willingly.”

“After you badgered him into it,” James snapped, his face turning red. “y/n, you’re a Ravenclaw! You can’t just go around wearing Slytherin gear! Do you have any idea what people will say?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, James. I’m supporting my friend. Is that a crime?”

“Friend,” James muttered under his breath, glaring at the pitch where Regulus was warming up on his broom. “That’s what we’re calling it now, is it?”

Sirius burst out laughing, clapping James on the back. “Relax, mate. It’s just a jumper.” He leaned closer, his grin turning mischievous. “Besides, you might want to get used to it. Never know—she might be wearing Slytherin colors at her wedding one day.”

James turned on Sirius, his eyes wide with horror. “Don’t. Even. Joke about that.”

Remus, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, finally chimed in. “You’re going to pop a vein, Prongs. Let her enjoy the game. It’s not like she’s waving a Dark Mark banner.”

She snorted, trying to hide her laughter. “Exactly. Listen to Remus. He’s the sensible one.”

James groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to hex Regulus if he so much as looks at you during this game.”

“Good luck with that,” she said smugly, turning her attention back to the field.

---

On the pitch

Regulus Black was used to being alone. Even in the middle of a roaring crowd, he never felt like anyone was truly there for him. But today was different.

As he circled the pitch, his sharp eyes scanning for the Snitch, he couldn’t help but glance at the stands. And there she was—y/n Potter, wearing his jumper, waving at him with a grin that made his heart stutter.

“What are you looking at, Black?” sneered one of the Hufflepuff Chasers as they zoomed past him.

“None of your business,” Regulus muttered, refocusing on the game. But the warmth spreading through his chest was impossible to ignore.

---

In the stands

James was practically vibrating with tension, his eyes glued to the field. “Did you see that? He looked at her. He looked at her!”

“Maybe because she’s literally wearing his name on her back,” Remus deadpanned, not looking up from the book he had brought to the game.

“Calm down, Prongs,” Sirius said, leaning back in his seat with an easy grin. “This is hilarious. I’ve never seen you this worked up about anything.”

“It’s not funny, Padfoot!” James snapped. “That’s my sister! And he’s—he’s him!”

“You mean your future brother-in-law?” Sirius teased, winking at her, who was doing her best to ignore them.

“You’re all insufferable,” James muttered, slumping back in his seat.

---

Post-Match Celebration

Slytherin won the match by a narrow margin, thanks to Regulus’s impeccable Snitch-catching skills. The team celebrated as they landed, but Regulus’s eyes were already searching for her.

She was waiting for him just outside the stands, her cheeks pink from the chilly air. When he approached, she grinned and held her arms out, showing off the jumper. “Looks good on me, doesn’t it?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” she teased, stepping closer.

He glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention before leaning in slightly. “You really wore it to the game?”

“Of course I did,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m your biggest fan, Reggie.”

His heart skipped a beat at the way she said his name. “You’re probably making your whole house mad right now”

“It's worth it.” she said cheekily, giving him a playful nudge. "Let's have a huge celebration! You won!"

"You know i hate those, right?" He said with his brows furrowed

"You're boring" She rolled her eyes but smiled, tugging on his arm as they both walked back to the castle.

He didn’t reply, but the way he seemed to relax and pull her close was answer enough. He loved having her around, even if he didn't admit it. She was like a shining star in his dark sky.

---

Meanwhile

James, watching from a distance with Sirius and Remus, groaned loudly. “I can’t take this. Someone stop them. Remus, you’re responsible. Do something!”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you want me to do, James? Tell your sister she’s not allowed to have friends?”

“Yes!” James said, throwing his hands in the air.

Sirius laughed so hard he almost fell over. “You’re ridiculous, Prongs. You’d better get used to it. She’s not a little kid anymore.”

“She’s sixteen!” James hissed.

“Exactly,” Sirius said with a smirk. “Old enough to make her own choices. And, hey, at least it’s my brother. Imagine if it were Snape.”

James looked horrified at the thought, and Sirius burst out laughing again.

As the group eventually walked back to the castle together, she and Regulus fell a few steps behind. James kept glancing over his shoulder, his protective instincts on high alert, but Sirius’s teasing and Remus’s calm reasoning kept him in check.

For Regulus and her, the world seemed a little brighter, even under the watchful gaze of her overprotective brother.

[c0s-lettuce]

common factor - dave lizewski x reader

gender not explicitly mentioned but dave calls reader "ladybug"

synopsis: after getting stood up, you seek out the one person who makes everything better.

word count: 1517

a/n: recently watched kick-ass and omg atj is so cute. inspired by the scene in kick-ass 2 when mindy goes to dave after getting date ditched.

Tonight was slowly becoming a disaster. It had already been a mediocre week at school. So, when a nice boy with blue eyes asked you out, you were eager to say yes.

And so, you stood alone in front of the movies on a chilly Thursday evening as you waited for your date. You knew you had the right time and place. You had checked Ben's message multiple times. But still, you waited for five minutes. Then ten. Then twenty.

You called it quits after thirty-four minutes.

As you begin your walk of shame, you don't yearn for your home or bed. You don't think of anything that would usually provide you comfort. Right now, all you want is your best friend.

So, you make your way over to his place. It had been a while since you climbed up to his window, but you still remember the spots to step and hold on to. Mr Lizewski was rarely ever strict enough to require sneaking around. But it was too late to knock, so the window it was.

You land softly on the floor inside. Dave sleeps soundly in his bed, the light from the street gently illuminating his face. He looks so peaceful that you begin to feel bad for waking him. But your need for comfort overrides your guilt.

"Dave?" you call out, loud enough to wake him.

Dave awakens slowly, blinking in the dimness. His eyes find yours, and he jolts upright.

"Holy shit," he mutters, reaching over to turn on the lamp. "What are you doing here?"

You take a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry for waking you. I just really needed to see you."

He sits up, immediately concerned. "Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen with Ben?"

You had told him about the date, of course. He was happy for you. Dave is always happy for you.

"He stood me up," you tell him.

Dave's eyes soften, and he pulls you in for a hug. You melt in his embrace, unable to stop the stray tears that fall from your eyes.

"Oh, bug. I'm so sorry. He's such an ass," Dave says softly, rubbing your back.

"I think there's something wrong with me," you say as you pull away.

He furrows his brow. "What? That is not true. How could you say that?"

You shake your head. "No, you don't understand. I'm-"

I'm in love with you, is you want to say.

You want to tell him you only agreed to go out with Ben because his eyes reminded you of Dave's. That's the only reason you paid attention to anyone lately. Alex with the hair, James with the smile and Ben with the eyes. If you broke them all down, Dave would be the common factor.

But the words refuse to come out. So, instead, you say, "I'm hopeless."

"You're not hopeless," Dave reassures.

"Then why does this keep happening?" you ask.

Dave's hands take yours. "It's not you. It's them, okay? They're all jerks. And you know what? I'm glad Ben didn't show. Because you're too good for him, ladybug."

You frown, unsure how to respond to that. You look down at your hands, at how they fit in his.

Dave takes this opportunity to continue, "I mean it. You're so sweet and kind and funny. He doesn't deserve a second of your time, much less your tears."

"I know, you're right," you say. "I guess I just... wanted to be liked."

Dave nods in understanding, "You are, though. You're loved. You don't need Ben to prove that."

His words manage to make you smile a little bit. You nod in response, knowing he's right again.

"Why don't you stay over for the night?" Dave suggests. "I can get you some clothes to sleep in."

"Yeah," you reply. "Yeah, that sounds great."

Dave smiles. "Perfect. You stay right here."

Dave gives you a spare shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts you forgot once during a sleepover. After a quick shower, you get changed and take a moment to compose yourself, not wanting to shed any more tears.

Meanwhile, Dave waits for you in bed. He felt as if his heart could break. You looked so beautiful tonight. You should be out being admired and doted on. But instead, you were left in tears. Dave starts considering putting on his Kick-Ass suit and teaching Ben a lesson.

However, his plans don't go much further before you return from the bathroom. You tiptoe over to the bed, and Dave lifts the covers up for you. You slip in beside him, instantly comforted by the soft sheets and the subtle scent that lingers on them.

You and Dave lie facing each other, the setting familiar and cozy. He reaches forward to play with your hair, brushing his fingers from the top of your head to behind your ear. The repetitive motion soothes you.

"I don't want to see Ben tomorrow," you tell him.

He nods. "I'll stick with you as much as I can. I won't let him bother you."

"I don't know how people do it," you say. "All this dating and relationships, especially in high school."

"I couldn't tell you," he answers. "My one and only girlfriend publicly broke up with me and told me she cheated on me at the same time."

You cringe at the reminder. You remember when Dave started dating Katie. He had such a big crush on her, and you tried your best to be supportive. You tried not to hate her. You were glad when she did something worthy of your resentment.

"God, that was horrible," you say.

"Yeah. Maybe we're both cursed with bad luck," Dave replies.

You frown. "I thought ladybugs are supposed to be lucky."

Dave chuckles at your statement, taking a moment to think. "You're right. Maybe the universe is doing us a favour by showing us we don't need them. You know you'll always matter more to me than some random girl."

"That won't always be true," you say quietly.

"Sure it will, bug," he replies. "It's me and you forever, remember?"

His words make you want to shrivel up under the covers. They take you back to the old days when you and Dave had not a single care in the world.

"Yeah, I remember," you mumble.

Dave smiles. "Good. Don't you forget it."

You take a deep breath, shutting your eyes for a moment. You never expected this night to be so emotionally taxing. A few moments of comfortable silence pass as you try to ground yourself.

"Hey," Dave speaks up after a while. "How about I take you out this weekend?"

You open your eyes again, slightly surprised. How about I take you out? You wonder if he phrased it like that on purpose.

"You don't have to," you tell him.

"I want to," he says. "It's been a while since we did something without Todd or Marty. Maybe we can see the new Avengers movie. I know you have a crush on Thor."

You glare at him, feigning offence. "I do not have a crush on Thor."

He grins. "Aw, come on. You can tell me the truth. Though, I'll have to try very hard not to be jealous."

You whack him on the arm, and he laughs.

"Okay, kidding," he says, "But seriously, we can do that. Or watch something else. Or do anything, really."

The ideal appeals to you more than you care to admit. You nod, "I'd like that a lot."

He smiles. "Great. It'll be my treat. We'll have the best time, I promise."

You smile back. "Thanks, Dave."

"Don't mention it," he replies. "Now, go to sleep. Let that pretty head of yours rest."

You do as he says, closing your eyes again. You scoot closer to him, and he wraps an arm around your waist. He kisses you gently on the top of your head, and you can't help but smile.

"Goodnight, Davey," you murmur.

"Goodnight, ladybug," he responds.

An unpleasant beeping wakes you in the morning. It takes a moment for your sleep-addled brain to make sense of everything. You notice you're warm, incredibly warm. You realise it's because Dave's chest is against your back, his arms secure around your body.

You feel as if you could be a puddle right now. It's all so perfect, except for that beeping. It's Dave's alarm. Of course. You forgot it was still a school day.

Dave shifts behind you, and his warmth leaves you as he rolls away. You miss it immediately but aren't awake enough to do anything about it. There's the sound of fumbling before the beeping finally stops. Not a moment sooner, Dave returns, wrapping his arms around you again and holding you tighter than before.

He nuzzles his face against your neck, letting out a deep breath that tickles your skin. It's almost enchanting how quickly sleep calls for you again. Dave doesn't say a word, but it's clear you both agree that school can wait five more minutes.

➸

[cuubism]

thinking about baby wish and how once she gets sick both hob and dream will 100% get TERRIFIED and very antsy due to their past with their own child :')

funny enough i already had a drabble kind of like this so i've gone and finished it up for you :)

-

Anyone who wants to rob Johanna should probably do a more subtle job of it than leaving the damn door to her flat cracked open for her to find. They’d tripped her wards, too—amateurs—making her scramble home in the middle of a job to catch them in the act.

She pushes the door open carefully, knife held in one hand. The light’s on in her kitchen, which gives her pause. Surely any burglar—especially one stealing magical artifacts—would get what they need and get out?

She really should have been less surprised to burst into the kitchen and find Hob leaning against the counter.

“Finally,” he says.

Johanna irritably puts the knife away. “Why are you in my house?”

“You weren’t answering my calls.”

“I was working. I can’t just drop everything to watch your strange baby.” She’s gotten roped into that a few times. Not a lot of reputable childcare around for supernatural infants, apparently. Not that Johanna counts as ‘reputable childcare’.

At least Dream pays well for it. And Jo’s grown fond of the little critter, to her chagrin.

Hob sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face, and finally Johanna takes a proper look at him.

He looks exhausted. Hair a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it, stubble coming in unevenly on his cheeks, clothes all wrinkled. When he drops his hands from his face again, he gives her a pleading look.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Wish is sick,” Hob says. “I don’t— I don’t know what it is. She doesn’t normally get flus and things like that. She’s just… fading. She won’t wake up.”

Well, shit. “What does Dream have to say about it?”

“He’s been pushing power to her from the Dreaming to keep her stable while we try to figure it out,” Hob says, starting to pace across the kitchen, tugging on his hair, “but now he’s gone under too and I—”

“Hang on,” Jo exclaims, “you’ve been letting Dream drain the Dreaming?”

“You think I get to let Dream do anything?” Hob says, exasperated. “He does want he wants. In any case, we needed to buy time, but I think we’re out of it again. Will you help me or not? Because if not I need to find someone else who will.”

“I’ll help you,” Jo says, groaning internally. “If I can.”

If Dream is actually ill too then she has, unfortunately, at least some degree of responsibility to not let this become a repeat of the sleeping sickness. Besides which… she’s fond of Wish.

Hob looks so relieved that she feels bad for her reluctance. He’s practically vibrating as he helps her gather her things and then leads her, at speed, back across town to his home.

--

Once upstairs, they step quietly into the bedroom. Wish is asleep in her crib, cat plushie clutched in one hand. She’s gotten bigger since Jo last saw her, almost a proper toddler now. And she looks… alright? At least from afar. She’s sleeping very deeply though.

Dream, meanwhile, is slumped in bed like a dead man, one arm trailing down limply to the floor. His skin is even more pale than usual, forehead beaded with sweat. She shakes his shoulder and he doesn’t move. When Jo focuses, honing in with the Sight, she can make out a thin trail of power going from Dream’s hand to Wish’s.

Jo focuses on Wish. Takes her hand. She’s been working on her Sight, and she can sense now that whatever power Dream is funneling into Wish is just going straight through her and out into whatever is draining her. It may be keeping her stable but it’s primarily just getting burned up into nothingness.

Alright so they’ve got to stop that before Dream fucking kills himself because this is a bottomless pit. If they don’t interrupt it he’ll evaporate the Dreaming from the inside out.

“What he’s doing isn’t working,” she tells Hob. “Something’s draining any power he sends her.”

“Can you tell what?”

She can’t sense anything obvious. No malevolent presence. No connection to Wish’s power, other than Dream’s.

“I don’t know,” she says. “But Dream isn’t helping. I’m going to try to break the connection.”

Hob looks concerned, glancing between Wish and Dream, but doesn’t stop her.

Johanna gets out her chalk, and starts drawing an elaborate warding circle around Wish’s crib. It’s a bit of a tossup, honestly, on whether she’ll be able to combat Dream’s magic. He is, after all, Endless. But if she focuses on containing Wish, rather than fighting against Dream, she might just be able to do it.

Hob sits on the bed beside Dream, looking on anxiously, but giving her space. Johanna seals the final stroke of the warding circle, and—

—nothing obvious happens. But the connection between Dream and Wish, visible only with the Sight, slows to a trickle. She wasn’t able to break it completely, Dream’s power is too strong for that, but at least it’s not the flood that it was before.

“They didn’t wake up,” Hob says, clutching at Dream’s hand. “Shouldn’t Dream have woken up at least?”

“He’s probably weakened himself,” Jo says. “He won’t drain himself into nothing now, though.”

Hob looks down at Dream limp beside him. “Now that he’s connected with her power Dream might have been able to tell us how to fix it,” he says, hands twisting together anxiously. “Fuck I wish he would wake up.”

Dream jolts awake in bed, gasping for breath, eyes wild. Hob jumps in alarm, but quickly clutches at him, holding him steady. “Dream.”

Jo looks between Dream and Wish. “Shit.”

“What?” says Hob, jumping up as if to rush over to Wish, but hesitating between her and Dream.

“Her power…” Dream says, his voice still its low rumble, despite his evident exhaustion. “I felt it spike, before I woke.”

“She wished you awake,” Johanna says. “Or, technically Hob did. And Wish’s power made it happen. That’s got to be what’s draining her— all over the world people are wishing things all the time, and she’s granting them.”

“Isn’t that kind of her function?” Hob says.

“No,” says Dream. “Just as I shepherd dreams but do not make all of them manifest in the Waking world, Wish’s power carries wishes, but does not grant them. A few, she can make real—but to grant all wishes would destabilize reality.”

“She’s just a baby, how’s she supposed to know that?”

“Exactly,” says Jo. “It needs to be limited until she can learn how to limit it herself. If you’d like, I can—”

Dream’s eyes flash threateningly. “You dare to hinder my daughter’s power?”

“She clearly can’t control it!” Jo exclaims. “If you don’t put a limit on it, she’ll burn through it again.”

Dream looks murderous, but Hob lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I think Johanna’s right. It’s not like we’d let her run around the city without us either, is it? Kids have to have limits.”

That softens Dream’s expression into something that’s almost a smirk. “Like your leash.”

“Are you seriously one of those people that has a child leash?” Jo says to Hob, incredulous.

“My baby can fly!” he says indignantly. “Not all of us can just grow wings to chase after her.” He pokes Dream.

For a moment Johanna gets distracted by the image of Hob flying Wish like a balloon, but comes back to her senses. “Look,” she says to Dream, “I can put a ward around her if you want—”

“I will do it.” He stands, only slightly unsteady on his feet, and walks over to Wish’s crib. Hob follows him, keeping a hand braced low on his back to support him. Dream picks Wish up, cradling her in his arms. Smoothes a hand over her forehead and hair.

She really doesn’t look much worse for wear, other than still being asleep. Dream’s the one who looks like he got run over by a train. Nevertheless he sprinkles dream sand over her, letting it whirl around her in a big spiral.

“I do not have unilateral control over her function,” he says, “but I will tie her powers to mine again, so—”

“Didn’t we just learn that was a bad idea?” Jo says.

Dream casts her an irritated glance for the interruption. “So,” he continues, “I can use the Dreaming to corral her power and keep it contained around her. As I did before she was born. I will mind her, and be sure the use of her power is moderate.”

The dream sand fades away, and Dream runs his hand over Wish’s hair again. “Wake up, my love,” he says to her, much softer than the tone he’d used with Johanna. “You are alright now.”

She shifts in his arms, nose scrunching up, letting out a quiet whine as she finally opens her eyes. “Mama.”

Johanna still hasn’t figured out why Dream is “mama.” She has her suspicions but she definitely doesn’t want to think about Dream giving birth. Nope, not at all, definitely not.

Dream smiles down at Wish. “How are you feeling?”

Wish reaches up to touch his face, grabbing at his cheek. “Lotsa wishes, Mama.”

“Yes, very many wishes indeed,” says Dream. “Now, you must go to Dada, because your Mother is about to collapse.”

Hob swoops in to grab Wish just as Dream’s legs go out from under him. Johanna is left to catch Dream, and grabs him by the arm, hauling him back over to the bed. Dream collapses back onto the pillows, panting. God, he looks absolutely exhausted.

Hob props Wish on his hip and comes over to him, touching the back of his hand to Dream’s forehead even though Jo is pretty sure you can’t gauge an Endless’s wellbeing that way.

“It is fine, Hob,” Dream says, though it doesn’t look particularly fine. Nevertheless, they’ve solved the problem, so it probably will be fine, sooner or later, or so she hopes.

Wish reaches for Dream. “Stories, Mama?”

“Perhaps tomorrow night, my love,” Dream says, eyes already falling shut.

“Mama needs to take a nap,” says Hob, draping a blanket over Dream with his free hand. “We’ll go read the next chapter of our book, hm?”

“Book!” Wish agrees.

Hob leans down to kiss Dream’s forehead. Wish reaches out with grabby hands, so Hob holds her out to kiss Dream’s forehead, too. “Kiss!” she says.

It’s kind of sickeningly adorable. 

Johanna follows Hob out into the living room, feeling a bit whiplashed by all of it. Hob sets Wish down on the couch, then scrubs his hands over his face, taking a shuddering breath. For a moment, it seems like he might crumple, but he steels himself.

Johanna isn’t really good at this kind of thing, but she rests a hand on his arm. “She’s alright, Hob,” she says, attempting a comforting tone.

“Oh, I know, she’s probably forgotten it already.” He gives her a wan smile. “Not sure Wish was the one much bothered by all this in the first place.” 

Jo feels a pang of sympathy. If anything, Hob got the worst of it, witnessing it all without being able to do much of anything to help.

“Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” she says.

He nods. Meanwhile Wish reaches out her hands to Johanna, crawling towards the edge of the couch. “Auntie Jo!”

Johanna sets her back before she can fall, then shakes her hand solemnly. “Pleasure doing business with you, as always. Let’s hope you haven’t wished anyone the nuclear codes.”

“Nu-clee-ur,” Wish echoes, with surprisingly good pronunciation.

Hob pales. “Let’s not introduce the concept of bombs to my child who likes to play with the electrical sockets, please.”

Johanna just laughs. “Your problem for later, mate.”

She turns to leave, then hesitates. Goddammit, she is becoming so fucking soft.

She gives Hob a hug.

He freezes in surprise. Then wraps his arms around her in turn. “Thanks,” he whispers.

Johanna pats his back, then pulls away before it gets any more awkward. She waves to Wish on the couch. “Be good, Sparkle!”

Wish waves goodbye, and with that Johanna heads out to leave them to it—though she’s sure, with the rate things are going, it won’t be for long.