#like who is seeing what in the corner of their eyes or what is in the black suitcase at the end when we see it open or

[misswynters]

short drabble

Ekko and heimerdinger are being nerdy while you sleep

requested. by anon

There was always a soft hum of machinery that filled the air in Heimerdinger’s workshop. And with that accompanied by the occasional clink of tools and the professor’s enthusiastic ramblings. The workshop had an oddly calming atmosphere, a mix of glowing gadgets, bubbling contraptions, and the gentle warmth of lamp-lit light. It was perfect for dozing off, especially after a long day of following Ekko around Zaun.

You were sprawled out on the old, lumpy couch tucked in a corner of the workshop, your head cushioned by one of Ekko’s jackets that you’d claimed for yourself. Curled up against your side was your pet, a small, scrappy Zaunite fox. Its fur was a mix of gray and russet, with glowing green streaks running along its ears and tail. Ekko had found it injured near one of the Sump scrapers, and after some patching up, it had attached itself to you like glue.

Ekko called it “Scraps” (because of course he would), and Scraps was now peacefully snoozing, just like you.

Across the room, Ekko and Heimerdinger were huddled around one of the professor’s latest inventions, discussing something that involved words you didn’t fully understand.

“…but if you accelerate the core’s energy output without stabilizing the oscillation, it’ll implode,” Ekko said, gesturing animatedly at the device.

Heimerdinger adjusted his tiny glasses, nodding. “Precisely! Which is why you must ensure the harmonic calibrations are synced—ah, but don’t forget to account for temporal distortions.”

As the professor continued explaining, Ekko’s focus wavered. His gaze drifted toward the couch where you were sleeping, your form softly rising and falling with each breath. Scraps twitched its glowing tail but stayed nestled close to you.

A small smile crept onto Ekko’s face. You looked so peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos that usually surrounded you both in Zaun. Your hand was loosely tangled in Scraps’ fur, your other arm tucked under your cheek.

He didn’t notice the professor had stopped talking until Heimerdinger’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ah, young love,” Heimerdinger said, his tone tinged with teasing amusement.

Ekko snapped his head back toward him, blinking. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. “There’s no use denying it, dear boy. The way you’re looking at them, it’s rather endearing, really.”

Ekko’s ears burned. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was just—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re asleep, alright? That’s all.”

Heimerdinger hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Still, allow me to impart some wisdom, as one who has witnessed countless romances blossom and wither over the centuries.”

“Oh no,” Ekko muttered, groaning.

Ignoring him, Heimerdinger continued, his voice taking on the tone of a well-meaning but meddling elder. “When courting a significant other, one must always show respect, patience, and attentiveness. Flowers are an excellent gesture, but so is active listening. Communication, you see, is the foundation of—”

“Professor,” Ekko interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not—”

“Young people these days,” Heimerdinger said with a dramatic shake of his head, cutting him off. “Always so quick to dismiss advice. But mark my words: treat them well, or you’ll regret it!”

Before Ekko could retort, Scraps stirred, lifting its head with a sleepy yawn. The movement must��ve disturbed you because you shifted slightly, blinking groggily as the sound of their voices filtered through your half asleep haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Scraps hopped off the couch and stretched before circling back to your lap.

Ekko winced, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Firefly,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given you. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Firefly—because you were always a little light in Zaun’s darkness, buzzing around him with endless energy.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine,” you murmured, scratching Scraps behind the ears. “What were you guys talking about?”

Heimerdinger perked up. “Oh, nothing of consequence!” he said cheerfully, though his smirk told a different story. “Merely enlightening young Ekko on the art of courtship.”

You blinked, then glanced at Ekko, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Courtship?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Ekko muttered, shooting Heimerdinger a look.

The professor chuckled, his ears twitching. “Ah, youth. So easily embarrassed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ekko’s expression, your earlier grogginess fading. “Well, did you learn anything useful?” you teased.

Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He reached out, ruffling your hair gently before pulling his hand back. “For real, though. Sorry we woke you up. Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good here. I like listening to you two talk.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “A kindred spirit indeed! Intellectual discourse is a joy to behold, is it not?”

Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And now you’ve encouraged him. Great.”

You just laughed again, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. Scraps let out a contented sigh, curling up in your lap, and Ekko plopped down on the couch beside you. His hand found yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, his usual ease returning.

The three of you stayed in the workshop, for endless hours as the two nerds worked on their projects. Whereas you cheered them on at the sidelines with cute ol’ Scraps to keep you company. Especially when they would talk about all the science lingo that you did not understand. Even though ekko would sometimes explain it in more simpler terms. It didn’t quite go through your head. Needlessly to say you enjoyed the days you would spend at the workshop.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

banner. @anitalenia

[machveil]

Werewolf!Johnny insisting you should leave because the full moon is right around the corner. “Aye, I’ll be a big, scary thing—“, he warns, nervous smile on his lips. he tries to persuade to stay with friends or, hell, he’ll even pay for a nice hotel room. he doesn’t want to scare you, bonnie, it’s for the best, really. he’ll be all teeth and fur, feral like a beast. if you say you can handle him and stay by his side he’ll awkwardly laugh it off, failing to meet your eyes, “Ah— best not, mo ghaol.”

Werewolf!Johnny who does manage to get you out of the house after some convincing, but you forgot your phone charger at home. you figure sneaking in to grab it while it’s dark out won’t hurt, you’ll just stay quiet - in and out. wrong, as soon as the door clicks open you hear a thud from somewhere in your home. Johnny. just be quick, just be quick, maybe you can just— the heavy pad of paws barreling towards you almost makes you shriek, heavily offset by what accompanies the sound

Werewolf!Johnny comes running towards you, just a big ol’ wolf padding up to you. he didn’t want you to see him because… well, “Johnny, that’s your own tail—”, you laugh, watching him turn in circles trying to bite his swaying tail. he’s just a big, dumb dog when the moon is full, he didn’t want you to see him embarrass himself. so far he’s fallen off the couch while rolling over, hit his snout on the coffee table, and knocked over a dining room chair. he’s much too big to be a lap dog, but that doesn’t stop him from putting all his weight on you, lapping at your arm while you complain

Werewolf!Johnny who absolutely covers you in hair, stuck to you with a healthy amount of drool. he’s embarrassed when he wakes up the next morning, mohawk unruly and limbs sore from running around the house. and, oh, how embarrassed he is. he’ll take any teasing you give him with a boyish smile, rubbing the back of his head as he chuckles. he can laugh about it, but that doesn’t stop the burning in his cheeks as you recount his night. he’s glad you had fun watching him bark at absolutely nothing outside for four minutes

[p0orbaby]

if you’re still doing blurbs could you do one with alexia where she’s dating a doctor who has a very busy schedule, and alexia has a concussion in the training and gors to the hospital, and alexia sends a message to reader telling about it but r doesn’t see and when shes going to take care of the next patient it’s alexia? lmao or maybe alexia and r have a daughter and her daughter gets injured and shes the next patient and r goes feral about it idk

i changed the injury but i hope you still like it !

-

The shift is hell, as usual. You’re striding through corridors, flicking through paperwork and half-listening to one of the interns ramble about a patient they’re struggling to diagnose. Something about abdominal pain and “maybe a foreign object ingestion?” You nod distractedly, mentally filing it under deal with later.

“Just send them for imaging,” you say, not breaking your stride. “And next time, don’t say ‘foreign object’ like you’re narrating a true crime documentary. It’s unsettling”

The intern stammers out a response, but you’re already waving them off. “You’ll be fine. Go. Be great or something.” Another day, another long list of problems, it seems. You let yourself drift into autopilot, the professional rhythm of your job taking over as you stride towards the cubicle and pull back the curtain.

“Hi, I’m Dr Putellas,” you begin, still not looking up. “What seems to be—”

“¿Estás bromeando?”

You freeze. Your grip on the clipboard tightens, and your heart drops into your stomach because that voice, that exasperated, honey-warm, decidedly unimpressed voice, belongs to your wife.

Your injured wife, apparently.

“Alexia?” you blurt, snapping your head up to find her sitting on the exam table, her left leg stretched out in front of her, an ice pack balanced precariously on her knee.

She doesn’t look happy.

“Hola, cariño,” she says, dry as dust. “Fancy seeing you here”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, caught between disbelief and irritation. “What—what happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I did call you,” she replies, gesturing to her phone sitting next to her on the table. “Several times. Apparently, you’re very busy and important”

Your stomach twists with guilt as you instinctively check your phone. Sure enough, three missed calls from Alexia. You curse under your breath, shoving it back into your pocket and stepping closer.

“Are you okay?” you ask, switching instantly from doctor mode to wife mode. “What happened? Is it bad? Why didn’t someone—”

“Relax, doctor,” Alexia interrupts, lifting her free hand to stop your avalanche of questions. “It’s not that bad. Just a tackle gone wrong at training”

You glance at the ice pack, then at her knee, which looks swollen but not grotesque. “Define ‘not that bad.’ Can you move it?”

Alexia sighs like you’re overreacting and flexes her leg a little, wincing but managing. “See? It’s fine. Probably just a sprain”

“Sprains don’t feel fine,” you mutter, already pulling on gloves and grabbing your supplies. You kneel down, gently pressing around her knee, watching her face for any reaction.

“Your hands are cold,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

“Your knee is swollen,” you counter.

“Touché”

You’re quiet for a moment, focused on the task. The swelling isn’t as bad as you feared, but it’s enough to set off every alarm in your mind. You sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly.

“You need imaging,” you say firmly. “Just to be safe”

“Of course I do,” she replies, her tone light but her eyes softening. “Because I’m married to the most thorough doctor in this hospital”

“Don’t flirt with me right now,” you say, though your lips twitch in a betrayed smile. “You scared me”

Her expression softens further, and she reaches out, brushing her fingers against your cheek. “Lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean to”

You close your eyes briefly, leaning into her touch. Then, with a deep breath, you stand up, trying to refocus.

“Alright,” you say briskly, grabbing the chart again. “Let’s get you x-rayed and figure out what’s going on. And after that, you’re resting. No arguing.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alexia says, her smile turning mischievous. “But I might need some help resting”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Careful, Putellas. I can still make you wait for a nurse”

“Please.” She gestures around dramatically. “You’d never leave me at the mercy of hospital food”

“Not unless you keep up that attitude,” you mutter, but your heart is already lighter.

You press a quick kiss to her temple before heading for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere”

“Where would I go?” she calls after you, gesturing to her knee.

[murdrdocs]

a slow life with lucius; fluffy smut; mating press; lowk breeding kink MDNI 18+

thinking about living a life with lucius, or hanno as you know him.

spending your days living a mundane life. tending to the farm, living amongst chickens and goats, making a simple living for yourselves while keeping food on the table. there's not much excitement here, but this beats what else the two of you could be doing. when you see the marred skin of his and remember the feeling of aches that will likely never truly subside, you know what else you could be doing.

you pray to your god that when that day comes—because you both know the day will come, rome is ambitious and she will not be stopped before reaching your home—may the victory be swift or may the death be merciful.

but you don't have to think of these things when you're scolding hanno for being too rough with the crops. he'll tell you it is impossible to be too rough with crops, their deaths rarely come at the hand of the farmer and are usually caused by neglect. and while he is right in his own regard, you'll still send him a pointed look that makes him smile.

there is much time in your day for basking in the glory of the other. under the roof of your home, behind closed doors to keep your neighbors away, you stand in the center of the room, his arms over your shoulders and your arms around his waist. you've been together for some time now, you've done this with each other often, but it truly never gets old. you never get tired of hanno taking his time with you, cherishing every single patch of your skin as they all come together to make the person he loves most.

he doesn't tell you much about his past, but he tells you that you're all he has. it's the two of you, and hopefully eventually a few little others who can live in a humane world, god willing. but for now, it's just the two of you.

yet, the things hanno does to you makes it seem like he wants to increase the population of your home sooner rather than later. the way he bends you body with the weight of his own, pushing your thighs to your chest and hooking your calves over the corded muscle of his shoulders. the way he stares deep into your eyes as he gives you even deeper strokes, pushing his cock further into you time and time again until you're so sure you're going to have to start breathing for him, even when he's taking your breath away from you with each draw back.

"you're okay, yeah?" he always asks you, although in different variations. your favorite will always be the confident way he asks you, when the corner of his lip pulls up and he says, "you like this? do you enjoy what i do to you?". it's simply the way he says it, deep timber of his voice twisting the tone of the syllables until it sounds like he already knows the answer.

you cannot see how he wouldn't—with your cunt leaking around him and your moans filling up the room.

still, you always make an effort to answer him, no matter the strength of the spell he has put you under that time.

he's always so pretty above you, whether it be when the sun slips through the window and illuminates a blue iris, painting the replica color of a sea you know so well, or when the white light of the moon slips through and highlights the evidence that the sun has made on his skin.

big hands touching you everywhere, lips doing the same, but sometimes, you'll only let him get so far. at times when his hands slip down your body, heading towards a spot he has not left alone after the initial discovery, you'll have to swat them away. he's grown to expect it now, rolling his eyes half heartedly and fighting off a grin as he raises his eyebrows in an expression of insincere frustration.

"covered in dirt," you'll explain, knowing what will come next.

the way he bends down, tip of his nose brushing against yours as he tells you, "as is the rest of me ... and yet."

and he's always right. there seems to be a certain amount of the earth that both you and hanno will forever carry with you. a mark of the life you're so privileged to currently live, therefore more of a beautiful reminder than a nuisance.

so, as you let his fingers slip down to the most delicate parts of you, happily settling into the feeling of multiplied pleasure, you grin at him and echo his words.

"and yet."

[willowsnook]

Concerned (LN) pt. 2

lando norris x neighbor!reader

pt. 1 here

-----------------------------------

“Hey superstar,” you call out to Lando as you see him heading in to your building.

“What’s up?” He asks with a smile, and you fall into step with him towards the elevator.

“Not a lot,” you said. “Just getting ready to get out of this country tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, where are you going?”

“Vegas.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Are you going to the Grand Prix?”

You nodded with an easy smile, “Yeah, heading out a little early to hang with some college friends, but then I’ll be there Saturday.”

“Vegas is far; I’m surprised you’re going,” he commented and you gave him a weird look.

“You know I’m from the US muppet,” you said, and he gave you an amused look.

“Did you just call me a muppet?” He teased. “That’s my word.”

“Yeah, I’ve been really getting into watching Twitch streams, guess I’m picking up on your lingo,” you said nonchalantly but with a mischievous look. Lando froze as you mentioned it, thinking back to the recent stream where he talked about you.

“Oh?” He laughed nervously and your smirk grew wider.

“Yeah, thanks for the shoutout by the way,” you said,his face instantly flushed. “I’ll see you in Vegas, babe.”

You left him in the elevator and walked back to your apartment, giggling. Torturing him was amusing and you didn’t feel that bad about it since you shared some of the thoughts he had about you.

———————————————————-

A week in Vegas was exactly what you needed, especially because of how much you missed your friends. After three days of clubbing, you were exhausted and running on fumes and RedBull to make it to the race. Only one of your friends could join you Saturday night, and you made it to the entrance a few hours before the race. A man scanned your tickets and turned to the sign, grabbing two special passes and handing them to you.

“What are these?” You asked and he gave you a weird look.

“VIP passes?” He asked and sighed as you still looked confused. “It looks like your tickets were upgraded, so you’ll have access to the paddock and paddock club.”

Your mind instantly thought about Lando and you smiled to yourself before pulling your friend along.

As you and your friend made your way through the bustling paddock, the excitement in the air was palpable. The roar of engines, the smell of fuel, and the buzz of anticipation filled your senses. You couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement, wondering if you'd run into Lando.

"This is insane," your friend whispered, wide-eyed as you passed by team garages and caught glimpses of drivers preparing for the race.

You nodded in agreement, still processing how you'd ended up with these VIP passes. As you rounded a corner, you nearly collided with a somewhat familiar face.

“Sorry!” The driver exclaimed, reaching out to steady you. He looked so familiar, but you couldn’t remember exactly who he was. “You are Lando’s friend.”

“Yeah, you’re his teammate, right?” You asked and he nodded, sticking out a hand.

“Oscar.”

“Y/n,” you replied smiling. “I’m surprised you recognized me since we’ve never met.”

“Let’s just say I’ve heard a lot about you,” Oscar said with a slight smirk and you laughed. Lando came into your line of sight, and you saw him look panicked as he watched Oscar talk to you.

"Oh, I bet you have," you said with a grin, glancing over at Lando, who was now making his way towards you with a mix of nervousness and excitement on his face.

"Hey, you made it!" Lando called out, trying to sound casual as he approached. "I see you've met Oscar."

"Yeah, we were just getting acquainted," you replied, enjoying the slight flush on Lando's cheeks. "Thanks for the upgrade, by the way. The paddock access is amazing."

Lando's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, uh, no problem. Glad you're enjoying it."

Oscar looked between the two of you with amusement. "Well, I should get going. Nice to meet you, Y/N. Enjoy the race!"

As Oscar walked away, you turned to Lando with a raised eyebrow. “Crazy how he knew who I was.”

“Crazy,” Lando mumbled and you laughed, grabbing his hand to pull him to meet your friend Maggie.

“Maggie is a big Ferrari fan,” you told him and he waved over to Carlos, who was walking by. Carlos came over, looking down at Lando’s hand still in yours and smirking at his friend. Lando introduced all of you, and Maggie started to talk Carlos’s ear off, much to your amusement.

You turned back to Lando, talking softly, “Ready for today?”

“I think so,” he said. “I don’t really think there’s a shot at the championship anymore based on how the car was last night.”

“I’m sorry Lan,” you said and he gave you a small smile. “It’s still pretty impressive though, everything you’ve done this season and coming in second.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said simply. “Also I’m happy you’re talking to me and not your favorite driver.”

"I think my rankings might have changed." A slow smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He pulled you into his embrace, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm and comforting hug. You took in the familiar scent of his cologne and rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

“I have to go, but will I see you after the race?” He asked hopefully.

“You have my number,” you replied, and without thinking, you lifted your heels and pressed a short kiss on his cheek. “Good luck superstar.”

You watched the race from the hospitality suite, cheering with Maggie for the Ferrari drivers while being a little sad that Lando seemed to be having an okay race. Maggie left right after the race, having to drive back home that night, and you waited around the paddock while taking in the scene.

LN: still here?

Y/N: yeah, just wandering around.

LN: wander around to the McLaren garage?

Y/N: omw

Lando was out of his race suit and just in a pair of sweats and his team jacket. He looked tired but oddly enough, a little relieved. You hugged him when you saw him, congratulating him on a good race.

“You seem relieved,” you commented and he smiled down at you.

“I am a little, most of the pressure is off now,” he admitted.

“I’m happy for you then,” you declared.

“When are you heading back to Monaco?” He asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon, I’m definitely regretting not getting an earlier flight though. I just want to be back in my bed.”

“Why don’t you just come with me? I’m going to fly out in a couple of hours,” he offered.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother,” you said and he shook his head.

“It’s decided then,” he said and you smiled. You worked out the details and told him you’d meet him outside your hotel shortly. After heading back you packed up your suitcase and headed downstairs, waiting outside for Lando.

He pulled up in a big SUV and the driver got out to help you put your stuff in the trunk before you joined Lando in the back. You had both changed in to sweats and comfy wear, ready to sleep on the plane.

You had never been on a private jet before and were amazed, walking on the tarmac towards the plane. Lando looked over at you and smiled to himself, admiring how you still managed to look good in the night lights, even though he knew you were exhausted. Following him up the stairs, he motioned for you to sit next to him in a reclining seat connected to his. He handed you a blanket and you wrapped yourself up, eager to take off.

“Have fun today?” He asked from next to you and you nodded.

“Tons, it was fun to see you in your element,” you said and he smiled.

The plane took off and you watched out the window briefly before deciding you needed to sleep. While his plane was nice, you had trouble getting comfortable, shifting around trying to find a good spot.

“Can’t sleep?” Lando asked, noticing your restlessness.

“Not really,” you replied, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

He lifted up his blanket, gesturing for you to scoot closer. You hesitated momentarily, but the promise of comfort and warmth was too tempting to resist. Slowly, you shifted closer to Lando, settling into the crook of his arm as he draped the blanket over both of you.

"Better?" he murmured, his breath warm against your hair.

"Much," you sighed contentedly, feeling your muscles relax as you nestled against him.

The gentle hum of the plane's engines and Lando's steady heartbeat soon lulled you into a peaceful sleep. You weren't sure how long you'd been out when you felt a gentle shake on your shoulder.

"Y/N," Lando's voice was soft. "We're about to land."

You blinked groggily, realizing you were still cuddled up to him. "Oh, sorry," you mumbled, starting to move away.

"Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you could sleep,” he said and your heart fluttered.

It was a bright morning in Monaco and knowing you needed to beat jet lag you suggested grabbing something to eat, which Lando happily agreed to. Sitting across from him you found yourself oddly nervous about the shift you felt between you.

“What are you doing next weekend?” Lando asked and you looked up from the menu.

“Nothing, why?”

“Will you come to Qatar?”

“You want me to come to the race?”

Lando shifted nervously in his seat before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m calmer when you’re around,” he confessed and a small smile graced your face.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at Lando's words. "I'd love to come," you said softly. "But are you sure? I don't want to be a distraction."

Lando reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You're not a distraction. You're... you're my good luck charm," he said with a shy smile.

You laughed lightly, squeezing his hand. "Alright then, I guess I'm going to Qatar."

Finishing up breakfast, you finally made it back to your apartment, Lando lingering by the door as if he was deciding on what to say.

“I really like you,” he blurted out.

You felt your heart skip a beat at Lando's sudden confession. You stood there in stunned silence for a moment, taking in his earnest expression and the vulnerability in his eyes.

"I was wondering when you were going to say it," you finally replied, a smile spreading across your face. "I really like you too, Lando,"

Relief washed over his features, quickly replaced by a boyish grin. He took a step closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours.

Instead of answering, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was tender and sweet, with the promise of something more. When you finally pulled apart, you both wore matching smiles.

"I should probably go," Lando said reluctantly, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "But maybe we could hang out more before this weekend?”

“I suppose so,” you said with a grin and he smirked, leaning in to give you one last kiss before he left.

tags: @sltwins @honeyhyunn @heli991113 @sarx164 @kissatelier @dying-inside-but-its-classy @daniellef89x

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions

In which you interview 2 multi-world champions in one sitting.

Warnings: discussions of the traumatic 2021 Abu Dhabi race (lol) Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2k words

(quick note. shoutout to @shelbyteller for the inspiration for this one. Hope it lives up to your expectations bb!)

"I can't believe you got him to agree to this." You say, shuffling a few papers on your desk in the Monaco apartment you share with Max.

Max looks at you, brow raised. "Are you kidding me? I didn't have to do any convincing. That man loves you. Honestly, I should probably be a little jealous of how eagerly he agreed to come on the show."

You roll your eyes, knowing that Max is being ridiculous. "As if I'd ever look at anyone but you." You tease, rising from your desk chair before crossing the room to sit on Max's lap.

When you had moved in with Max earlier in the year, one of the things he had insisted on was turning one of the spare rooms in his (well, now it was yours too, he had insisted on putting you on the deed to the property after your engagement, much to the dismay of his lawyer) apartment into a dual recording studio and office for you.

Tucked away in one of the corners was a large mahogany desk that you spent most of your time at. On the other side of the room that's decorated in tones of gold and champagne pink sits your podcasting setup with 2 comfy sitting chairs, microphones, and side tables. It's the perfect cozy setup. You didn't use this room all the time for your guests, a lot of the time you were traveling to meet them. This room was used for when you did your 'bonus session' episodes and when you had more personal friends on the show, like today's guest.

Max wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you closer into his chest. "Have I ever told you that I love you?" He murmurs, breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You hum, small grin spreading across your face as you lean your head further into the crook of his neck. "Not in the last ten minutes."

"Well, let me remedy that terrible fact." Max's lips skate over your jaw before they find their home. "I love you beyond words, schatje." His words are mumbled against your lips but you understand them all the same.

When he slips his tongue into your mouth you can't help the sigh that leaves your body. It doesn't matter how many times Max kisses you because every time his lips land on yours, it feels like the first time.

The make out session continues for several moments before you're interrupted by a buzzing on Max's phone. "Looks like he's here. You ready?"

You glance down at your outfit, casual but put together for the interview that you're sure will make some waves in the F1 world. Not only because of who it is but also because of what you got him to agree to discuss today. "I hope so!"

Max leaves the office to retrieve your guest as you begin prep on the room. You had decided to just run the entire episode by yourself today, giving Steve and Shannon the day off from filming since it was in your home and you liked to keep this environment as relaxed and low key as possible.

Voices float towards you as you finish up the last bits of preparation. And then, they're standing in the doorway.

"I hear congratulations are in order!"

"Lewis!" You croon, setting down the papers in your hands before crossing the room to your friend's opened arms. "Thank you so much."

Lewis chuckles before holding you out at arms length, "Let me see that rock. I'm sure Instagram did it no justice."

You happily hold out your left hand for Lewis to take, grinning like an idiot over his shoulder at Max, who is leaning against the door frame with the same goofy grin on his face. The word 'proud' didn't seem to do what he felt for you in this moment justice.

"He did good, didn't he?"

"Ma'am, that man is so wildly in love with you." Lewis chuckles before looking over his shoulder at Max. "Good taste there, mate."

Max nods. "Thanks. Can I get you anything before you guys get started?"

Lewis shakes his head and just like that, you go into work mode. You give Lewis a brief explanation on how it's going to work, just like you did for Max over a year ago. Meanwhile, Max sits at your desk and watches you work. In the last year, he hasn't really had the opportunity to watch you film and record a show because he's always felt in the way but this time is different. He had been the one to ask Lewis onto the show and it had been Lewis that insisted he stay to watch the entire interview when he had tried to excuse himself moments before.

You were so in your element is left Max in awe. The way you moved around the room with such confidence, setting up the cameras and microphones, talking to Lewis like he was a brother or an old friend, you really commanded the room and made both of these drivers, who were used to wrestling flying torpedos around hairpin curves going fast enough to kill someone was just awe inspiring.

"Okay, but seriously, before we wrap this up we need to talk about one more thing." You giggle a bit, watching as Lewis reaches down to scratch Rosco on the head.

"Shit." Lewis hisses while Max laughs from his spot at your desk where he's been watching the entire interview quietly. "I thought you were going to forget about that."

You toss your head back, laughing maniacally. "And blow the chance at having two fan bases hate me? As if, Hamilton. Max, do you want to join us?"

Although you have the air of someone who couldn't care less about the upcoming topic, secretly, your stomach twists with anxiety. When Max had suggested the finale to your landmark interview with Lewis and when Lewis had agreed to is, you had been confident that you could handle such a touchy subject but now? Now that you were face with actually having to talk to your friend about it on camera to be released for the entire world to see? You were having second thoughts.

Max stands and sits next to you in the chair that you had pulled out moments before.

"And before we even get started, I want to preface this final segment by saying that you both agreed to this before hand and I am not blindsiding anyone, right?"

Both men grin at you where you sit between them and nod. "We both agreed to this." Lewis says.

"Well I, for one, feel a bit like a hostage here having to agree to this on camera." You reach across and smack Max on the shoulder, causing him to smile even wider. "Yes, of course. We both agreed to this."

"We're a few years removed from the 2021 season. Lewis, looking back do you think there's anything you could have done differently to change the outcome?"

Lewis shrugs, "If you would have asked me that a year ago, I would have probably said yes but as we get further away from it I think we did everything we could have. Sometimes, there are decisions made and things happen that are outside of your control. As a racing driver, you want everything to be under your control and even when it's not, it's in our nature to take on everything as if it is under our control."

"Are you calling me a control freak?" Max quips from your other side.

"We're all control freaks, man." Lewis says with a chuckle.

"What's that saying? Hindsight is 20/20? Looking back, there are always things you see and go 'well that was a terrible decision." Max says, smiling over at his rival. "But at the time, we all made what we thought were the best decisions we could with the information we had in front of us. I don't think there was anything either of us could have done to have change the outcome based on what we knew then and there."

You nod, grinning at both of the men. "Can we talk about Abu Dhabi for a second? I don't want to talk about the race, that's been done to death. But, can you walk me through what was going through your head in the days after?"

"I isolated big time." Lewis says, looking down at his hands before reaching to scratch Rosco's head. "I took off and spent time alone and just did a lot of thinking. I hated that my championship came down to the decisions of one man. Had we been better and more consistent the entire year, it wouldn't have come down to the last lap. That was on me and no one else. I had to take that on and figure out how I was going to face the team after letting them down."

"But you didn't let them down." Max insists. "That entire season was a masterclass in never giving up and making something out of nothing. I mean, sure I was the beneficiary of that final call from Race Control but it could have easily went the other way. I don't know what I would have done had I been in your shoes after that race."

"You would have been fine." Lewis says. "You've always been better at compartmentalizing things on the track. I take a lot of my work home with me. It's why I struggle to let people in. I'm often caught up in my own world focusing on what I need to do to perform better and improve, racing takes up my whole life and I'm content with that. You're a different breed. You don't take work home with you and that's how you were able to land this gorgeous girl."

"Hey, lay off the flirting with my fiance." Max snaps good naturdly, reaching for your hand and giving Lewis a wink. "Your singular focus is how you've won so many championships though and no one can fault you for that."

The rest of the interview continues for a few more minutes before you begin to wrap things up. It's been almost two hours at that point and the last 30 minutes of the interview is just Max and Lewis talking racing, Max threatening to retire, and Lewis threatening to pull an Alonso and never retire.

When the episode it released, it is a complete surprise and incredibly well received by everyone inside and outside the F1 community, which was somewhat surprising to you as you know what a hot button issue the 2021 season was and how polarizing discussing that very last race could be. In the end, it's one of your more favorite episodes and it opens up the doors to many more sports interviews, including a partnership with F1 TV for some mid-season post-race work that has you doing even more of what you love: getting to know the people beneath the sheen and shine of their own celebrity.

TheYappingHour Posted:

928,991 likes liked by charlesleclerc, ferrari, roscolovescoco, and others theyappinghour newest episode drops today featuring this handsome boy and his dad! ;) make sure you listen to the entire hour...there may be a surprise guest at the end! lewishamilton pleasure being on with you. and once again, congrats on the engagement! max is a lucky man! >>>theyappinghour oh lewis! you're the best. thank you <3 user028 i cannot get over how good she is at making people feel comfortable talking to her about hard things. i've NEVER heard lewis open up about 2021 like that before. >>>user9281 seriously. she is a magician. user0911 the cameo at the end! the yapping about the engagement! lewis sounding so genuinely happy for them! this may just be one of my favorite episodes ever.

tags: @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

[sleepy-steve]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[multipleoccupancy]

Theo sympathised with how scary being a witness to a violent episode could be and he hoped she would never see one from him. He could smash the bowl in his hand onto her head and kill her with the shards. Theo closed his eyes and twitched his head away, looking back into his soup again with a shaky breath as Samantha spoke and comforted Violet while he could not.

Samantha gave suggestions on how to deal with an episode and nodded along quietly for a moment but he couldn't help the small side eye before he was sure to add on, "you can also take action to disable them too, no one will blame you if you have to shoot someone in the leg to stop them charging at you, defending yourself." He was of course thinking of Sloane and how he wished he had seen the first attack coming.

She asked if people were in control and he shook his head, "not always, when an episode does hit, even if it is repressed, when it finally comes on it's not something that can be controlled." A breakdown he supposed should have been added onto the list of reactions but the word was scary to say out loud and he didn't want either of them worrying that much, though he suspected Samantha knew what was happening. "You can talk a person down and reason with them."

If only those in the ward had been trained in psychotherapy, how nice it might have been to have actual trained professionals in that place. Theo again looked to the doorway and then did a diligent check of the corners of the office while he was at it. His eyes landed on Violet and he paused for a moment, thinking about how she wanted to join Delta Green, how she wanted to fight monsters and help agents like himself. She could do it, but he wished she wouldn't. "There are some cases where you can't. Even in the moment when they appear calm." He put the remainder of the soup down and half turned his body towards her, not fussed about Samantha hearing what she already knew. "My OCD and my paranoia, they only really developed after episodes in the past." Who knew if he would have a new disorder after his latest. "The toll fighting monsters, cultists and all of it has on agents, Violet, it's heavy."

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet did not realize that she had lived through an episode of her own when she froze during the fire. She did not realize that seeing everything she had seen had already taken a toll on her, like rust slowly eating at her insides.

"It was scary," Violet admitted about Cowboy Theo's episode. Samantha placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She knew better than most just how terrifying a violent episode was. So did Killian. When she removed her hand, she unconsciously brushed her neck, before grabbing her spoon again.

"These sorts of things are scary," she then explained, "but there are ways to help someone going through an episode, even a violent one. Usually pinning them or restraining them is the most efficient thing to do, and eventually, they snap out of it. When someone is frozen in fear, you can try to talk them out of it. And if they run away, at least they are out of harm's way."

Running away didn't seem like the kind of thing Violet would do, but then again, she had run away in Ophir. Leaving Chief behind. "Can people control themselves during an episode?" she asked, "or... is there nothing they can do?" Maybe her dad couldn't do anything about what was happening to him. Maybe he just had to ride out this horrible moment. But how long was it going to last? Days? Weeks? ...Months?

Was she bottling things out? Would it all come back to bite her later? Violet stared at her bowl of soup, frowning. A lot of terrible things had happened to her, but she always seemed to move on fairly easily. Except for the nightmares. Or the fact that she still couldn't get anywhere near the big windows in the living room.

[mapiforpresident]

Its Always Been You

alexia x reader

~~~

The stadium lights cast a soft glow over the pitch as you and Alexia jogged toward the center circle. Training had ended hours ago, but the two of you lingered, just like you had so many times before. The empty stands echoed with the faint sounds of your laughter as you passed the ball back and forth, the simplicity of it grounding you in a way few things could.

It had been this way for as long as you could remember. You and Alexia, side by side, growing up in the small fields of Mollet del Vallès, dreaming of someday making it big. You’d shared everything—trophies, heartbreaks, and countless late-night talks under the stars about life and love. But it wasn’t until this past year that you truly understood how much she meant to you.

"Still got it," Alexia teased, nudging the ball toward you with a grin.

"Always," you replied, stopping it effortlessly under your foot. "But you’re slowing down, old lady."

Alexia laughed, rolling her eyes. "I’m six months older than you. Don’t push your luck."

You smirked, but the familiar ease between you made your chest ache. You weren’t sure when it started—this shift in your feelings for her—but now it was undeniable. The way her laugh lit up your world. The way her eyes held yours a second too long. The way being around her felt like coming home.

“Remember when we were kids and used to stay out here until it was too dark to see the ball?” she asked, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.

You nodded. “Your mom would come yelling, telling us to get inside before we caught a cold.”

“She always thought you were the bad influence.”

“Me? You’re the one who insisted on practicing corners for hours,” you shot back.

Alexia shrugged, her smile turning softer. “Maybe. But look where we are now.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything stilled. Time, space, the years you’d spent as teammates, friends—everything came rushing back. You thought about all the people you’d dated, all the moments you’d tried to fill the void that only she could seem to occupy. It had taken you thirty years to realize it, but Alexia had been right there all along.

The silence stretched too long, so you nudged the ball toward her and said, “How about a little one-on-one? Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

Alexia grinned, accepting the challenge. You both fell into the rhythm of the drill, laughter mixing with the sound of your feet pounding the turf. She was quick, as always, and for a second, you forgot about the feelings bubbling beneath the surface. You were just two players, pushing each other like you’d done your whole lives.

Then you lunged to steal the ball, and your foot caught hers. Alexia stumbled, and before you could stop your momentum, you fell on top of her.

“Lex! Are you okay?” you asked, heart pounding as you scrambled to brace yourself, your hands on either side of her head.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, laughing breathlessly. Her hands instinctively landed on your waist to steady you.

You looked down, your faces only inches apart, and froze. Her eyes met yours, wide and glinting under the lights. Time seemed to stand still. You could feel the rise and fall of her chest beneath you, her warmth radiating against you in the cool night air.

“Y/N…” she said softly, her voice almost trembling.

Before you even registered what you were doing, you leaned in. Your lips brushed hers, tentative at first, as if you were testing the waters. But the moment her mouth moved against yours, the hesitation melted away. You kissed her like she was the only thing tethering you to the earth, pouring years of unspoken emotions into that single moment.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, and so was hers. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or an explanation.

“I—” you started, but Alexia’s hand moved to your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just… was that real? Because I’ve been dreaming about it for a while.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “You have?”

Alexia nodded, her hand still resting on your face. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, more disbelief than humor. “Are you kidding? Lex, you’ve been my whole world. I just— I didn’t realize it until recently.”

She smiled then, a slow, breathtaking smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “I guess we’ve been wasting a lot of time, huh?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But we’ve got forever now.”

She nodded, her forehead pressing against yours as she whispered, “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll hold me close,” she murmured. “Don’t let me go.”

You smiled, leaning into her touch. “I promise.”

The two of you stayed there for what felt like hours, tangled together in the center circle under the Barcelona sky. For the first time in your life, everything felt exactly as it should.

~~~

requests are open especially for:

Patri x reader x Pina

Alexia x reader

Mapi x Ingrid x reader

Lena Oberdorf

[genshin-impact-updates]

The Brightest, Most Splendid, Most Resplendent Flame Reborn

"Even in the complex tapestry of Teyvat's night sky, such a dazzling constellation is seldom seen. Its scorching radiance is as though it wants to burn a hole in the very fabric of the sky itself. When it finally becomes a shooting star streaking toward the horizon, that fire will kindle even the deepest, coldest nights into brightest day."

—Sighed by "B" during a divination

"Mavuika? Ohh! You mean the one who competed with me in the Stadium of the Sacred Flame! Hahaha, you'd think an Archon could hold their liquor better than that! Uh... what? They said I got wasted first? No freaking way, not a chance! That day, I was... uh, hang on a sec, now why did I go see the Pyro Archon that day again...?"

—Varka's response to Alice's question about the results of the "meeting" in Natlan, as he scratched his head in thought

◆ Name: Mavuika

◆ Title: Night-Igniting Flame

◆ Natlan's Radiant Sun

◆ Gnosis: Pyro

◆ Constellation: Sol Invictus

Now, how to introduce her? The bearer of "Kiongozi," Mavuika, a leader completely worthy of leading the people of Natlan.

The woven scrolls and epics record all the most legendary of ancient deeds. Great heroes emerge, one after the other, and glory is passed down from generation to generation, and she has never failed to live up to such heavy expectations.

She who shoulders the title of the "strongest," she who respects all beings, be they strong or weak, and treats all equally.

For this, the people love her, sing her praises, and follow her willingly, with all their hearts.

Each time, when she addresses the Pilgrimage of the Return of the Sacred Flame, her hair flutters with the Sacred Flame as her majestic voice rings in our ears.

She casts her inspiring gaze upon every warrior, every Saurian. She calls upon every flame of Natlan, uniting all fires into a bright light to drive away the darkness.

As we support each other, stumbling through the valley of the long, boundless night, wiping the tears from the corners of our eyes, and finally struggle to lift up our heavy heads—

We see naught but that unwavering, unchanging red, like the sun rising in the east.

What did she sacrifice? What did she give up? What kind of will has led her to this day?

We have no doubt that she will lead Natlan to yet another victory.

Our Sun will never set.

[theonottsbxtch]

99 PROBLEMS | MV1

an: this is literally a crack fic, i had the idea when i was listening to 99 problems by jay-z and i was talking to @iamred-iamyellow please enjoy

summary: max never expected to one day have a 17 year old son. he didn't know he was a father. but now he's got to try and figure out how this nerd is his son. and also teach him how to live a little.

wc: 3.3k

Max never thought he’d be a single dad to a teenage boy, but shit happens.

One minute, he was in Monaco celebrating another podium win, champagne-soaked and grinning for the cameras. The next, there was a seventeen-year-old with his eyes and an attitude to match standing on his doorstep with a duffel bag. His name was Noah—“not ‘Dad,’ just Max”—and he wasn’t here to bond. No, Noah was here because apparently the universe thought karma would be funnier this way.

Max was on the balcony of his Monaco apartment replying to a few emails, the city’s lights flickering like a postcard behind him. He could hear Noah inside, rifling through the fridge, muttering complaints about the lack of “real food.”

“Hey, don’t knock the caviar!” Max called over his shoulder. “It’s got protein!”

“Caviar’s not dinner!” Noah fired back, slamming the fridge door.

Max smirked, chuckling a bit. The kid had a point. The life of a Formula One champion didn’t exactly prepare him for raising a teenager. Most days, it was all jet-setting, high-end sponsorships, and a new girl on his arm by sundown. It was messy, but it was his kind of messy. Now? Now, he had to figure out how to squeeze fatherhood in between the chaos.

“You seriously live like this?” Noah asked, stepping onto the balcony, holding up one of Max’s custom helmets. His tone wasn’t admiration—it was judgement.

“Like what?” Max said, not looking up from his phone.

“You know, like...this. Cars, women, parties. I mean, isn’t it exhausting?”

Max chuckled low, pocketing his phone. “Don’t have time to be tired.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Right. So, uh...where do I fit in this circus?”

Max turned, his smirk fading just enough to let a flicker of honesty show. “Haven’t figured that out yet. But we’ll make it work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Max glanced back at the city below. “Now, go grab a drink or something. Just...not the champagne.”

And that’s how it started: the driver, his kid, and a life moving faster than either of them could control.

Max hadn’t had a conventional childhood and he could tell this kid did, well as conventional as it was to be dropped off at your dad who you’ve never met’s house a few weeks before your 18th birthday.

He thought that maybe while he was here he could teach him a few things, take him to a few races or something. 

Max didn’t really know what to do.

The private gym was tucked into the corner of Max’s penthouse, all sleek machines and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. It was rarely used. Most of Max’s training happened at the Headquarters. or with his team, but Noah had been dragging his feet around the apartment all week, so Max figured a little sweat might do them both some good.

“Alright, kid,” Max said, tossing a pair of dumbbells onto the mat. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything in the tank. Ever lifted before?”

“Sure,” Noah replied, unimpressed. He sat down on the bench press, giving the machine a once-over like he was deciding whether or not to trust it.

Max crossed his arms, watching as Noah pushed through a few hesitant reps. “Not bad. But if that’s your warm-up, we’re in trouble.”

Noah glared, setting the weights down with a clink. “Not all of us need muscles for a living.”

Max laughed. “Touché. So, what do you do for fun then?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, fun. You know, like hobbies, friends, maybe a girlfriend?”

Noah shrugged, grabbing a water bottle. “Not much. I play some video games, read, I guess. Nothing crazy.”

“Read?” Max frowned. “What, no parties? No sneaking out? You don’t go out?”

“Go out where?” Noah’s voice had that dry teenage edge to it. “I’m seventeen. I lived in America my whole life. You can’t even get into a bar without a fake ID there.”

Max froze mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve never had a drink?”

Noah gave him a look like he’d just asked if the sky was blue. “No?”

Max stared at him, dumbfounded. “God. If only you knew what I was doing at your age when my dad had his back turned.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Oh, let me guess. Clubbing in Paris. Drinking champagne with supermodels. Living the dream?”

“Belgium, but close,” Max said, leaning against the bench press. “Keg parties in the back of some guy’s trailer in Hasselt. Terrible beer, worse decisions, and my trainer yelling at me the next morning. Still, though. I can’t believe you’re seventeen and haven’t even had a sip.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal,” Noah muttered.

“Not a big deal?” Max barked out a laugh. “Mate, by seventeen, I’d already figured out my go-to drink order. Vodka tonic. Not classy, but it got the job done.” He leaned in, his grin borderline mischievous. “We’ve got some work to do.”

Noah held up his hands, shaking his head. “Oh no. You’re not turning this into some wild ‘how to live’ project.”

Max raised his eyebrows, mock-innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying. Gotta live a little.”

“Maybe I don’t want to end up like you,” Noah shot back.

Max laughed again, but this time it came quieter, almost thoughtful. “Trust me, buddy. Nobody ends up like me. Now, come on. Two more sets, and then I’ll show you how to make a proper protein shake. Don’t worry—I won’t spike it.”

Noah snorted, shaking his head as he got back to work. It was just another morning, another disagreement, but Max couldn’t help feeling like they were inching closer to something real. Something like family.

By the end of the week, Noah was starting to think his dad was running some kind of unofficial competition.

On Monday, it was Marie. She was Monegasque, blonde, and talked like she was auditioning for a perfume ad. “Bonjour, mon cher,” she’d purred at Noah, ruffling his hair like he was ten. Max had barely noticed her leave, too busy scrolling his phone for his next big sponsorship deal.

Tuesday brought Yasmin, a Brazilian model who walked around the apartment in Max’s oversized shirt, pretending not to notice Noah glaring at her from the couch. She’d tried to make conversation, something about school and books, but Noah had just shrugged until she gave up.

By Wednesday, it was Clara, who had an annoying laugh and kept calling Max “babe” like they’d been married for years.

Thursday was a whirlwind—two girls, both of whom Max forgot to introduce. One of them waved awkwardly at Noah as they left, heels clicking on the tile floor.

By Friday, Noah wasn’t even fazed. He sat at the kitchen counter, eating cereal while Max brewed coffee, shirtless and looking entirely too smug for a guy running on five hours of sleep.

“How?” Noah finally said, his spoon clinking against the bowl.

Max glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “How what?”

“You know.” Noah waved vaguely toward the hallway where yet another pair of heels had disappeared moments ago. “Them. How do you...?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head as he poured his coffee. “Not that complicated.” He took a sip, leaning against the counter like he was about to deliver some ancient wisdom. “They like fast cars and big dreams. I’ve got both.”

Noah squinted at him. “Yeah, but don’t they know what they’re getting into? Like...you’re not exactly giving ‘dad of the year’ vibes.”

Max laughed, the sound echoing through the kitchen. “Oh, they know. Trust me, they all think they’re the one who’s gonna ‘change me.’” He set his mug down, smirking. “Spoiler alert: they’re not.”

Noah frowned, stirring his cereal. “Doesn’t it get old?”

“What?”

“The whole thing. Girls coming and going. Don’t you ever want...I don’t know, something normal?”

Max tilted his head, studying him for a second. “Normal’s overrated. Besides, why are you so interested? You got someone back in the States?”

Noah snorted. “No. Not unless you count my English teacher who used to give me extra credit just to stop talking in class.”

Max grinned, pushing off the counter. “Smart kid. Learn from me, though—don’t waste your charm on teachers. Save it for someone who can actually keep up.”

Noah rolled his eyes, standing up to put his bowl in the sink. “You’re insane.”

“And yet,” Max said, raising his coffee in a mock toast, “I’m still your dad. Crazy how that works.”

Noah shook his head, walking out of the kitchen. But as he headed toward his room, he caught himself smirking. Max was a mess—there was no denying that. But, annoyingly, there was something kind of fascinating about watching him pull it off.

He had to give him some respect. Three time world champion but he lived his life like an unbothered bachelor that didn’t have a multi-million contract under his belt.

Two days later, Max was standing in front of his wardrobe, trying to decide between a black shirt and a white graphic tee. He ended up tossing the black top onto the bed, shrugging into the white tee. His phone buzzed on the nightstand—a message from the group chat reminding him that their table was already reserved at Jimmy’s.

Max grabbed his watch and headed toward the living room, adjusting it as he walked. Noah was sprawled on the couch, scrolling his phone with the kind of disinterested focus only teenagers could pull off.

“You wanna come?” Max asked casually, pulling his car keys from the counter.

Noah didn’t even look up. “I’m seventeen.”

Max leaned against the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And I’m Max Verstappen.”

Noah gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, that’s not how laws work.”

Max stepped into the room, tossing his keys in the air and catching them with one hand. “Relax, kid. You’re with me. No one’s checking your ID.” He raised an eyebrow, adding, “Unless you want to stay here and eat more cereal while I’m out having the time of my life.”

Noah hesitated, sitting up slightly. “What, and hang out with you and your harem of club girls? Hard pass.”

Max grinned, crossing his arms. “It’s not just girls. My friends will be there. Good music, good drinks, a little chaos. You could use some chaos.”

Noah snorted. “I don’t think I fit your ‘chaos’ aesthetic.”

Max walked over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to fit. You just show up, keep your head up, and let the good times come to you. Trust me, kid—it’s not rocket science.”

Noah looked at him, torn between scepticism and curiosity. “And if I hate it?”

“Then you call it a night, and we’ll come back. No harm, no foul.” Max shrugged. “But at least you’ll know what you’re missing.”

Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if anyone tries to buy me a drink, I’m out.”

“Deal.” Max grinned, slapping him on the back. “Now, go change. You’re not wearing that.” He gestured vaguely at Noah’s hoodie and sweatpants.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“It’s not wrong; it’s tragic. Go put on something that says, ‘I’m seventeen, but I could still be cooler than you.’”

Noah rolled his eyes but got up and headed toward his room. Max leaned back against the couch, chuckling to himself. This was either going to be a disaster or the most fun he’d had in weeks.

Fifteen minutes later, Noah emerged in dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It wasn’t flashy, but it worked.

Max whistled. “There you go. Almost looks like you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t push it,” Noah muttered, grabbing his jacket.

“Alright, kid,” Max said, swinging an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the elevator. “Welcome to the good life. Try to keep up.”

Jimmy’z was everything Noah expected and nothing he was prepared for. The place was loud, packed, and drenched in neon lights that pulsed to the bass of some remix he didn’t recognise. Max walked in like he owned it, breezing past the bouncers and slapping hands with a few familiar faces on his way to their table.

The VIP section was cordoned off with velvet ropes and framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. A couple of Max’s friends were already there, leaning back with drinks in hand, laughing at some story one of them was telling.

Max clapped a hand on Lando's shoulder, said something about ordering another round, and then turned to Noah with a grin. “Alright, kid. First drink’s on me.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to drink?” Noah muttered, looking around nervously.

“You’re not supposed to get caught drinking,” Max corrected, flagging down a waitress. “Two rum and cokes. Easy on the rum for him,” he added with a wink.

Noah sat awkwardly, trying to ignore the curious glances from Max’s friends. When the drinks came, Max slid one across the table. “Here. Cheers.”

Noah picked up the glass and took a cautious sip, immediately grimacing. “This tastes like gasoline.”

Max burst out laughing, nearly spilling his own drink. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a milkshake, but you’ll get used to it.”

Noah frowned but kept sipping, each drink slightly less terrible than the last. By the time the glass was empty, he didn’t hate it—but he definitely wasn’t in a hurry for another.

“Alright,” Max said, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the booth. “Time for your next lesson.”

“Lesson?”

“Yeah.” Max grinned, nodding toward the dance floor where a group of girls was laughing and swaying to the music. “How to get a girl.”

Noah blinked at him. “I’m seventeen.”

“And you’re eighteen in three weeks,” Max shot back, smirking.

Noah raised an eyebrow. “How do you even know that?”

Max sipped his drink, looking almost offended. “I pay attention. I’m not that bad of a father, you know.”

Noah snorted. “Debatable.”

“Hey, come on,” Max said, leaning forward and pointing at him with his glass. “I’ve got three weeks to turn you into someone who doesn’t spend prom night sitting in the corner playing Angry Birds. Let me work my magic.”

“I didn’t go to prom,” Noah mumbled.

“Exactly my point.” Max gestured to the dance floor. “Now, watch and learn.”

Noah shook his head, but he couldn’t help smirking. Watching Max in his element was like watching a lion stalk the savanna. Ridiculous, over-the-top, and somehow annoyingly effective.

Noah leaned back in the plush booth, his gaze flicking nervously between the drink in his hand and the dance floor. “This feels illegal,” he muttered under his breath.

Max, already halfway through his second rum and coke, let out a loud laugh that turned a few heads. “Illegal? We’re in Monaco.” He gestured broadly at the glittering club around them, as if the name alone erased all laws. “The girls here don’t care how old you are, as long as you’re pretty enough.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “And what if I’m not?”

Max leaned forward, smirking. “You’re my son, so of course you are. Trust me, kid, you’ve got the genes. Now, you just need the confidence to back it up.”

Noah rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, sure. Because confidence is something you can just magically summon.”

“Exactly,” Max said, snapping his fingers like it was that simple. “It’s all in the attitude. Look, you don’t need to be the smartest or the funniest guy in the room. You just need to act like you know something they don’t. Makes them curious. Curiosity’s half the battle.”

Noah stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s the dumbest advice I’ve ever heard.”

Max grinned, sitting back and gesturing to the waitress for another round. “And yet, here I am. Multi-millionaire. World champion. Living proof it works.”

“Yeah, but you’re—” Noah hesitated, then gestured vaguely at Max’s whole presence. “You.”

“Exactly. And you’re half me. Which means you’ve already got a head start.” Max leaned in, lowering his voice like he was letting Noah in on a secret. “Here’s the trick: don’t overthink it. If you go out there looking like you’ve got something to prove, you’ll scare ‘em off. Just...be cool.”

“Cool,” Noah repeated, deadpan. “Got it. Thanks for the groundbreaking advice.”

Max smirked, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Fine. Don’t believe me. But if I come back with two numbers before you even finish that drink, you’re buying me breakfast tomorrow.”

Noah shook his head as Max strolled off toward the dance floor, impossibly confident and infuriatingly charismatic. It was hard not to admire it, even if it made him feel like an awkward kid in comparison.

He stared down at his empty glass, debating whether to order another drink or just leave, when a girl about his age walked past and glanced his way. She gave him a small smile, and Noah froze, his heart racing.

Max’s words echoed in his head. “Just act like you know something they don’t.”

Noah took a deep breath, set his empty glass on the table, and stood up. His palms felt clammy, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to sit back down. But then he caught Max watching from the floor with an infuriating smirk before turning to whichever woman he was talking to this time.

Don’t overthink it, Noah reminded himself. Just be cool.

The girl was standing near the edge of the dance floor with a friend, laughing at something on her phone. She looked up as he approached, her eyes flicking over him in curiosity.

“Hey,” Noah said, trying to sound casual. “You looked like you needed saving from a bad joke.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And you’re the knight in shining armour?”

“Something like that,” Noah said, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Or at least I’m not the guy who made you laugh like that.”

Her smile widened, and her friend nudged her playfully before disappearing toward the bar. “Smooth,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you use that line often?”

“First time, actually,” Noah admitted, his lips twitching into a nervous grin.

The honesty seemed to win her over. They started talking—light, easy banter—and before Noah knew it, she was laughing at something he’d said about his dad being a “professional bad influence.”

From the booth, Max had a clear view of the whole thing. He nudged Lando, grinning like a proud idiot. “Lan, look!” He pointed toward the dance floor. “The son of a bitch did it!”

Lando squinted, then let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Max chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “He’s my kid. Of course he’s got it in him.”

Noah returned to the table a while later, looking flushed and slightly dishevelled. His lips were swollen, and there was a faint lipstick smudge on his cheek.

Max raised his glass in a mock toast. “Atta boy!”

Noah slid into the booth, trying to suppress a grin. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Max said, slapping him on the back. “You’re officially part of the club now.”

Lando smirked. “Better keep an eye on him, Max. He’s almost got more potential than you.”

“Potential? He’s a damn prodigy,” Max joked, laughing. “First drink, first girl, all in one night. Kid’s got a better batting average than I did at his age.”

Noah rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling. As much as his dad’s teasing drove him crazy, there was something undeniably cool about seeing Max so proud.

“Alright,” Max said, clapping his hands together. “Now that you’ve got your feet wet, let’s see if you can do it again.”

Noah shook his head, laughing. “Not a chance. One’s enough for tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Max said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “But just so you know—you’ve officially graduated from boring.”

For once, Noah didn’t argue.

the end.

[bucketbueckers]

mess me up - paige bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 6.1k content warnings: language, abuse of italics, grammatically incorrect past tense flashback, smut robbery(?), pretty mature but nothing graphic synopsis: your friends invited you out to a frat party to celebrate the men’s team winning the NCAA tournament where you bump into paige bueckers, the girl who you're in love with and who you ghosted for a month after hooking up with her. a much-needed conversation at the party forces you to revisit difficult memories and give her the closure she’s been seeking. notes: idk what this is! based loosely off of 'friends' and 'mess me up' by chase atlantic. unfortunately the smut robbery line is for real, like it's smut in the way lacroix tastes like real fruit (which is to say it's not smut, but like concepts of smut... 😝 (i've never had lacroix idk if this is accurate)) side note i hate writing in past tense but doing a traditional flashback scene is corny as hell! idk if it matters but this is set april 2024 (w/ a february 2024 flashback); doesn't really affect anything, so... anyway, second post on tumblr, lmk if we're rocking w it 🙂‍↕️

For the record, you didn’t want to come to this party.

It’s hot, sweaty, loud, and all you can smell is the same brand of men’s cologne and weed. The air is both stale and somehow feels wet and all you can think about is getting back to your apartment so you can shower and go to bed. You had a mock trial bright and early the next morning and your law professor was a stickler for punctuality and presentability – showing up with wrinkled clothes and smelling like a frat party was a sure-fire way to fail, and you had too much riding on your grades to let that happen.

The frat (whose name you’ve already forgotten) was celebrating the NCAA tournament win for the UCONN men’s basketball team. They’d apparently gone back to back, which you guess is cool, but you swore off basketball a long time ago. If you had your way, you’d be at home, three steps into your skincare routine, but you let peer pressure get the best of you and allowed your friends to drag you out.

It’d be fun, they said. You never come out with us! You’re spending all this tuition money and you’re not even taking advantage of it. How can you say you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?

You only remember that your friends are law students, too, in the most unfortunate of moments when they put their persuasiveness to the test. In the most unfortunate of moments, you’re also reminded of the fact that they’re college students, too, because they’re leaving you at the door and rushing off to find something to drink. You weren’t upset they dragged you out. Not necessarily. You were grown enough to say no. Perhaps you’d simply set your expectations too high when they begged you to come out and you thought they would spend at least a little bit of time with you before doing their own thing. But sure. It’s whatever.

So, here you are – standing alone in the corner of a frat party, watching as drunk college students grind against each other, laugh, and have a good time. A part of you feels like you’re missing out, but as you watch somebody throw up into a plant, you feel like you’re just fine where you are.

You’re drawn from your thoughts when a man wearing a backwards cap suddenly shows up next to you. “Yo, you thirsty?” he yells over the music, thrusting a red solo cup into your empty hands. You don’t have the time to say anything to him before he’s grinning at you, eyes red and hooded. “Come dance with me. You’re too pretty to be standin’ here all alone.”

You hear her before you see her.

“She’s good, bro, trust,” Paige interrupts smoothly, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders. You feel too much like a damsel in distress, but sensing the gravity of the situation, you flash the guy a light smile and lean into Paige slightly. Her grip tightens. You try to not let it bother you.

He raises his hands, surrendering. “My bad. You got it.”

Paige hums, unconvinced, as he leaves. When he’s out of your sight, you wrench yourself out of her grip. “Thank you, but not necessary,” you tell her sharply, red solo cup still in your hand. If this was how your night was going to go, then you need to be a little tipsy to survive it. You barely have it halfway to your mouth before Paige is pulling it out of your grasp, pouring its contents into a potted plant and chucking the cup into a nearby trash can. “What the fu–”

“First of all,” she begins, arms crossing protectively, “never accept a drink at a party that you didn’t pour, didn’t see someone else pour, or a drink that’s already open; matter fact, don’t accept a drink unless you opened it or brought it in yourself.”

You roll your eyes slightly. “This is Storrs, Paige. Do the frats really get down like that here?”

Her gaze is unimpressed. “You’re the law student, ma, you tell me the numbers. Second of all, you’re welcome. That was Kylin. He doesn’t take no for an answer in the first place but he’s all kinds of fucked up right now. I’d say I did you a favor but I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

“Funny,” you deadpan. “Here? Now?”

“What are you doing here?” she asks you, ignoring your snippy words. “Thought this wasn’t your scene.”

You pause. “It’s not,” you confirm. “Jos and Chelsea wanted me to come out. Figured I should be a good friend once in a while.”

Paige raises a brow. “Jos and Chelsea are too busy playing strip poker with dudes from Kappa Phi to keep an eye on you, and you’re worried about having to be a good friend?”

“First of all,” you say in the know-it-all tone that Paige had used on you, “I don’t need them to keep an eye on me.” The blonde hums again, not entirely convinced, and the heat of her gaze makes you stumble over your words slightly. “Second of all, why do you even care?”

“We’re friends,” she states.

“We were once,” you correct, voice softening. It’s no secret that you and Paige had fucked up whatever you had going on. It’s never been clear whose fault your fallout was (it was yours), nor could the two of you ever agree on what destroyed you (you would argue that you shouldn’t hook up with your friends, especially not the ones you were in love with). It was a messy situation that you were sure the two of you couldn’t recover from (you didn’t want to be friends with someone you couldn’t have; Paige just wants you to give her the chance to prove you otherwise).

“Sure,” she agrees half-heartedly, knowing your spiel by heart now. “Kinda fucked up you think I need a reason to care.” You don’t dignify that with a proper response, feeling something strangely like guilt corroding your heart. “Come outside and get some air with me? Please? Just wanna talk, no funny shit, I promise.”

You sigh, feeling yourself fall back into all too familiar routines. You had a near inability to say no to Paige most times – it was the reason why you had to put a stop to your friendship. And here you are now, undoing all of the progress you’ve made since you’ve been apart (a small part of you knows better; you’re moving forward but you’re not really doing any better. You’re not progressing. You’re just stuck now, only this time, you have less than you did before). “Jos and Chelsea–”

“–made their choice,” she finishes for you. “And their choice was strip poker with a guy named Anthony,” she adds solemnly. You can’t help but quirk a smile at the absurdity of your life right now. “C’mon, please? It fucking reeks in here. They’ve got a porch swing outside and it’s all quiet and shit.”

“You’ve always had a way with words,” you tease.

“You comin’ or nah?” she asks, but you shove her forward (she lets you) and she leads you through the crowd to the door. They part like the Red Sea and you can’t help but admire the way she silently commands the room, feeling a flutter in your chest you try desperately to stomp out. It’s like a fire; all it takes is a small spark before it eventually grows out of proportion. You know better now.

The door shuts behind the two of you and you sit on the porch swing. You can still hear the music’s pounding bass, but it’s muted. You feel like you can hear your thoughts now. The tension in your shoulders eases as you take in the crisp night air, the crickets’ chirps, the occasional owl’s hoot. For a moment, you forget all of the complicated history between you and Paige; the way she held your hand as she kissed up your thigh, the way she stayed afterwards, cleaning you up and bringing you water. It almost seems as Paige is reliving all of it, too, as she looks at you, and that thought is sobering enough to bring you back to the moment.

You finally get a good look at what she’s wearing. It’s nothing outstanding; a gray Nike tech suit and a pair of dunks, although she’s opted to leave her jacket unzipped, revealing the crop top underneath. She’s dressed for comfort, though the most unfair part of it all is how good she looks when she’s not trying. Her cheekbones are sharp, eyes blue and wide and alert, and you can’t help but notice how fitting a slick-back bun is on her.

This was precisely why you needed your space. You couldn’t control your thoughts or feelings. It was manageable when you minded your business – the phrase out of sight, out of mind did wonders for you and you were usually busy enough that she only crossed your mind once or twice a week when the student population was buzzing about a recent game. But now? Now you’re fucked. You’re inches away from her and you’ve allowed her to pull you back into her orbit. She’s the Earth and you’re a meteor – any closer and you won’t be able to come back from the damage you would do to each other. She would survive, you’re sure, but you’d be destroyed in the process.

“So,” she says slowly. You avert your eyes, staring at anything but her. “How you been?”

“Good,” you lie. “Keeping busy.” That part was less of a lie, but it wasn’t her business to know.

Paige has always been good at reading you, so she gazes at you like she’s not convinced. “I think we’re overdue a conversation,” she says, surprising you. “A real one. No more of this running in circles bullshit.”

“Okay,” you agree hesitantly. You finally meet her eyes. They’re strikingly blue, disarming, and you feel an odd mixture of guilt and longing eat away at your insides. She looks like she’s drinking you in, like she’s trying to understand why you did what you did; her eyes soften in the dim glow of the porchlight and you can’t help but flush under her gaze. She always understands you in spite of how often you push her away – she seems to understand why you keep her at arm’s length, too, and it’s then that you fully understand how overwhelming it is to be known.

“Why did you leave?” she asks finally. You have to swallow back the bile in your throat. “The morning after.” Her clarification does nothing to soothe the turmoil in your stomach. “I thought…” Paige’s throat bobs as she tries to find the words. “It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me. So why did you leave like that shit ain’t matter to you?”

That night in February comes back to you in the blur of a memory. You’ve thought about it so often that you could write a play-by-play of it; every single unremarkable detail comes back to you in a flourish of vibrant color – the way the floor felt beneath your feet as Paige guided you into her room, the slight scratch of her nail against the base of your neck as her hands found purchase in your hair. Paige was wrong. It meant something to you, too much to you. You often remind yourself, if it meant that much, why was it easier to run away? Jumping off of a diving board into a pool conceptually means the same thing as jumping off of a cliffside into beach waves; the jump isn’t the hard part, it’s the reminder of the distance between your feet and the surface. Your feelings for Paige are too consuming. It’s easier to not make the jump at all than it is to worry if you’ll be able to come up for air.

She was in high spirits, drunk off of their win against Villanova. They weren’t an opponent you’d typically call home for, but the Huskies were having a tough season with several injured players and a lot of underclassmen. It was close, 67-46; Paige had contributed to a little less than half of their points overall with a solid 31. She was happy, the rest of her team was happy, and she’d begged you to come over to her apartment for the post-game festivities – which was usually games and snacks as they weren’t big on drinking during the season. You’d nearly refused at first. It was supposed to be a small team get-together and you had some work to catch up on. You eventually gave in, like you always do. Paige had flashed her typical, charming smile, looping an arm around your waist, and you were a goner.

The team accepted you like you were one of their own, too. That was new. You didn’t spend as much time with them as you did with Jos and Chelsea, but it felt like you knew them better than you knew Jos and Chelsea, anyway. Ice and KK were two menacing peas in a pod – they were like sisters separated at birth and whenever they were together, something chaotic was bound to happen, but they loved and protected fiercely despite the way they teased each other and the team. Caroline was like the team mother and many of the girls called her such. Nika was intense on the court, but off of it, she was Paige’s twin through and through – they always had something to say to each other and their banter often brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Azzi was sweet and well-loved by the team (and the student population in general). She introduced you to her and Paige’s son Ines, which confused you at first, but Paige threw her arm over your shoulder and assured you that they’re only co-parenting because Carol has enough children and they didn’t want Ines to be a ward of the court. You couldn’t help but smile at that, leaning into Paige – something about the team’s dynamic healed you a little, and Ines joked that Paige went out and got her a stepmom.

You felt the blush creep up your neck as Paige tightened her grip around you slightly. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, son,” Paige had said somberly, pretending to look sad as Azzi rolled her eyes. “Your mother was havin’ an affair–”

“Oh, bullshit!” Azzi cried. The entire room broke out into fits of giggles.

“Now I understand why Paige wifed up a lawyer,” KK said in between laughter. “Tryna get a discount on that divorce, huh?”

The team had tears in their eyes from their excitement – you didn’t have the heart to tell them you were hoping to specialize in civil litigation, so you just laughed along. The conversation continued to flow as games were played. Nika was exceptionally bad at UNO and Paige never let her hear the end of it. You guys only managed to play a couple of rounds before Nika suddenly got good and played a +4, prompting Ice and KK to stack +4s of their own onto it – Paige stared in disbelief for a solid thirty seconds before picking up 12 cards and rage-quitting one turn later when KK skipped her.

“There, there,” you’d said, lips trembling as you tried not to laugh at the look on Paige’s face. You rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, and she pushed you off her gently, her own lips quirking in amusement. “Show this card game who’s boss.”

“Bro,” she grumbled, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she leaned back into the couch, her arm finding home over the back of your shoulders once more. You remember wondering if this is what normal felt like, what finally finding a community was like – you fit in too well with Paige’s teammates and they made you feel at home. Being near Paige made you feel at home. She was talented that way. She had an uncanny ability to make people feel at ease, regaling them with jokes and an endless supply of charm. When you realized you were in love with Paige Bueckers, you weren’t surprised about it. If anything, you might have been a little upset with yourself – you were sure you weren’t the only person she’d drawn in unintentionally, ensnared in a web whose latticework was meticulously shaped like basketball netting.

As the night went on, more and more laughs were shared until the clock reached midnight and many of Paige’s teammates got up to leave. Everyone shared hugs and affectionate goodnights. All of them even looped around to hug you – which was… nice. Paige shared her apartment with Azzi and Aubrey, so they retired to their own rooms after curious glances to you and Paige, still curled up together on the couch.

The apartment was quiet. You could hear the ring of silence as it enveloped the two of you, Paige’s gentle breathing, and the tick of the clock. It was oddly comforting; normally, it would have lulled you into a drowsy state, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the heat of Paige’s body next to yours, the brush of her thumb against your shoulder. Feeling both unmoored and tethered, you shift next to Paige, gathering her attention. “I should go,” you’d whispered. Her thumb halted.

“Stay,” she requested. She tilted her head. Her gaze met yours. You expected her eyes to be half-closed, dim with sleep. The rasp of her voice was attributed to a tone you knew she’d adopt when she was exhausted, but her eyes were wide, alert, dilated, a blue so dark you were sure you almost mistook the sheer want for something else. “Stay,” she murmured again. “Please.”

“Yeah,” you agreed almost breathlessly, feeling her hand squeeze your shoulder gently. “Sure.” She untangles from you and stands from the couch, offering you her hand, and you take it. She led you seamlessly through the dark of her apartment into her bedroom, where she released you long enough to rifle through her drawers, having found you a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt for you to wear to bed. Paige pointed you towards the bathroom. You changed into her clothes. Your fingers had shook with anticipation at the sheer domesticity of it all as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your – her – t-shirt read HOPKINS GIRLS BASKETBALL. It had all felt so different now. You hadn’t been sure at the moment if it terrified you or excited you.

You exited the bathroom to find Paige’s back to you, adjusting the band of a pair of basketball shorts around her hips. Her hair was out of her bun and it cascaded down her back in loose, wavy strands; you’d felt an inexplicable urge to run your fingers through it, to find out if her hair was as soft as it looked. She was wearing a dark black sports bra. The two of you were friends. Granted, you were in love with her, but the sight of her wearing nothing but ball shorts and her Nike bra shouldn’t have done the things it did to you.

“Which side is yours?” you’d asked, mostly to break the silence. You ignored the crack in your voice. Paige paid it no mind as she turned, which forced you to avert your eyes, trying not to glance at her abdominals.

“Don’t matter,” she responded. You watched the way she moved, sitting low on the bed, legs long and stark against the purple of her comfort. “You gettin’ in or what?” You hoped she couldn’t see the flush on your neck. You slid into bed next to her, hoping to maintain some sort of distance, but she refused to let you get too far. She slung her arm over your waist, fingers brushing against your skin where your shirt rode up. Her breath was even against your neck and the heat of her body nearly turned your brain into mush. “This okay?” she asked, tone softer.

“Mhm,” you hummed, afraid to speak or you might fuck up and tell her just how okay it actually was. Paige was just a touchy person, you tried to remind yourself as you felt the tickle of her hair against the nape of your neck. This doesn’t mean anything to her. It was all for naught. It did little to quell the way your heart raced, the way the heat pooled low in your belly.

“You looked good tonight,” she said casually. You tried to stop the goosebumps as they rose on your flesh. “You always do.”

Unable to think of something smart to say, you shifted your body slightly, your fingers splaying over the arm she held tight around your midsection. “Oh, yeah?” Her fingers brushed a little lower on your stomach, grazing the waistband of your shorts.

She hummed an affirmative, pulling you tighter against herself, and you could barely breathe. It was overwhelming in the best way – she was all around you. Physically, you felt as though you were in her skin as she greedily pulled you in. The scent of her was everywhere; the shampoo that seeped into her pillows, the cologne on her neck. Your hair stood on end as her lips brushed almost imperceptibly against the shell of your ear. “‘M glad you came tonight,” she whispered.

You flipped on your side, face-to-face with Paige. Her arm moved enough for you to get situated and once you were, her hand found the small of your back, her palm warm against your skin. You can’t help the way your breath hitched, even as Paige’s eyes seemed to take in the stuttering rise and fall of your chest. Having found some courage, you poked her cheek, drawing her eyes back up to yours. “What are we doing?” you asked finally, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Her brow raised slightly, the dark blue of her gaze illuminated by the streaks of moonlight through her window. “No funny shit, Paige. You touch me like you want me, claim me in front of your friends.” You searched her eyes as she fell silent. “What are we doing?” you repeated, voice firmer.

“I want you,” she confessed after a few heartbeats of contemplation. She leaned in closer to you, your noses nearly brushing, and she continued, “I want you so fucking bad. Don’t wanna do anything you’ont want, but–”

Your lips were on hers before she had the chance to finish. She responded eagerly, one hand firm around your waist as she flipped the both of you over, pulling you to straddle her waist. You leaned down, your chest against hers, hands on each side of her neck. You felt the thundering of her pulse under your fingers. It was stabilizing in a sense – words were one thing, but to feel how badly you’d been able to affect her, too, did wonders for your growing ego. Paige’s hands had found your hips, keeping you pressed against her body.

You parted briefly to catch your breath. Paige’s chest heaved, her lips shiny and swollen. She was hard to look away from. For a moment, you’d wondered if this was worth it. Your heart had raced, beating uncontrollably; it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Everything would change between the two of you. Was one night with Paige worth the risk of losing your friendship? You feel too strongly, too much, overwhelmingly. You’ve been told by an ex or two that you were simply too much. You wouldn’t want to subject Paige to that.

Her right hand met your face, tracing the line of your bottom lip. “You want this?” she asked. Her eyes were blown wide, more pupil than iris, but something about it entranced you. The desire in her eyes had brought fresh heat to your stomach, but coupled with the fact she’d be willing to stop made your heart beat a little faster. She was enough to quell your worries, settling the irregularity of your thoughts. You nodded, leaning down to connect your lips again, but her hand was insistent against your jaw as she held you back. “Words,” she commanded.

You’d barely resisted an eyeroll. “Yes, Paige,” you affirmed. Her hand loosened, eyes searching yours. “Want you.”

Her smile turned smug. “Yeah? How bad?”

The tease sent white-hot desire straight through your body as your hips rolled against hers, trying to find some relief. Her hands fall back down to your waist, helping you rut against her thigh as a shared flush creeped up both of your necks. “You gonna touch me?” you breathed against her lips. Her breath came out a disjointed stutter when you guided her hand to the swell of your ass. It was unnatural – Paige was so sure, so confident. To have her nearly at your mercy was like a drug through your veins, but you didn’t want her there. You wanted Paige fully in control; you wanted her to take care of you, to give you everything you’d fantasized about for months on end. You wanted her so bad it rewired the coding in your brain. There was something about her that broke down all of the walls you spent years building.

Your actions and words had been the only permission she needed. One of her hands gripped the flesh of your ass as the other one cupped the back of your neck. Her nail scratched you inadvertently as she dragged you back down to connect your lips – the slight echo of pain caused you to whine against her lips, a sound she swallowed greedily before she flipped the two of you over once more. Your head fell back against her pillows as she rucked up your shirt, finding that you’d opted to not wear a bra. She groaned indulgently, one large hand coming up to squeeze one of your breasts and her mouth finding the other one.

You ran your fingers through her hair, gripping it tight as she lavished you with attention. “So fuckin’ pretty,” she murmured against you, voice dripping with want. She pressed her knee against your core as she found her way back to your lips, kissing you deeply and drawing another whimper from your parted lips. It sent a jolt through your body. “You gon’ let me do what I want, huh? Get you right?”

“Paige, please,” you begged, all of the shame having left your body as you ground down against her knee, feeling the pleasure and relief simultaneously. “Fuck, do what you want, I don’t care – just please fucking touch me.”

She shushed you, lips back on yours, tongue brushing against your lips like she was trying to take whatever you’d give her. And at that point, you would have given her anything if it meant she’d stop teasing you. “I got you, ma, jus’ relax,” she whispered against your lips. She trailed a blazing path down your chest, leaving hickies as she went. Paige reached the waistband of your shorts; she pressed a sloppy kiss to your navel before bunching her fingers in and pulling them off, throwing them haphazardly into the room.

The air was cold against you. You were breathing heavily by then, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. Her hand untwisted yours from the bedsheets, linking your fingers together, and that touch alone was enough to bring you back down to earth. “I got you,” she promised again, reminding you, pressing diligent kisses against the inside of your thigh. You relaxed ever so slightly against her, feeling as though you could breathe a little easier, but your body was still incredibly high strung. Paige squeezed your hand. Then her mouth was on you, and you were done for.

She held your hand as she went down on you, talking you through it until your orgasm reached its peak and you sunk into the bed bonelessly. She didn’t release you when she came back up, her smile a mix of smugness, pride, and quiet adoration. Paige kissed your knuckles, your cheeks, your lips, drawing a contented sigh out of you. “You good?” she asked, brushing your hair out of your eyes, hand cradling your jaw.

Exhausted, all you could do was hum an affirmative. Paige flashed a small smile again, pressing a kiss to your forehead and crawling off the bed, much to your surprise. “Lemme get you some water,” she said. “‘M coming right back, I promise.”

You nodded wordlessly, closing your eyes and sinking back into the pillows as your breathing evens out. She left her room, the door shutting with a silent click. In the silence of Paige’s bedroom, curled up in her purple comforter, all you can think about is how the future of your friendship has inexplicably changed forever. She said she wanted you. Did she just mean sexually? Paige was always intentional in her communication, a byproduct of her media training. Tears brimmed your eyes when you considered the idea that you might have just been another Wednesday night fling for her. Here you are again, feeling stupid about the overwhelming feelings you harbored for Paige despite your better judgment. The worst part was that it wasn’t her fault. You got your hopes up.

You wiped your eyes when you heard the door open again. Paige crossed the room, cracking open a cold bottle of water for you and pressing it to your lips. You nearly forgot about your inner turmoil when she smiled at you again, having thrown her hair back up into its bun. “Gonna clean you up, okay?” she informed you. At your nod, she runs a warm washcloth between your thighs, getting rid of the lingering stickiness. She carefully redressed you, squeezing your hips gently, and you’re left feeling so incredibly conflicted that you’re breathless with the anxiety. Paige disposed of the washcloth and curled up next to you in bed once more, an arm wrapping around your midsection. You’d told each other goodnight, but as her breath evens out against your neck, your mind races.

You slept fitfully through the night. And when morning light rolled around, you extracted yourself from Paige’s grip, sliding a pillow into her arms. The nervousness and all of your overthinking thoughts made you queasy with grief. You were in love with Paige Bueckers. That much was true. You were too head over heels for her to return to normalcy; you couldn’t. At that point, it would be easier for you to not be friends with her at all than to pretend like she wasn’t everything you’d ever wanted.

As she slept, you casted one last guilty look over your shoulder and you ran.

But that night in February has long since passed, and on the porch swing on a much warmer night in April, Paige stares at you in desperation, seeking answers to the questions you’ve withheld for over a month. “Why did you leave?” she asks you again. “Fuck, tell me the truth, lie to me, whatever, just please give me something to work with.”

“It was overwhelming,” you finally admit, twisting the rings on your fingers. You feel terrible as you glance at Paige, whose eyes soften when she takes in your expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shoulda seen that something was wrong.”

You close your eyes, lips trembling. You’re touched at how she instantly takes responsibility for your fuck ups, thinking she’s done something wrong. “No, Paige,” you correct her. “Fuck. It wasn’t you. It was never you.” You pick at a loose string on your shorts. She stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “You were so gentle. That night meant everything to me, and that was the problem. I wanted you so bad – Jesus Christ, I was in love with you for months. I don’t do casual. I always feel too strongly and I loved you so much that it was fucking overwhelming. I woke up and nearly lost it because I couldn’t handle the idea of having you like that and having to pretend like I didn’t want you like that forever. It was so much easier to run and not face the possibility of having to be your friend when all I’ve wanted was more.”

When you finally look back to Paige, her eyes are wide with something that looks strangely like grief, like you’ve pulled the rug from under her feet and watched as she fell. As you think about it, that’s probably what you’ve done, anyway. She spent so long thinking that your fallout was her fault, that it was something she’d done, but the ugly truth of the matter was that you were too scared of the way you felt for her that you ran from it instead. Paige runs a frustrated hand over her jaw, her expression nearly unreadable. You frown. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, knowing that your apology is long overdue. You fucked up so incredibly bad with her. Your brain remembers her prior words, the ‘It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me,’ and you suddenly feel like an idiot. God, it was mutual this entire time and you were too caught up in yourself to realize it.

“You think too fucking much,” Paige says finally, and you hardly have the time to react before she’s kissing you, her hands gripping your hips. You nearly gasp against her lips before you fully register what’s happening. Sinking into it, you wrap your arms around her neck, feeling suddenly like everything is finally aligning, that all of your blurred focal points sharpen. When she pulls away, her eyes are alight with understanding. “So, lemme get this straight. You pushed me away ‘cause you’re in love with me, then we fucked, and you thought I wouldn’t wife you up?”

You frown, feeling stupid all over again. “Well, when you put it like that…yeah?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. Look at my lawyer – you’d send dudes to jail left and fucking right ‘cause you jump to conclusions too early. Thank God you’re not going into criminal defense.”

You shove her away from you, feeling the embarrassment bloom on your cheeks. You can’t help but laugh as you say, “You’re an asshole.”

She guffaws, reaching for your hands, intertwining your fingers. “Says you! You ghosted me for a month and let me think I fucked us up. Jesus Christ.” She twists the ring on your finger mindlessly as she searches for the right words. “Okay, lemme be really fucking clear. I’m in love with you, too. Like, I’m fuckin’ crazy about you. There is nobody but you. You aren’t too much for me – I love you for you, no ifs, ands, buts, whys, hows, nothing. I know you thought you were protecting us by pushin’ me away, but you gotta let me make that choice, too. I want this with you, alright? Will you gimme that chance?”

Her words leave the two of you in silence. You can still hear the chirp of the crickets, the thrumming from the party indoors. You can feel the way her thumb brushes over your knuckles, the way her eyes bore into yours, patiently waiting for your decision. But distinctly, you can see the plea, the desperation for you to just give into what she knows the both of you are feeling. Your anxiety and constant overthinking never ruined the two of you. It may have set you back, but you and Paige found your way back to each other. Maybe you’re not a meteor, dangerously crashing into her and disintegrating on impact. Maybe the two of you are something simpler – the moon and the tide. She was never going to let you get hurt if only you’d give her the opportunity to show you that.

So, you take that leap – whether it’s off the diving board into the pool or the cliffside into beach waves, you don’t care. You know now that Paige is waiting for you at the surface. “I want this, too,” you affirm, watching the smile bloom on her face like springtime flowers, and you seal the deal by pressing your lips to hers. She responds eagerly, her arms tight around you. You loathe that it took the two of you this long, that it was your fault for not trusting Paige with your heart when she’s given you no real reason to doubt her; despite this, her lips taste like forgiveness and yours like atonement. In spite of everything, you made it here in the end, and it was worth it.

[meazalykov]

two worlds collide

emily fox x WNBA!liberty!reader

summary: going on a date with a soccer player, especially an arsenal player, was not what you expected to do during the WNBA break

you sit at the corner table of a cozy restaurant in new york city, your fingers idly tapping against the wooden surface.

the glow of soft yellow lights overhead casts a warm shimmer over the room, glinting off polished silverware and the dark, gleaming wood. 

it’s early evening, just the cusp of sunset, where the streets outside hum with the mingled voices of commuters, tourists, and the occasional street performer.

sabrina had sworn that this was the perfect spot. 

“trust me,” she’d said with a sly grin, eyes glinting with a playful mischief. 

“you two will hit it off.” you remember the way she had nudged your arm weeks ago, barely holding back a laugh when you asked for details.

“wait wait wait– who’s emily? what team does she play on?” you had asked, leaning back in the locker room after practice, beads of sweat still rolling down your neck from drills. 

the name was unfamiliar, and your mind scrolled through every possible wnba roster. nothing.

sabrina had raised an eyebrow, tying back her ponytail. 

“not an emily in the wnba. she’s a soccer girl. arsenal’s defensive player, plays for the uswnt, too.”

your breath had caught in a laugh. 

“an arsenal player? you know i’m a chelsea fan.”

“and yet,” sabrina said, crossing her arms with that knowing smirk, 

“you’ll survive. she’s nice. you’ll see.”

you glance at your phone now, the screen lighting up to show the time: 6:47 p.m. 

emily’s supposed to be here at seven. the soft murmur of voices around you doesn’t distract you from the nervous thrum in your chest. 

on the court, your playstyle might say you’re fearless on the court, storming and crossing up the other team without hesitation, but sitting here waiting for a first date feels like stepping up to the free-throw line with a championship game on the line.

the door opens, letting in a quick gust of cool air that makes your shoulders tense slightly. your eyes shift instinctively, and there she is—emily. 

she’s wearing a dark denim jacket over a white t-shirt, dark brown hair pulled back in a casual ponytail that still somehow looks effortlessly styled. you’re wearing a blue sweater with blue levi jeans, somehow casual. 

emily is scanning the room, eyes bright and clear, until they land on you. she smiles, a small curve that softens her sharp, athletic features, and it’s enough to make your heart skip.

“y/n?” she asks, voice smooth, accented just slightly in a way that tells you she’s been overseas for some time.

“that’s me,” you reply, standing up and offering your hand, which she takes without hesitation.

“nice to finally meet you,” emily says, slipping into the seat across from you. she moves with the ease of someone who’s spent her life in motion.

you both take a moment, the initial rush of introductions settling. you order drinks—her, a classic gin, and you opt for your usual. 

as the server walks away, emily leans forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“so,” she starts, eyes sparkling with curiosity, 

“sabrina tells me you’re a chelsea fan. should i be worried?”

you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing at the playful jab. 

“don’t worry,” you say, smirking. 

“i won’t hold arsenal against you—at least, not tonight.”

“sounds fair,” she replies, and there’s a moment where you both smile, the warmth between you growing.

the conversation flows easily after that. you share stories about your college days at uconn—the relentless practices, the roar of packed arenas, the thrill of being drafted third overall for the liberty. 

emily’s eyes light up as she tells you about growing up playing soccer until the sun dipped low and her mother would call her home.

“and after some time in north carolina–arsenal came calling since caitlin really wanted me to play with her,” she says, sipping her drink. 

“wasn’t even sure i’d say yes. london felt like another world at first.”

“but you did,” you say, nodding, already picturing her on a pitch, stopping forwards with ease.

“and i did,” emily confirms, eyes catching yours with a look that lingers.

the night stretches on, the restaurant’s bustle slowing as patrons leave, and yet, you barely notice. 

you talk about the upcoming olympics, how emily’s gearing up for it, and she asks if you’ll be watching.

“i’ll be cheering louder than anyone,” you say, meaning every word.

she asks why you weren’t on the basketball team representing the USA in the olympics, you said it was due to an injury scare on your wrist. she understood as a girl who had many injures herself.

by the time the server brings the check, neither of you are in a rush to leave. 

outside, the city’s lights twinkle like a sea of stars, and when you step onto the sidewalk, the air feels cool against your skin.

“thank you for tonight,” emily says, and you catch the faintest hint of nerves in her voice.

you smile, hands slipping into your pockets. 

“anytime.”

“next time,” she says, with a hint of mischief, “don’t wear chelsea blue.”

you look down at your sweater, noting that the blue did match chelsea’s colors. 

“deal,” you laugh, already thinking about when the next time will be.

whenever the american girl comes back from london. 

masterlist

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

Can I ask for Headcanons/Scenario with the crew members where it's a normal tulpar haul. But the reader is an extremely experienced captain of another ship,and they're older,more built and more strict. Like think 6'7,built like an extreme weightlifter,very classy and formal.

And they're on the tulpar to look after everything because it's an incredibly important shipment? What would the crew members reactions be to the reader appearing very strict,no-nonsense,cold and condescending. But once they get close, the reader is actually very nice.

also can it be a male reader? Thank you! I love your writing. <3

Melting the Ice away.

Crew Members x Male! Older! Strict! Reader. [ Reader is a high ranking captain of another pony express ship ]

a/n; this ask was basically buried deep in my inbox,i was just scrolling through and found it.

Tulpar! Captain,Curly.

Oh boy,and they used to say that curly was the most able employee at pony express. Clearly they lied,Cause LOOK. AT. YOU.

For the first time in his career,he felt intimidated.

The way you basically hovered over him,gave him chills ngl.

He admires you so fucking hard, your efficiency ,your capability, and your experienced nature. you need something? Grant Curly is on it!... He found himself trying to... Impress you???

He was basically always looking for your approval at things,no matter how small or trivial it was. He needed your opinion.

He was also starting to wonder wether or not the feeling of intimidation... was rather something else.

He is definitely feelin a lil somethin somethin.

When he actually got to know you,and saw how kind and sweet you actually were. This guy just fell,he fell guys,he just fell.

Co-Pilot, Jimmy.

Manz is PISSED.

He is freaking LIVID,as if Curly wasn't already enough,bossing him around.

He'll never ever admit it to anyone,but he was basically scared of you,of how... Domineering you were.

He is jealous of how put together you were,always effortlessly classy.

He couldn't decide whether he wanted to be you,or wanted to be with you.

He didn't even notice it,but you found him staring,so intently that it actually concerned you.

Whenever you would try to interact with him he'll make up an excuse and run away.

But he,too wanted to get on your good side.

He'll die before ever admitting it,but he was craving your praise so fucking bad.

He is just dying on the inside,he desperately wants to hear you call him a 'Good Boy'.

Maybe he'll have to impress you some other way,who knows?

Nurse, Anya.

Let's be fr,the first time Anya saw you,her heart skipped a bit. I mean c'mon! Can you blame her? She doesn't see handsome, capable, disciplined male colleagues on the regular,does she?

Cut her some slack for staring! She can't help herself for wanting to admire you!

Like the others,she also tries her best to live up to your expectations,to be on your good list. She tries to make sure all your needs are met,(which aren't even bothersome,you prefer to do things your own anyway) but she always insists upon helping you out!

You began to notice that no matter who else wasn't around,Anya was always there in the corner of your eye. Was she... Following you around?

By Gods,she can't help it! No other person on the ship is as pleasant to be around as you! She feels at ease when she's with you. And you don't mind.

When she finally gets to know the real you, the butterflies in her stomach settle down into something even more soothing and calming.

Her puppy crush is beginning to grow,maybe someday in the near future, she'll ask you for things, beyond the professional limit.

Mechanic, Swansea.

He is just glad that there is someone on this godforsaken ship who has the screws in their head straight.

He does feel a bit relaxed that he doesn't have to worry about things going wrong with you onboard.

He sometimes has you deal with Daisuke instead. More relaxation time for him.

He can count on you. And he likes you the best on the ship.

Doesn't shy away from praising you in front of others.

Intern,Daisuke.

"WOWZER MISTER YOU'RE SO COOL!".

He was a bit scared of you at first,but quickly warmed up to how refreshing you were.

You were strict,yes. But not as much as Swansea. You never scolded him,or complained about him to others.

Instead you always, efficiently taught him how to do things properly.

The way you spoke,the way you presented yourself. He didn't find it strange how his other, older, colleagues were swooning over you either.

Grew to like you the best on the ship as well,always right by your side.

He does think you're hot,but is intimidated pretty easily.

[meimei-archives]

BODY PARTY!:: rafe cameron

WARNING! ::professional boxer! Rafe , blood, fighting, rough sex, marking, slight public sex, manager! reader, man handling, oral.

SUMMARY! :: after yet another win for Rafe you insist on cleaning his cuts after a shower leads to the both of you celebrating in a completely different way than expected.

You were front row watching Rafe, the smell of sweat and stale concession stand food almost made you feel nauseous if it wasn't for the way he was bouncing on the tips of his feet waiting for his opponent to tap gloves with him, clenching his teeth against his mouth guard showing off his prominent and sharp jawline.

Once and a while you could see his sharp eyes flicker from the referee and the guy he was facing. In the front row dressed all pretty, wearing one of the necklaces he had gifted to you and a cute small dress was you; his manager. He knew people didn't take him seriously because of how polite and pretty you were. They expected easy losses out of him, but if they saw how lenient you were during his training sessions or before his matches they'd understand you weren't just some airhead.

He watched as you gave him a bright smile and a thumbs up. He couldn't help the smirk on his lips. "Who's that? She's something ain't that right Cameron?" His opponent laughed at the sly comment while his greedy eyes never left your figure. Rafe felt his brow twitch at the words "watch your mouth" he said sternly as he felt heat on his skin from sheer annoyance.

"That's your play thing Cameron?" The man asks with a scoff, Rafe knew he was trying to be funny; trying to get to his head, but he's done this way too many times to even let it get under his skin. That wasn't going to stop him from ripping whoever this guy was apart and going back to his hotel with double the money he came in with. Not even bothering to answer him he knocks gloves with him and steps back while the ref signals the bell to chime.

You prepped Rafe for this, he knew what he was getting into when he signed to fight the boy who was about a year or two older than him, he was much newer to fighting in the ring which was just an advantage. But since Rafe had been doing this since he graduated high school he was much more experienced with the fighters, and the atmosphere. You could only count how many losses Rafe has had on one hand and you knew for a fact that Rafe wasn't going to fly all the way from North Carolina to Brooklyn without putting in the work for a show.

The both of them circling around the ring with raised gloves nearing to exchange punches. You could never understand how Rafe took a punch like it was nothing, almost like he enjoyed taking the hits, because it did nothing but push him to hit back harder. Rafe always knew how to get the crowd going, he would fight at least two rounds before absolutely running through his opponent until they gave up or it was a K.O regardless every time he did it he always had a crowd coming back for another fight.

He was on his 2 minute break in between rounds, the cutmen sitting him in his corner as he poured water into his hair and mouth letting the water spill into a metal bucket coming out pink, putting Vaseline on his cuts that were starting to bleed out. Rafe usually would've dropped his opponent by now, he was a shit talker and Rafe just let anything he heard go from one ear out the other, and it was usually the same bullshit.

'You can't fight' or 'your good looks won't save you' and Rafe never took it to heart because it's the same people talking that are being knocked on their ass and being wheeled back to their locker rooms. But this guy, no. He was bringing you into this, and Rafe had no reason to give him any remorse especially when he was being straight up vile and gross.

When they were both called back into the center Rafe could feel the sweat and water build up on his neck and shoulders. Rafe watches his opponent as if he was waiting for the right moment to send him to the ground, holding up his fist damn near ready to pounce on the guy who was just as tall if not a few inches taller than Rafe, blonde and tattoos all over his skin that nobody could miss.

Rafe couldn't miss the smirk on his lips as he sauntered towards him throwing sloppy and lazy punches that were barely even landing "you think your girl would wear that dress for me when I get her in bed?" He asked, huffing out almost slurring his words. Rafe could only clench his fist feeling a wave of straight anger wash over him completely. Cocking his hand back and letting one loose right to the center of the blonde's face he didn't stop as he saw him drop to the floor.

Straddling over his hips Rafe didn't hesitate to keep the hits going, one after the other people in the crowd almost shocked at how he wasn't letting up regardless of how you could tell the man under him was knocked out. "The fuck is he doing? He's gonna throw the match" you could hear Topper just a seat away looking almost stressed watching his friend use his opponent like a personal punching bag.

When the referee pulled at his shoulder Rafe finally pulled away with the deepest glare you've ever seen on his face, his gloves stained a crimson shade as he backed away from the unconscious and bloody man on the floor. Waiting to see if the man could beat a simple 10 count and get back to his feet but failed Rafe's hand was raised in all its glory as they announced his win.

The warm and sticky blood that gathered in small chunks at his hairline, and split lip, and dark bruises on the corner of jaw and the expanse of his back and shoulders began to bloom while sweat was dripping off his body. He stood in the middle of the ring as his publicity team swarmed in with congratulations and after party plans.

Leaving the small barricades that separated the crowd and the ring you find yourself going through the ropes and inside the squared ring filled with your coworkers and friends. Smiling as you near him, the copper smell of blood and hints of sweat filled your lungs as you can feel the mat underneath your feet shake from the jumping and cheering Rafe stood with a similar smile holding open his arms for you to hug him.

Regardless of his sweat seeping through the fabric of your dress or how warm all over you felt under his embrace you mumble words of encouragement "you did good, I'm proud of you. But you gotta stop losing your temper" you shake your head grasping his wrist that rested on your lower back comfortably.

Lifting over both of your heads you both face the crowd with smiles as you knew the both of your faces would be in the tabloids by the next morning, but from all the yelling and talking over other people you could feel a headache coming. Though it didn't matter much as you, Rafe, and the rest of your team decided to retreat back to his locker room.

Being stopped along the way by the press asking him questions, his heavy arm around your waist as he smiles and answers the simple questions, answering a few questions yourself as you hold Rafe's gloves under your arm you could feel his eyes practically burn through you when it was your turn to speak.

The both of you are making into the less busy locker room a few of his friends sticking around to make plans. Rafe sat on the padded bench as he looked at his taped up hands and wrist, he could feel dried up blood building up at his hairline and the small split on the middle of his lip starting to become sore.

You sit down beside him as Kelce and Topper talk about plans of a dinner or a get-together later tonight in celebration, but you could tell that Rafe wasn't really listening. Your brows scrunch together as you see him picking at the tape trying to unravel it and his silence was slowly becoming apparent. "You guys wanna give us a minute? I'll call you if we need anything" you mumbled to them as they eye their friend worriedly the youngest nodded.

They retreat to the door "we're gonna head back to the hotel, if you do decide to go out tonight just give me a call" Kelce mumbles before closing the door behind them. The silence in the room starts to get louder, your mouth opens but your words die in your throat seeing him finally getting the dingy tape off his skin and releasing a sigh.

Tossing the blood stained adhesive into the trash he walks further into his locker room towards his shower , you could hear the water hitting the tile and small grunts and winces of pain as he cleans off the blood and cuts off his body with soap and water. You space out for a while and let Rafe think in peace, you knew he would tell you whatever was on his mind sooner or later.

But once he finally finished showering you watched him walk back into the main area the cuts on his face still fresh and bleeding, it bugged you. His towel low on his hips, and his hair clean and messily slicked back with a few thin strands falling in his face. "You want me to clean your cuts so we can get out of here faster?" You ask quietly, watching him sit in a metal chair that sits in front of a long mirror. Shrugging at your question, you took your chance.

Opening the nearest locker you find a mini first aid kit, seeing everything you need inside you sit on the floor beside the leg of the chair and open a small pack of cotton pads, and rubbing alcohol. The smell alone made both of your faces scrunch as you lean close to his face attempting to find the cuts covered in dried blood.

"You wanna tell me why you beat that dude's face in?" You ask as you gently swiped away at the cut on the corner of his forehead that made him shut his eyes tightly at the stinging pain. "Doesn't matter," he said as his hands tightened around the edges of his seat. "It does if you almost threw a match because of it. I don't get why all of a sudden you're being your normal self, and next thing you know you are bashing his face in" you huff.

You and Rafe have gone over things with his anger and little to none patience, Rafe has moved past being provoked and talked down to, and ever since you've never seen him lose his cool like that up until now. "Even if it's something dumb, you know you can tell me right?" You ask as you discard the bloody cotton pad.

Sighing Rafe caves as he opens his eyes to meet your gaze "he was talking about you" he mumbled. His voice is gruff and frustrated, you can tell he was getting angry just rethinking about it. "What?" You were confused, what could have possibly set Rafe off about you? "He was talking about sleeping with you, just being disrespectful and shit" he rolled his eyes.

You scoff "you got mad about that?" You ask which makes his brows furrow at the question "of course I'm gonna get mad y/n, we work together. I know you personally, and I'm not gonna let somebody talk about you like that" he said, you could feel the heat radiating off of his skin as he spoke. "You shouldn't. You have more to worry about than some dude talking shit" you say picking up another pad and putting alcohol on it, you tilt his chin looking at his cuts.

"Well I do. I don't like when people talk about you in any way, you just do your job and you get shit on for no reason" he explains which makes you roll your eyes yet look to meet his gaze as you feel him stare into your soul. "It's a part of my job. I knew what I signed up for, even if you don't like it that's not gonna keep people from doing it. Don't get so worked up over it" you shake your head at him.

The silence in the locker room was becoming overbearing, holding a strong glare. Rafe was not listening to a single word you had to say, he didn't care if this was your job or not, you don't deserve that. His bruised hand reaching your jaw, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin "you don't deserve that, that's why I'm so worked up over it. You've been around since my first match, were roommates. I know everything there is to know about you, so why would I not get upset over shit like that?" He asks but more rhetorically.

"Your job is to fight Rafe, not bash people's heads in because of a stupid friend" you mumbled, shaking your head showing your disapproval once more, you move his hand to clean up his cuts once more. "You're not just a stupid friend" he scoffs. "I am, the only thing I really do is look out for your schedule, your P.R interviews and shit. Nothing special" you let out a small chuckle under your breath. Standing him to your full height

Rafe's eyes never leave your face as he pulls at your wrist moving it away from his face, his hand that once cupped your jaw pulls you in, Rafe closing the remainder of space between you both as his soft lips press to yours. You felt like you had been shocked, you didn't move for what felt like seconds until you pulled away and blinked rapidly. "I don't want you to be just some stupid friend or manager to me" he whispered.

You huff out a sigh before leaning back in and pressing your lips to his, being more confident with your actions your hands find themselves raking through his hair tugging it softly, groaning against your lips.

Letting out a small groan, Rafe's hand makes way to the fabric of your dress, clutching it in his fist and pulling your hips closer against him sends him into a small daze.His tongue now licking a stripe on your bottom lip begging for access, parting your lips, his tongue immediately brushing against yours, mixing your saliva. As you suck on his tongue the remnants of blood and mint. Realizing what the both of you are doing you pull away "we shouldn't be doing this" you say.

Your foreheads pressed together and noses grazing each other, Rafe shakes his head "I don't care about all of that right now" he slurs feeling the weight of the punches and kicks he had taken. Kissing at the corner of your lip smudging your lipgloss.

Rafe has always been professional with you, outside of work you two are like the best of friends, this was a line you had never thought to cross said line, but the feeling of his lips against yours made you feel fuzzy. You didn't care about the line anymore and both of you are now toppling over it. "I just want you" he mumbled as he pressed his nose against your; eyes clouded with an unknown feeling.

You smile lazily as you lean into him, giving him a chaste kiss. You both smile like kids as you pull apart. His hands trail from the bunched up fabric of your dress to your thighs pulling them apart "sit" he whispers making you nod and blink dreamily as you choke back a whimper at the sheer friction between his thighs and your pussy.

Arching your back until your chests press against each other, hands all over each other touching any part of each other that possibly could be in this position. Rafe couldn't help but grind up against you as the warmth of your core rubs against the throbbing bulge held behind his towel, the fabric running against the both of you earning a moan.

Pressing your lips against Rafe eager to steal ever last breath out of his lungs as your hands grip at his hair. Rafe doesn't hide his needs as his hands slide all around your body anywhere he could reach. Moaning against each others lips Rafe presses his forehead against yours as you both part panting against each other.

"You really wanna do this here?" He asks huskily turning you on even more. "I don't care if we did it in the car I just want you Rafe" you whisper against his lips making him smile, feeling on top of the world at your response. Rafe knew his feelings for you were beyond just Manager and client, but he knew to never go beyond that. But right now... he really didn't give a damn.

Pulling the tight skirt of your dress over your ass until it bunches at the waist, his palms Slide Over the soft skin as your lace panties; wet and sticky cover everything he's craving at the moment. Groping and kneading the skin harshly making you moan as your hips press down against his once again, his hands guide you against his towel covered lap.

Biting your lip harsh enough you could almost break flesh. "You think you can cum like this for me?" He asks sending shivers up your spine thinking of rutting yourself against the dirty blonde haired man until you hit your peak "mhm" you respond giving a small nod choking up your words with whimpers.

Your arms slink around his shoulder as you rest your head against the nape of his neck letting stimulation get the best of you. The fabric of your panties rubbing against your clit makes you feel utterly dizzy. "Just like that, you feel good?" He asks under his breath landing a harsh slap against your ass making you moan louder "feels so good" you whimper "you make me feel good Rafe" you moan as your hips recoil into his as the tension in your stomach grows.

Rafe could feel a wet patch of your slick deep through the towel over his hard cock making him bite his lip in satisfaction. He could see how much faster your hips are grinding into him showing how close you were to cumming, Rafe wraps his arms around your waist pressing your chest tightly to his as he grinds up against you.

The sound of the chair scraping against the concrete floors is almost background sounds to the both of you too wrapped up in getting your much wanted orgasm. "You're gonna make me cum" you whine as your eyes shut tightly and your eyebrows scrunch together "yeah? Do it" he says sternly making you shutter as your jaw slacks at the overwhelming feeling "fuck" you sob as your nails dig into Rafes back.

Hissing at the feeling Rafes hips come to a stop, his hands rub your thighs as they slightly shake. "You okay?" He asks with an airy laugh at your fatigued face that pulls away from his body "yeah, just give me a second" you whisper coming down from your high as the constant throbbing between your thighs starts.

Pulling yourself out of his lap your knees buckle feeling like jelly, you lower yourself fully until your knees press into the harsh concrete, not minding it much your hands trail over the white towel tucked around Rafes waist, looking up at him with soft eyes "you don't have to do anything" he speaks up and it makes you smile. This was the considerate and caring Rafe you had always known, never selfish and always seeking just a smidgen of approval from anyone he could when he could.

"I want to do this with you, nobody else" you say as your fingers brush against the skin of his lower stomach as they hook over the tightly wrapped towel. You were eager, the new found feeling was overstimulating in all the right ways. Pulling the fabric away from his lap now completely exposed to the cold air Rafe shivers, he doesn't know if it's from excitement or the decrease in temperature but either way he felt like he was in heaven.

The way your hands travel over his thighs makes his breath get caught in his throat, your eyes rake over his body with a look he's never seen on your face but regardless he loves it. you wet the palm of your hands with your tongue before taking his cock into your fist, slowly jerking and teasing the tip with your thumb.

His head falls back with no support from the chair he mutters out "fuck" as his hands grip at the towel underneath him. And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you're gagging around him and he's cursing and digging his nails into the side of the chair once again.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the towel. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, "oh fuck" tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate in the moment. He didn't want release, he needed it, Rafe had never been a begging man but in the moment Rafe would do just about anything to cum.

you keep your nose pressed into the skin of his pelvis until you physically can't, pulling off of him with a loud pop. your cheek is wet with tears, and your chin is slick with spit, the two coalescing at the tip into a sticky mess.

the sight makes him twitch in your hand, because this is what he's been dreaming of. This was his selfish wish, to see you below him with this expression. eyes all doe-eyed and desperate. But it also doesn't take Rafe much time before he lets his eyes flutter shut his hips now slowly bucking into your mouth, groaning at the feeling of your throat closing around him tightly.

he can't help but to reach out and rub the heavy pad of his thumb over your parting lips, pressing the salty digit flat against your tongue, and retreating it in the same breath to hook it around your cheek.

a string of profanities leave his lips. he's close, and you can tell by the way he begins to fuck into your face with a slight roughness. to guide him there, you begin to hollow your cheeks and narrow your throat, using a single hand to massage his thigh digging your nails into his skin.

he can feel you start to get riled up, and when you start to scratch and claw at his thighs for air, that does it for him. with a final, lazy thrust, he releases the entirety of his load down your throat, keeping you pressed down on him until he's sure every last bit has been spilled.

Pulling away slowly, your breathing uneven and filled with small coughs and hiccups, your hand rests on his scratched up thighs, Rafe looks at you with nothing but lust. Your swollen lips, your mascara staining your cheeks, his hand cupping your jaw to bring you close his nose brushing against yours as your heavy breathing mixes with his.

"You're so fucking beautiful" he grumbles as he presses his lips against yours harshly parting your lips with his tongue messily running yours against his. Slowly without breaking the kiss Rafe moves himself out of the chair, his own knees feeling a slight sting at the feeling. Guiding you down to your back as the kiss grows more hungry as he grinds his bare cock against your panties growing frustrated at the very little skin on skin contact, his hands settling on your upper thighs slither until his hands are underneath the fabric of your dress.

His fingers find the elastic band of your panties finally pushing them down your thighs and past your ankles where he recklessly tosses them out of his way to only who knows where. Your dress being the only obstacle left he pulls the zipper tugging your arms through the sleeves easily he damn near rips you dress off at the seems just to see your body in all its glory. He doesn't take his eyes off of you not even for a second his eyes follow every dip and curve with the most adoration one could hold in their gaze and it makes you feel warm.

His eyes rake over you from top to bottom as his eyes latch onto the sight of your thighs glistening in slick. He hissed through his teeth absentmindedly his hand gently travels between your thighs as his thumb presses between your slit making friction with your sensitive clit making you whine at the feeling. His hand leaving your body he takes his length into his own hand gripping himself.

"You look so good like this" He says as he presses his tip against your slit teasingly sliding against it as it makes a slick sound as your essence covers his tip and shaft, dipping his tip into your entrance Rafe sucks in a deep breath as he pushes into you groaning at the feeling of your tight walls enveloping his tip.

Pushing deeper inside you he lets out a moan "fuck you feel so good" he says as he catches his bottom lip in between his teeth. "You're so big" you gasp, feeling how good he filled you up to the brim as you feel him begin to slowly move. Rafe couldn't get enough of the sight as his cock disappeared inside you.

His cock buried deep inside you makes you moan and your nails into palms as your chest is pressed against the cold hard floor making your nipples perk and a shiver run down your spine; setting a pace for bouncing against him. The feeling of your velvety walls tightening around making him choke back a moan.

"Oh- god" you whisper shakily. His hands holding onto your hips guiding a pace, the soft sound of skin slapping with your small moans could be heard throughout the room.

A small sheen of sweat on your skin and your makeup smeared while your ass bounced on his cock it was addicting. "You like being fucked like this?" He asks as he bucks his hips into your sharply.

Moaning at his dirty words and sudden surge of confidence your head falls into your hands muffling your sweet voice Rafe's palm sharply smacks your ass "Answer me" he says groaning as he soothes the stinging feelings on your warm skin.

"Mhm, I want people to hear how good you fuck me" you say lifting your head from your hands as you bite your bottom lip hard as you hear how wet you are with each thrust he gave you. Rafe; eager to let his load off inside you, holds your hips stopping you from bouncing any longer and begins to thrust his hips into you harder. The feeling of his tip pushing at your cervix.

His hips piston into you as your thighs and ass jiggle at the repetitive thrusts "right there" You moan as you feel him pounding in a certain part of your walls. You tighten around him as your essence forms a white ring around the base of his dick.

"Just like that, I just want you to cum inside me" you babble mindlessly as his stomach churns at the words spewing out. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my cum?" he groans as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten and his death grip on the fat of your ass almost sending you over the edge if it wasn't for how hard he was pounding you.

You nod eagerly as you begin to alternate between grinding and bouncing, your nails drag against his inner thigh leaving behind a red and irritated trail- yet he didn't mind it as it pushed him closer to his orgasm.

Leaning down with his chest to your back Rafe presses his lips to yours moaning against each other's lips pushing you closer and closer. Your back arching even more as you move faster wanting to cum so badly "keep going. Don't stop" he groaned, letting his head fall back.

His hair messily pushed against his forehead as it was covered in sweat and his eyes rolled back "god I'm gonna cum" he says breathily as you grind back against him to meet his thrusts as the sticky sound of him pounding your sloppy pussy resides in the air of the locker room.

The room was warm and all you could care about was how good your best friend was fucking you. "You like having an audience to be fucked like a slut in front of huh?" He says as he grips onto your hips harder to stop your movement as he pounds into a spongy part of your walls.

His hair sticking to his forehead and his breath becoming heavier "I love being fucked like a slut" you rasp as you hear his breathy laugh at your words desperate to feel release "good" he says as he fucks into you harder. "Tell me how much of a slut you are" he groans as his nails dig into your hips, "I'm such a fucking slut for you, god I'm your cockslut" you whine as his thrusts are deeper and sharp it has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Pulling your back to his chest hitting an angle inside you that made you see white as your ass bounced into his lap your hands desperately thrash to grip your own thigh as a result of overwhelming pleasure.. "Oh fuck- just like that, You're gonna make me cum" he moaned deeply into the nape of your neck.

Letting out a string of whines you clench harder "I'm close" he moaned as he began to twitch inside you, his words buzzing in your ears making you grind against him eagerly "please let me cum" you beg as you turn your head over your shoulder to look at Rafe who was absolutely pussy drunk on the feeling of you.

"You gonna cum?" he asks as his hand falls between your thighs, his fingers press against your clit "You gonna fucking cum?" he asks rhetorically as his words slur, you nod as your breathing becomes uneven "do it" he says pushing you back down into the cold ground roughly gripping your hips and you were sure it would leave bruises his eyes roll back as he feels how you clench around him and let your orgasm washes over you, with a few more hard thrusts he would also be tipping over the edge to his orgasm moaning as his thick white strings of cum fills you up leaving your body feeling warm and fuzzy.

Fucking you both through your highs your thighs clench shut as overstimulation creeps up on you your moans began to come out choked which makes Rafe slow down his pace until his hips were no longer moving against yours.

Pulling out you both hiss, as his cum drips down your thigh Rafe chuckles at the sight almost wanting to use his fingers to fuck his cum back inside you but deems you're too fucked out. He pulls away completely standing on shaky legs walking off to the bathroom to grab a clean towel wet with warm water to clean you off. You breathe heavily, almost too lazy to pick yourself up looking at the mirror perched against the wall seeing how your face was most likely in it.

Your actions finally sink in. You hear the footsteps near you, Rafe walks back into the locker room he wipes you off rubbing small soothing circles into your thighs he wipes you down clean. Rafe would be sure you were getting treatment you deserve even if it wasn't in the most romantic place.

After he takes care of you can hear "I'm sorry if I was being too rough," he says softly as he looks at you with soft eyes "don't worry about it. I like that stuff anyways" you say with a chuckle you roll over onto your side you look at your best friend "it felt good. No need to be sorry" you say waving him off. Rafe sighs in content, almost nervous that he had hurt you or took too much of his anger out on you.

"Get up, you need a shower before we go back to the hotel" he says rubbing your sore thighs. You bite back a groan as you think about actually having to leave your spot on the ground. Your body feeling sticky and covered in sweat, You cave sitting up. You press your hand to your sore back thinking about how harshly your back had been pushed against it. Rafe holds a hand out to you as he coaxes you into a warm shower.

You hadn't thought about the fall out of the matter, you have in fact slept with your best friend, the person you live with, and spend every day with. You had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow but you didn't let that thought sink in that much as well when Rafe's more intimate with you, the lingering touches, the small pecks on your lips as he washes you up with the soap he had packed in his bag. The smell of him washes over you as you let all of your thoughts wash away with the soapy water down the drain of the shower.

You'd just have to worry about it another time.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Liminal Jason part 3

For those of you that saw the blip earlier, when I tried to post this but it broke cause it was too long, here is the real thing. Masterpost for earlier parts.

Sorry again. And slight tw for panic attack

Jason woke up slowly, taking in his surroundings as he adjusted to being awake. It was quiet, and a little humid. He was on a bed, could feel the sheets beneath him, and he wasn’t restrained at all. There was a moment of confusion, because when you wake up after being attacked like that you usually end up dead or a hostage. There was a creeping realization dawning in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. He opened his eyes, not wanting his suspicions to be true. But he was in a holding cell in the cave, and he realized what must have happened. Then he was pissed. 

He let out a growl, pushing to sit up on the bed. He thought they were doing better. He thought his family trusted him again. His growl was angry, foreboding, telling of the danger and anger in his thoughts. But his head was pounding from the sedative. They knew he hated needles. Hated drugs. Why would they do this to him, trick him like this when they knew how he felt about it. The haze in his head, making his thoughts heavy, and doing nothing but reminding him of all the harm drugs have done to the people around him. He stopped growling, hoping the quiet would help. Much less angry, the clouds in his head starting to make him sad and breathless. He hopes the effects wear off soon. He can’t focus. There is something important that he is missing. He is forgetting something, the spiral of his thoughts and emotions starting to lean towards hysteria. He’s alone. Trapped and alone, mind heavy with fog. He can’t think, why is he stuck here? His breath starts coming faster, increasing while his heart starts to race. He tries to keep quiet, and calm down. A whimper escapes him as he finds a corner and slides down the wall. Then he heard a keen. Close, probably coming from one of the other cells. The sound cuts through the haze. Important, a strike of clarity hitting him with a pulse as he remembers the kid. There was a kid with him. 

Danny. Jason hears him call out again, a sharp keen of panic-confusion, and Jason needs to help him. Jason stumbles up, leaning on the wall for support. He heads towards the door, but he was familiar with how the cells worked. He reached it and of course it was locked. He attempted to manually override, but the pad inside the cell was locked down. The cell can only be opened once someone on the inside clears whoever is inside it. Created for instances where one of them has been incapacitated by a new strain of fear gas, or a new Ivy concoction. To hold someone until an antidote can be created. There was no getting out of here before the other came by. 

Hopefully, they’re on their way now, seeing him awake on the cameras. Jason has some choice words to be had about his situation, angry seething inside him as the panic from earlier recedes. 

Danny lets out another keen, breathy and biting and Jason hears him start to panic. Jason still has to do what he can. He can’t reach him, but he can try and calm him down. They’re in this together, and Jason is going to do whatever he can for the kid. He let out a rumble, steady and calm in response to Danny’s cries. His rumble is filled with annoyance, but still said okay-here-safe. 

Danny is silent for a moment before he hums back a confused-trust. It’s closer, louder, like Danny has moved to be right on the other side of the wall from Jason. This kid, who just had his world destroyed, came here alone and afraid, and he trusts Jason. Screw yelling at the Bats. Danny needs him, and priority one is getting Danny to a place he can feel safe. 

A soft churring sound leaves Jason, sweet and caring, and Jason hopes the kid knows that he is going to do everything he can for him. Then Jason hears Danny let out a short purr, a quiet susurration, that ends as quickly as it starts. Jason is stunned by how much faith Danny is putting in him. How much Jason cares for this boy he just met. 

The bats can pry this boy out from his cold, dead hands.