#not necessarily a championship

[valyrfia]

Max knows Charles is leagues above Carlos. The moment he saw a Ferrari show up in the P3 spot and realized it was Carlos, it wasn't a "oh, I guess Carlos did a good job" nope it was "well if Carlos is here, something bad must have happened to Charles, there's no way there's a Ferrari up here and it's not him??"

Like if he's asking "what happened to Charles?" in the cooldown room, that implies that he thinks something happened to Charles, and Charles wasn't just slower than Carlos, because to Max that is just clearly impossible.

It’s a pretty well-documented fact that the only drivers that Max rates as on his level on the current grid are Lewis and Charles, so I think he’s pretty shocked when either Carlos or George turn up to the cooldown room instead because in his head either something went wrong with the car or something went wrong in the team.

I will say as well for an extra (non-Lestappen) layer of context that could have Max picking a side in the Charlos civil war—Carlos WAS Max’s first F1 teammate (Versainz holding hands on a track walk you will always be famous) so I’m sure that Max is intimately aware of both Carlos’s talents relative to his own (and therefore, Charles’s) and also the ruthlessness of the Carlos camp (it’s an open secret that vibes were rancid at 2015 Torro Rosso). Max has more of a bone to pick with Carlos than the rest of the lecfosi, so it’s little surprise that he’s engaged in psychological warfare with the Sainz camp as soon as he could this season.

[batsplat]

a very much plausible scenario played out in my head, where acosta and works ktm are a potent mix contending for a title, and pecco would usually have his terrible season start with marc asserting himself as primary rider to fight acosta. that would, perhaps, mean ducati will team order their reigning world champion pecco. it would be preferable for ktm to still not quite be there and prepared to take on the challenge, as i’d like to see how marc and pecco match up when they have only the two of them to worry about, but, hey, i’ll take what the season will give me!

the thing about ducati and team orders, right, is that usually they have five existential crises and try to powerfully hint to riders that they would like them to team order themselves and then have another existential crisis or twelve and are so terrified of the whole thing becoming a discourse point that... they're actually really bad at issuing them. like, yes, in an ideal world they'd like everyone to back their preferred challenger, but in reality it was usually up to the individual riders in both 2017 and 2022 whether they played ball. there were definitely late 2022 races where ducati riders caused pecco some real trouble, and the ones who most clearly made way for him on-track were ones who actually wanted him to win the title (aka his fellow academy riders). in 2017, they tried team orders in three races, and it didn't really do much to help dovi in a single one of those. the great thing about team orders is that you can just... ignore them. also, and this part is key - they only really happen late in the season. pecco has been through some very crazy championship fights by this point and he won't believe he's out of it until he's mathematically out of it. so, yeah, this would really only be relevant at the end of the year

quite honestly, even if this scneario does pan out and you get marc taking on acosta for the title, I really struggle to see a world in which pecco helps out marc's championship bid. I mean, you'd have to have a close title fight at the end of the season between those two (or indeed marquez v martin), and if marc's so clear of pecco on that ducati then I kind of doubt it's going to come to that. also, ducati will do obscene amounts of hand wringing before they come close to issuing an explicit public-ish instruction to pecco beyond 'try not to crash into your teammate'. and even if it did come to that... I think at most pecco does a lorenzo and plays lip service to the idea that under very specific circumstances he'd help marc, but they're specific enough that they just won't happen. and even if they did, he wouldn't help marc anyway lol. it'd be funny if you got to a situation where ducati does feel they need to ask him but. yeah. no. pecco's not doing it

[vro0m]

I think it was just a difference in engine covers, not the engine itself. I saw someone say on twitter that it wouldn’t make a huge difference in lap times though.

I think Lewis just still lacks confidence in this car and therefore can’t put it to its very limits at most tracks, which of course shows most clearly during quali. When he said he needs to work on his quali performance, I personally did not expect him to fix it by the next race or the race after that. I’m sure it’s a difficult process to figure out why the consistency isn’t there at the moment and how to fix it. Because it’s also not like he’s completely unlearned how to put a stunning lap together, he did get Merc’s only pole this year after all

Yeah that's what we talked about during the last gp. But I still feel like there's a setup issue to be fixed before he can do anything about the confidence. He still seems not to understand the car at all, when he talks about it after the facts.

You're right that it's not gonna be fixed from one race to the next. I'm being impatient, because it annoys me.

And yeah I don't think it has much if anything to do with his form. The issue is with the car and the setup for me. It can then impact is confidence, but the confidence is not the root of the issue imo.

[cowboykakashi]

Cannot BELIEVE it’s Ben O’Keefe reffing our final game AGAIN doesn’t WR have other refs

[loaksky]

— come a little closer

hockey jock!vi x tutor!reader, fluff / humor / angst / kinda slowburn / smut (18+ mdni!), wc: 16k+ [buckle your seatbelts bc i could not shut the fuck up about vi if i wanted to !]

synopsis: you’re many things; an exemplary student, quiet and well-mannered, loved immensely by those who bother to get to know you, but most importantly, the newfound object of superstar athlete vi’s every affection. or, in other words, hockey jock!vi is lowkey a loser, atrociously down bad, and will stop at nothing to make you hers.

content warnings: language (duh), brief mentions of familial issues, latent insecurity, miscommunication & lack of communication, kissing, groping, SEX! mdni, seriously, i’ll THROW UP!, more specifically fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), spitting, makeup sex idk, just good old fashioned lesbian BANGING! also! jazz cabbage, lets pretend for the sake of this au that student athlete’s don’t get tested bc i NEED hockey jock!vi to hotbox reader PLS.

fic soundtrack: i could imagine —alina baraz /snooze — sza /tonight — summer walker / pressure — james vickery + sg lewis / wish that i could — umi

author’s note: of course it’d be arcane s2 that resurrects me from my almost yearlong hiatus...pls enjoy this fic even though i’m pretty rusty; she’s been cooking in the drafts for weeks T-T i’ll be answering some (very long overdue) asks and chatting with you guys <3 and finally, this shit is barely proofread bc my brain is fried lol

main masterlist | arcane masterlist

VI HAS A HUGE PROBLEM.

One that supersedes every issue she’d ever given weight to in all of her four (and a half) years of university. Is way larger than twice-a-day practices on and off the ice that go hand-in-hand with studying so hard to make sure that her grades don’t slip a fraction. Probably way bigger than the fact that her little sister’s graduating high school soon and she’s trying her absolute best to be as great a role model as she can despite wanting to crack under the pressure. And most definitely bigger than her favorite on-again-off-again fling, Cait Kiramann, who’s rare to come by these days.

Vi has a huge problem, and quite frankly, it’s you.

In hindsight, she’s been relatively good at overlooking you, not that it’d been intentional to begin with, but Vi knows a lot of people. Too many, she feels sometimes. So it's easy for you to slip through the cracks when everyone’s vying for even a shred of her attention.

Perhaps it’s what piques her interest when your orbits finally do collide. Because, admittedly, you know all about Vi. Know that she’s probably one of the most valuable players on the uni’s hockey team (she’s an absolute beast on the ice). Also know that she’s a biomedical physics major and actually incredibly smart. But most of all, you know that not only is Violet a flirt, she’s a player.

Not necessarily that you’ve ever really been on the receiving end, but mostly because her reputation precedes her and you’ve seen it all from a distance. Can't not when the decorated hockey star is such a charmer whether she intends to be or not. Vi has girls both certain and questioning stumbling for a single glance.

You often think it’s pitiful, but it’s not like it’s really your problem.

Until it is.

It all starts at The Afterparty.

Hours after a big victory in the first game of three that solidifies whether the university hockey team participates in the championships, Violet is the star of tonight’s celebration.

She’d sunk the winning shot, and for that she’s being poured shot after celebratory shot. By eleven she’s practically hammered and it’s when her teammate, Ellie, and the captain, Abby, finally show up.

The three of them together, drunk, is like a minefield of obnoxious laughter, dirty innuendos, and rowdy behavior.

And for a while it’s funny, has Vi feeling like she’s on cloud nine, but eventually, the drunken high begins to evaporate and she starts to feel a little overwhelmed.

The spotlight shifts and even though Vi typically preens under the attention, she’s grateful to finally breathe.

With a plastic cup full of water, she’s sliding the back door open and stepping out onto the back patio to take in the cool air for a breather.

She makes a move towards the stairs, but nearly jumps out of her skin when she registers the silhouette at the base of the steps.

“Jesus, fuck,” Vi hisses to herself. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You don’t even spare her a glance over your shoulder, just take a sip from your drink.

“Sorry,” you hum passively.

She catches her breath, doesn’t even bother to ask permission as she drops all of her weight next to you.

The step creaks under pure muscle.

Her strong legs stretch out, elbows settling back against the step up as she waits. And waits. And waits.

The amount of silence that lapses is unusual, uncharacteristic for Vi, especially so because people are typically babbling enough to fill the void when it comes to her.

But you just sit there, nursing your beer and staring up at the stars. The moon hangs half in the sky, softly illuminating the planes of your features.

It’s her first good look at your face and Vi’s definitely drunk, but the immediate thought that comes to her mind is pretty, pretty, pretty. Undeniably and painfully pretty. And not Caitlyn pretty, the only girl she’s ever really used as a benchmark, but intimidatingly so in your own right. Makes her swallow hard, throat bobbing as she watches you unapologetically.

“It’s rude to stare, Violet,” you say simply, eyes finally flitting to meet hers.

Her breath catches in her throat, earthy flecks dancing in your moonlit irises. God, your eyes. Framed by thick lashes and round as you look up at her.

“You know who I am?” she asks stupidly as if point fives of her face aren’t blown up into memes and plastered all over the house.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask, breathing a puff of humorless laughter as you crush the can in your ringed fingers.

And perhaps you got her there, but Vi’s feeling exceptionally small under your gaze despite usually filling out a room. Something about you makes her shrink.

“I— fuck,” Vi stumbles, cheeks red because you’re looking at her with an indecipherable gleam in your gaze that has her squirming. “What’s your name?”

She cringes at herself, rolls the piercing in her nose once, twice, for comfort.

You laugh again, a little more genuine this time because, from a distance, the athlete’s usually so suave, undeniably gorgeous and composed. Right now, the girl in front of you only ticks one of those boxes.

“________,” you offer.

She weighs the name on her tongue, decides she likes it a lot, and tries to shake off whatever this feeling you’re giving her is.

“And you go to school here?” she asks.

You nod once.

“Neuroscience, fourth year.”

“Huh, we’re in similar fields, but I’ve never seen you around,” Vi observes. Because she’s certain she’d bookmark a face like yours, absolutely no doubt about it.

“We had organic chemistry together sophomore year with Dr. Talis,” you say matter-of-factly, like you’re not blowing her mind right now. “And I’m auditing Medarda’s biometry class this semester.”

Vi’s floored.

“Wait, wait, but...” She’s trying to piece the puzzle together, but her brain’s still a little fuzzy, equal parts from the alcohol, but also because she’s caught a whiff of your perfume and you smell so sweet.

“I pop in every once in a while,” you tell her. “But I tutor in that time slot every Tuesday and Thursday, only really go when I don’t have any appointments.”

“Hold on, this is nuts,” Violet says, body easing to face you. You flinch because she doesn’t realize she’s practically yelling. “There’s no way, I definitely would’ve remembered you if that was the case.”

You hum, corners of your lips quirking as you shrug your shoulders.

“Doubt it,” you counter. “I’m nothing particularly spectacular.”

“Nothing particularly spectacular,” Vi repeats under her breath.

And under normal circumstances, she’d be flirting up a storm right now, trying to charm her way into getting you to bite, but this is one of the first semblances of normalcy she’s experienced in a while. No ulterior motives, no exaggerated kindness, no outright asking her to fuck.

Suddenly your phone lights up in your lap and you’re turning your attention to the device.

“DD duties call,” is all you say as you make a move to stand up.

No, this can’t be all she gets from you tonight. Not when she’s been narrowly missing someone like you for the past four years and you’re just now coming to light.

The dormant liquid courage bubbles and Vi’s gently grabbing your wrist to pull you to a stop.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she asks, steely eyes liquid as she stares up at you.

You eye the scar on her lip, gaze lingering there before flitting to meet hers.

“Maybe.”

Vi decides that she needs to see you again.

You’d left her with crumbs this past Friday night and she’d spent the better part of the weekend trying (and failing) to cross paths with you again.

“Jesus, you’re down bad,” Ellie chuffs Monday morning on their walk to the campus coffee shop.

“You don’t understand,” Vi defends. “She’s so...so...”

“So?”

“Different, I dunno,” Vi sighs, fiddling with the strap of her backpack as they walk. “We didn’t even talk about much, but that was the most normal I’ve felt around someone in a while.”

Her teammate snorts.

“Probably the gayest thing I’ve heard you say,” Ellie deadpans. “She isn’t immediately trying to munch and you’re already in love. Pathetic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Vi scoffs as they approach the coffee shop, inside packed full with half-functioning college students so early in the morning. “Trust me, if you met her, you’d—”

The words die in her throat because halle-fucking-lujah, the universe or god, or whatever has answered her every prayer this past weekend as she clocks you a few paces ahead in line.

Ellie follows her friend’s line of vision to find exactly what she’s staring at and she lets out a low whistle when her gaze finds your frame.

From a completely aesthetic standpoint, she can see why Vi’s immediately hooked.

“Hah,” she makes a noise in her throat. “Okay, so maybe it makes sense.”

Vi can’t help but stare because, if it were possible, you were far prettier under the warm lighting of the cafe’s ambiance. The curls of your hair frame your face beautifully and it’s so fucking cute how focused you are on your phone.

“Hate to break it to you, though. That girl’s way out of your league,” Ellie says like it’s common knowledge.

“Wow, way to boost my ego,” Vi mutters drily.

“Just being realistic,” Ellie argues. “If you bag her, she’s easily the hottest girl you’ve been with.”

And Vi can’t really contest that, not when the proof’s in the fucking pudding.

Her body’s moving of its own accord and before she can register her own actions, she’s mumbling quiet s’cuse me’s under her breath as she squeezes between patrons to close a bruised hand over your shoulder.

You nearly jump out of your skin, fumbling with your phone as an earbud falls out.

“Shit, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Vi says quickly.

Your gaze snaps to her, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly before your expression settles.

“Violet,” you acknowledge.

And she realizes that she didn’t really have a game plan coming up to you so abruptly. Had been so focused on actually just seeing you again, that she hadn’t thought through the rest of it.

The way you stare up at her is thoroughly disarming because she doesn’t have the shield of night or alcoholic courage to carry her through it.

“Can I help you?” you ask, but not unkindly.

“Oh, uh, I...” She chances a glance over her shoulder to find that Ellie is watching her from a few customers away, eyebrow cocked and smirk testing. She word vomits before she can think of a coherent thought. “You mentioned tutoring...the last time we talked.”

You don’t even bat an eye.

“I did.”

“You’re also auditing Medarda’s biometry class.”

“I am.”

“I’m...I’m not really doing too hot in Medarda’s right now,” Vi says, brain nearly short-circuiting and freezing up because, lie! She’s doing phenomenally in Medarda’s session and, truthfully, she’s just downright scared to ask you to hang out.

Especially when you look up at her like that.

You shift and she’s swallowing down around nothing.

“Hmm, can’t have that, can we?” you hum.

Vi could melt.

“No,” she breathes out a laugh. “Can’t.”

“You can sign up for a slot through the library’s website,” you say after you weigh the thought.

Vi’s pausing, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“So I can get paid?” you fill in.

“Oh, right,” Vi chokes. “Right.”

You give her a soft smile before plugging your earbud back in, leaving Vi to rejoin her obviously amused friend.

“You’re fucking joking!”

The librarian gives you and your incredulous roommate a look from the circulation desk and you return it with a sheepish smile from where you’re tucked by a wall of looming floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Maddie,” you whisper.

“You’re telling me that The Violet asked you personally to tutor her?” Maddie asks you, leaned over the tabletop with wide eyes.

“Yeah, cornered me at Brew House this morning and asked me to tutor her in Medarda’s class.”

“Just that?” she asks. “Nothing else?”

You look around in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah?” you scoff. “What else would she want?”

“What else would she— are you serious?” Maddie leans back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she gives you a plain look. “You know all about Vi, you’re actually gonna play stupid?”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes. “You’ve seen the girls Violet’s fucked, right? Kiramann? The blonde from the tennis team? She’s got a type and you know it.”

It’s Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes and you see the exasperated groan she’s staving off.

“None of that self-deprecating bullshit—”

“It’s not self-deprecating!” you argue. “Not everyone wants to fuck Violet, Maddie. Put me in the number one spot.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t start.”

“All I’m saying is that anyone with eyes can see that Vi’s hot as fuck. That being said, you’re also hot as fuck. Not only that, but rumor has it, she gives the most toe-curling—”

You’re rolling your eyes again, gaze fluttering out the window momentarily only to find that, speak of the devil, Violet’s approaching the library with a skip in her step.

Maddie stops her spiel to trace your gaze and nearly falls out of her seat when she finds the object of your conversation is advancing, fast.

“No fucking way,” you whisper to yourself, pulling up your tutoring log on your tablet to find that, yup, Violet has most-definitely taken your advice and signed up for a tutoring slot.

If the time reads correctly, you’ve got three minutes before she’s due to be taking Maddie’s seat.

Your friend is grinning at you mischievously, stuffing her backpack quickly to vacate the space across from you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoff, slumping back in your seat.

“Tell me how it goes,” she giggles, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands.

“Maddie,” you warn.

“Love you, see you at home!”

Violet’s strolling into the library just as Maddie leaves through the other doors and try as you might make yourself small in the open air near the research center, her gaze falls on you as soon as she enters.

“Hey,” she breathes once breaches your vicinity.

“Hi.”

A moment lapses before you’re nodding towards the seat before you.

“We can get started whenever you’re ready.”

Right. Right! Vi’s mentally cringing, pulling the chair out with a squeak and dropping onto the worn cushion.

Her eyes are locked, watching as you pull the biometry textbook from your little messenger bag.

“Any particular areas you’re struggling in?” you ask, flipping to a clean sheet of paper in your notepad and clicking open your pen.

Vi combs her brain, tries to think of anything she’s not really grasping in Medarda’s class, but she’s been acing all the exams with flying colors, so she spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Logistic regression, probably,” she answers.

“In relation to...?” You tilt your head and Vi’s breath is hitching.

“The Confusion Matrix,” she answers, even though she knows all about it.

It’s only when you start breaking it down from the bare bones that she realizes that she could listen to you talk for-probably-ever.

You obviously have a great understanding of the subject if the way you deconstruct the relationship between sensitivity and specificity (or whatever the fuck) is anything to go by, and she doesn’t realize that she hasn’t even blinked until you’re glancing up at her.

“Am I making any sense?” you ask softly, taking in the almost confused look on Violet’s face.

“Huh?”

Vi snaps out of it, cheeks coloring pink when she notes the way you straighten in your seat.

“Am I going too fast?”

“No, no!’ Vi practically shouts before chancing an embarrassed gaze around the library to find a few wandering eyes. She clears her throat and tries to relax. “No, you’re doing great. I get it.”

You don’t seem convinced, but the faster you get through the material, the faster Violet can leave and you can finally catch your breath.

Because maybe Maddie’s a little right. That while you know, one hundred percent, without-a-doubt, that you and Violet are cut from two different cloths and that you ultimately won’t mesh, there’s still a sliver of want that settles somewhere confined in the pit of your gut.

You don’t know how long you continue before you notice that sun has begun to set in the horizon, but Vi’s effort is unwavering. She’s probably on her tenth practice problem by now and so far, she’s only flubbed once.

You decide to fold your cards first.

“O-kay,” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your hands shut so tight your knuckles crack. “This is a good stopping point, don’t you think?”

No, Vi could keep going forever if it meant hearing you talk all night, but the little G-shock wristwatch winks the time and she realizes that the two of you have been going at it for going on two hours and you’re probably exhausted.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long,” Vi says sheepishly. “Thanks a lot for your help, I...”

You look up from where you’re shuffling your papers together, pausing when she hesitates.

“I really appreciate you. I know you probably help dozens of people every week and—”

She stops talking when she sees you crack what seems to be the first genuine smile she could get out of you since Friday.

“It’s my job, Violet,” you tell her. “I’m happy to help.”

And she’d done well enough during the tutoring session, had a successful run with the practice problems. You were confident it was just a one and done. Perhaps served as a review for the upcoming exam Medarda had posted on the class page.

But then you see her name in the final time slot on Thursday, don’t really think much of it until you’re tabbing to next week’s schedule for shits and giggles. Tuesday and Thursday are booked through again, her name highlighted in yellow.

You minimize the calendar and pull up the aggregate schedule only to find that every 4 o’clock slot every Tuesday and Thursday’s been booked until the end of the semester.

You refresh for good measure.

“Oh, you’re so shitting me.”

You don’t know what kind of joke this is, if Violet thinks that this is funny, but you’re not amused.

Especially when you’re stalking all the way to the athletic hall, ignoring the wolfish stares from shameless student athletes to whip into the women’s hockey team’s reserved conditioning space.

You find her benching near the center of the room, Abigail Anderson spotting her while the rest of the team engages in various workouts and exercises.

A hush ripples over the weight room as you approach the hockey star, standing at the end of the bench where her knees are bent. One of Abigail Anderson’s eyebrows quirk up as you stand there with your hands on your hips and you hope the chill that runs down your spine as she checks you out doesn’t visibly vibrate your body.

When the barbell nearly crushes Vi’s chest on her last rep, Abby’s quick to help her re-rack and takes the biggest step back as Vi sits up.

Her expression falls and her face pales when she locks eyes with you, your features severe and gaze stony.

“Oh, hey,” she squeaks.

Truthfully, she hadn’t really pinned you as the type to be confrontational. Thought she’d have enough time to build a strong enough story as to why she booked out all of your tutoring sessions when in actuality she panicked when Ellie started grilling the fuck out of her about being a fucking pussy and begging her to just ask you out.

“You have some explaining to do, Violet.”

And she should definitely be embarrassed, not at all turned on, but she can’t help it as she gulps. Because when you stand before her like this, she can easily admit that she’d die for a private version of the view.

The silence in the weight room is palpable and you want to back down, but if this is some running joke and Vi’s going to make a show of humiliating you in front of her teammates, then you’d give her a show.

“Violet.”

Someone in the back snickers, another whistles, and Vi’s cheeks go red.

She’s standing, sweaty hands closing around your biceps as she spins you around and quickly guides you out of the conditioning room and out of her teammates’ line of ogling sight.

“V—”

“I’m sorry,” Violet splutters. “I’m just not really confident in Medarda’s class right now and I don’t trust myself to study alone, plus you’re a really good tutor and—”

“You do realize that those tutoring sessions are added to your tuition, right?” you ask incredulously. “It’s fifteen dollars an hour.”

Vi’s smile is crooked.

“That’s what my scholarship’s for,” she grins.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” you try again. “I feel that before an exam for a little refresh is fair, but this would be like relearning the material after every class, all over again.”

“If it’s taught by you, I’ll take it,” Vi says quickly, and you pause because what does she mean by that?

You don’t really have much rebuttal left even though you’d marched up here with a fire under your ass. Vi’s looking down at you with a softened edge in her gaze and she’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants and sweat-soaked grey tank that reveals swathes of ink that curls up her arms and disappears under the fabric of her shirt.

She breathes out a small laugh when she notices the way your eyes dance.

“Anymore concerns, cupcake?”

Your gaze snaps to hers and her grin widens when she sees you fidget, little pet name obviously eliciting a semblance of a reaction from you.

“N-No,” you stammer.

“Great, see you tomorrow?“

You swallow.

“Okay,” you agree. “See you tomorrow.”

Violet pops into the library at four on the dot.

Her hair’s wet from an obvious shower and you smell her, warm like honey and cedar as she takes the seat across from you.

“Afternoon, cupcake,” she greets, slinging her backpack into the seat next to her.

You give her a warning look, but she just flashes you a toothy smile and nods towards the opened biometry textbook before you.

“What’s the lesson today, Teach?”

And this feels an awful lot like mocking, but you can’t be sure, not when Vi’s been somewhat respectful, sweet even.

“What do you know about the the sigmoid function?” you probe.

“Jack shit,” she laughs.

And maybe you’d find it endearing if the entirety of the situation wasn’t still absolutely mindfucking you at moment.

“Can I ask you something, Violet?” you ask, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms to level her with as an intimidating look as you can.

“Sure, anything.”

“Are you messing with me?” you ask. “Is this some joke you and your friends are playing? Because I can’t really think of an outcome that would be funny.”

And you’d like to say that the look of horror on Violet’s face is consolation enough, but you know how being loved and being popular can make people act sometimes.

Vi contemplates telling you the truth, that she’s too chickenshit to ask you out, that getting close to you in any other way scares the fuck out of her. That maybe getting you to tutor her will segue into some form of friendship that’ll allow her to ease her way in. And maybe she’s going about it the hard way, but maybe Vi also likes a challenge.

“No jokes, just bad at statistics,” she says weakly.

You’re silent for way longer than comfort allows before you turn your attention to the textbook and Vi’s letting out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s holding.

“Fine,” you give in. “Let’s talk about sigmoid function and practice some applications...”

Vi’s happy to listen, goes through your preselected practice problems with ease (and maybe fucks up a value or two here and there to really sell her need for you). But the sun’s going down again, and it’s nearing six when Vi folds her hand this time around.

It comes in the form of her stomach grumbling in the emptying library and she looks up at you in embarrassment as you crack the first smile of the evening.

“Hungry?” you ask.

“Starving,” she replies dramatically, leaning so far back in her seat, her knees bump yours under the table.

Your toes curl at the contact, heart skipping when she doesn’t make a move to reposition herself.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, eyes looking everywhere but yours.

“Not since breakfast,” you admit.

“You like pizza?”

“Only the good kind,” you challenge.

“Beautiful,” Vi hums, shuffling her papers into her textbook and chucking it back into her bookbag. “I know the best place.”

Valentino’s is a hole-in-the-wall right outside of campus, a short walk from the library that Violet leverages as a way to get to know you outside of being lectured about statistical curves and correlation.

“Did you grow up around here?” Vi asks once the waiter sets two glasses of water down between the two of you.

You shake your head.

“No, grew up on the east coast and decided I needed a break from my life there,” you admit easily.

It’s almost as if the facade of professionalism fades away, melting to reveal you.

Vi’s desperate for more.

“As in?”

You look at her for a moment, wonder if you should divulge because you’re not really sure if Vi would get it, but she watches you like she’s hanging onto every single word you say, so you’re spilling.

“My dad died when I was little, left me and three other siblings with my Mom,” you offer. “And I love my siblings. Love my mom. She’s been a great parent, better than great actually, but most of our family disowned me when I came out and it was easier to run away than to deal with it.”

Violet’s expression falls, a furrow settling deep between her brows.

“Wow, I’m, uh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” she says, and she sounds sincere. A long moment lapses before she’s adding, “for what it’s worth, I think that’s very brave of you.”

And you seem a little surprised at the sentiment.

“Thanks.” You smile. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

Vi could turn to goo in this dimly lit booth, stained-glass wall sconce casting a warm glow over your pretty face.

“You—” She sniffs, changes the subject because she doesn’t know if she can do this on an empty stomach. “You like pineapple on your pizza?”

“Oh yeah,” you confirm proudly. “It’s a hill I’ll die on, I’m not sorry.”

“God, marry me now.”

She doesn’t realize she says it out loud until you’re bursting into a fit of laughter on your side of the booth.

“So this is something we can agree on?” you ask, head tilting in the way that makes Vi want to grab your face and taste you.

“Oh yeah,” she parrots instead. “One hundred percent.”

Valentino’s becomes routine just as much as Vi seeing you at four every Tuesday and Thursday becomes routine. It’s always after the Thursday session (because they have a three dollar slice from 6 to close) that you and Vi cram yourselves in the same booth near the kitchen and giggle over half a Hawaiian pizza.

“...And my little sister blew up her science project in the fourth grade—”

You choke on your bite, eyes wide as Violet recalls Powder’s little mishap that sent the entire gymnasium evacuating despite the tiniest fire.

“Now she’s about graduate and start school for chemical engineering,” she says, obviously proud.

“She seems like a smart girl,” you observe, if the countless stories Violet shares with you is anything to go by.

You figure being related to someone as great as the new friend you’ve made also speaks for itself.

“The smartest,” she agrees. “I’m proud of her.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you too,” you assure her. “You’re a good big sister.”

And it’s in these moments that Vi realizes that she’s in far, far deeper than she initially gave stock. Because these past few weeks, she realizes that there’s a lot more to your big brain and your pretty face. You’re an attentive listener, way funnier than she could have anticipated, and just a lot more laid back than you let on.

That much she finds out after the two of you graduate from emailing with silly sign-offs to exchanging phone numbers and texting. It starts off rather irregular, a coffee order here and there, maybe a TikTok that Vi swears is funny, you just have to watch it all the way through! But then she starts texting you when she’s bored, when she’s in class, before practice, after. Even pops the question that’s been niggling at her since she met you: on a scale from 1 - 10 how down are you to smoke?

Like cigarettes?

no, weed, dummy.

Oh. Hmm. 7. 10 if I’m drunk.

She could not wipe the smile from her face even if she tried.

And then she gets the invite.

Ellie swears it’s her in.

“Jesus Christ if you even consider me a friend, you’ll bang,” Ellie calls from the couch.

“It’s just tutoring,“ Vi argues.

“Yeah, at her place,” she scoffs. “At least test the waters, maybe cop a feel.”

“You’re a pig,” Vi snorts, making sure her laptop and all of the worksheets Medarda’s assigned over the course of the week is in her backpack.

“You’ve been wet dreaming over this girl for months.”

“Fuck all the way off.” Vi’s face warms because her best friend isn’t necessarily wrong.

You’re too hot for your own good, but you don’t even know it and Vi thinks she could die sometimes. Especially when you wear your favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug the swell of your ass just right. Or swipe on that shimmery lipgloss she swears makes your mouth look edible.

If you were willing, Vi would be all over you, but thinking about taking advantage of the fact that you trust her enough to invite her into your space feels a little grimy.

“Whatever, bang, don’t bang,” Ellie says nonchalantly. “Blueball yourself for all I care.”

Vi rolls her eyes, slings her bag over her shoulder before sliding on her shoes and leaving her friend on the couch with a resounding click.

You live off-campus, maybe a ten minute drive, in a cozy little complex near the suburbs. Your roommate, Maddie, a chipper blonde with a bob, is all too eager to leave when Vi arrives.

“Hi, sorry we couldn’t meet anywhere else,” you apologize as you let her into your space. “Even if the library wasn’t closed, the vet said I have to monitor Pip for the next 48 hours.”

Vi raises a brow.

“My cat,” you clarify.

“Oh.” Vi doesn’t know why she suddenly feels like she’s intruding as she hesitantly toes off her shoes and follows you down the hall.

But she does take the opportunity to take you in in all your glory; all cozy and cuddly in an oversized sweatshirt, plaid pajama shorts and mismatched egg socks.

Cute. So fucking cute.

You spare her a glance over your shoulder and she’s clearing her throat.

“We don’t have to have a session tonight," she says, stopping at the threshold of the living room. “I would’ve understood if you had to cancel.”

You shake your head, give her a soft smile that has her knees feel like jelly.

“S’okay,” you assure her. “A promise is a promise.”

And you do start off studying, shoulder to shoulder in front of your coffee table, but then Pip crawls from his little hiding spot under the TV console to curiously nose along Vi’s feet and she’s a goner.

“He’s so sweet,” she practically wails as he paws at her thigh and nudges against her arm so that he can climb into her lap.

You warm at the sight, can’t help but snap a picture, much to Violet’s dismay.

“Stop,” she laughs. “That picture can’t see the light of day.”

“Why?” you whine, making a show of climbing onto your wooden coffee table to get a funny top down photo of the hockey star with your cat. “You and Pip look so cute together.”

She feigns a scowl even though her shoulders shake with laughter.

“I have a bad boy image to uphold, sweetheart.”

You snort, reach into her lap to scratch behind Pip’s ear, and her heart melts, body warm from her ears to her toes.

“Is he sick?” she asks cautiously, petting him softly.

“Just a little,” you say. “Something some rest and medicine won’t fix.”

It’s how the two of you end up on the couch, study materials long forgotten as Animal Planet plays in the background. Pip’s moved to lounge atop the covers draped over your lap and you’re blowing your nose into a tissue as an especially sad segment about baby animals being rejected by their mothers finishes.

Vi knows she shouldn’t laugh, but you’re too fucking cute and she can’t help but coo at you.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” you hiccup.

“What, that you’re a big soft baby?” she teases.

“Vi,” you whimper.

And something in her brain tickles because she can’t recall a time you’d ever called her by her nickname, only ever referred to her as Violet and nothing else.

She resists a smile.

“Okay, okay,” she gives in. “Lets change the subject.”

You make a noise of agreement as you cuddle your sleepy Pip.

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” she says, arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers a hairsbreadth from your figure.

Test the waters, cop a feel.

Vi’s not particularly into the idea, but the opportunity’s right there in the way wisps of your hair falls from its hold. Her fingers move of their own device, tucking the strands behind your ear.

She feels you still for the slightest, most imperceptible of moments, but then you’re relaxing, letting her fingers brush from your ear down to your shoulder, then back to where it rests on the back of the couch.

“You doing anything on Saturday?” she asks, really hopes you’ll say no.

“Not that I know of,” you say without second thought.

Not that you really need to. Your tight circle of friends are all alike, tethered to their hobbies and their homes.

“I have a game on Saturday,” Vi starts, fiddling with a little hole in the cushion. “If you wanted to come.”

You don’t agree or disagree immediately, and Vi’s scrambling to soothe over any potential discomfort.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, of course,” she says quickly. “I just— I thought you might be interested in going and I’d really like to see you there and—”

A small little laugh puffs from your lips.

“Of course I’ll go,” you agree easily.

Vi deflates in relief.

“Great,” she sighs. “Awesome.”

Vi doesn’t know why she invites you. More so, she doesn’t know why she tells her teammates that she’s invited you because now they’re whooping and hollering in the locker room, towel-whipping her and sing-songing that their star player’s gonna get laid.

Doesn’t know why she invites you because as soon as she glides on the ice, she’s searching the stands high and low for your familiar figure. When she clocks you nestled in the middle with your roommate and another friend she vaguely recognizes, her heart’s soaring and her stomach’s twisting in knots.

Vi’s never nervous, but somehow you bring out the worst of it.

It only takes a few moments, though. The blare of the horn snaps her back into her zone and she leaves all the noise off-rink. In this moment, all she knows is cutting ice, dodging the other team’s most aggressive players and sinking shot after shot.

It’s nearing the end of the second period when she finally glances at the score.

5—4.

The opposing team’s giving them a run for their money and this is probably one of the tightest matches they’ve played all season. She takes a moment to find you in the stands again, and you’re right where she left you, eyes already glued to her as you hover over the edge of your seat.

She hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve got her number painted on her face and another surge of warmth layers over the exertion.

You give her a thumbs up and she feels like lightning.

They reset and she’s off, like a streak of light in the night sky, she’s shuffling the puck towards the goal.

Then you see the navy uniform barreling towards her, voice caught in your throat as Vi gives the puck one last shot before that damned Jersey Number Six shoves her so hard, she’s flinging into the rink’s wall.

The horn chugs, signaling the end of the second period and the stands erupt in a ceremonious cheer as the playback reveals that Vi had sunk the puck before time.

“Fuck yeah!” you cry out, shooting to your feet to clap your hands.

Vi ignores the instigating chants to fight, only really pays attention to your little dance of excitement as she shakes off the other player and rejoins her team for intermission.

“Fuck, Vi, you got it bad, huh?” Abigail Anderson’s spearheading the teasing once they all return to the locker room at the end of the game.

Vi’s body heats at the thought, isn’t really in the business of denying it anymore, because, you know what? Yeah. Vi’s got it so fucking bad for you, she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. You’re her first thought, her final prayer, and everything in between.

So all she does he shrug, can’t help the grin that splits her lips as she rubs her towel through her sweat-damp hair.

She’s the first one out of the locker room, dressed in some sweats and a pullover, towel slung around her neck as she steps into the tunnel. Your contact’s pulled up, and she’s ready to fire off a text asking where you want her to meet you, but she stops short to see you already leaned outside of the change room’s doors.

“Hey, cupcake,” she murmurs, smiling hard when she finds the smudged number 5 still chalked on your face.

“Hi, Violet,” you return shyly, hands clasped behind your back.

She hears the telltale whoosh of the locker room doors, the chattering of her teammates as they poke their heads out into the hall to be nosy, but she’s guiding you along, throwing a wink over her shoulder as the two of you fall into step.

“Thank you for coming,” Vi says after a moment. “You being here really meant a lot to me.”

You don’t know if Vi’s always been this sentimental, but just never given the opportunity to showcase it, or if she’s just buttering you up, but you can’t help but beam at her with pearly teeth and dimpled cheeks.

“God, Violet, you were so good!” you say excitedly, a little skip in your step. “You were in the rink, skating circles around them, like this, and like this.”

She bursts into laughter as you start speeding down the tunnel, dodging garbage bins and jumping up into the air to click your heels.

Something falls out of your little fannypack when you land, and Vi’s crouching down to pick up the tulle baggie to find a little beaded bracelet with a gold clasp that reads puck off.

“What’s this?” Vi asks, and you stop your shenanigans to turn your attention to her.

When your expression falters and you’re running back to her at full speed, she’s holding the baggie up just a little too out of reach for you, grin smug.

“Is this for me, sweetheart?” she asks presumptuously, even though her heart’s thrumming hard in her ribcage.

You’re on your tiptoes, chest pressed against hers, and god, please! is all Vi can think when your head tilts up, a little defeated knit between your eyebrows.

She milks the fuck out of whatever this is, arm banding around your waist as she returns the baggie to you.

“Maybe,” you whisper finally.

“Maybe what?” Vi teases.

“Maybe it’s for you,” you respond, free hand coming to rest on her chest.

“And what do I have to do to get it?” she asks, voice low.

It makes your body jolt hard as a shiver slinks down your spine because there she is, the insufferable flirt who knows exactly what to say to have your brain turn to mush.

You seem like you’re contemplating for a moment and Vi’s breath is hitching in her throat, wondering if you’re willing to play this cat and mouse game with her.

You smile, something glinting in your warm eyes.

“Puck off.”

Your giggle is maniacal as you slip away, leaving her temporarily stunned before she chases you down the tunnel. And she should expect your speed, especially because you’ve got legs, but it takes her a moment to catch up with you when her practice bag’s thumping on her back like that. Her calloused fingers are closing around the flesh of your hips in no time and she’s pulling you back into her arms.

“Cough it up, sweetheart,” she huffs.

You whine.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” you counter.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

And you give in because Violet’s made you weak. She’s holding out her wrist as you free the multi-colored bracelet.

You barely clasp the closure in the ring before Violet’s stumbling into you, a big burly girl from the other team shoulder checking the fuck out of her.

“Nice job standing in the middle of the walk way,” she bites.

Violet only snorts a laugh.

“Whatever, good game,” she calls.

Whoever she is, stops, levels Vi with a deadly look before her gaze flits to the bracelet you’ve just fixed around her wrist to you who stands frozen into place as the tension crackles between them.

“Cute,” she observes and your skin prickles. “Let me take her for a spin?”

“Violet,” you warn when her shoulders square and she takes a step forward.

She looks torn between walking away and beating the shit out of whoever this instigator is, but one of her teammates is shoving her along.

“Leave it.”

Whatever that was shatters the moment between the two of you and Vi’s taking in a deep breath as Abby trails behind the two of you.

The girl whistles for good measure and you throw a dirty look over your shoulder.

She winks.

You’ve still yet to find out who hosts these parties, but this time around gives you a weird sense of deja vu as you climb the steps with Maddie in tow.

You and Vi had parted ways at the rink, not before extending you an invite to the celebration later in the evening.

You should come, I can pick you up.

But per usual, DD duties call, and you’d smiled up at her despite the lingering pressure from the prior confrontation and promised her that yes, you’d absolutely be there.

Maddie squeals from the step below as you climb the front porch, breaths coming out in puffs of steam.

“You look so hot,” she says excitedly.

You giggle nervously, sure hope you do because you’re freezing your ass off!

“Yeah?”

Maddie gives you an incredulous look, eyelids powdered with glitter and gaze lined charcoal. She’s looking extra cute tonight too and you know that the two of you could fall into an endless cycle of teasing because a certain someone’s probably inside tonight.

“If she doesn’t fuck you before the night ends, I will,” Maddie teases, and you’re warming unceremoniously at the thought.

Because maybe you’ve been thinking about it a lot more recently despite only going into this trying to get through these tutoring sessions and dipping. Especially as of late now that Vi’s made it a habit to FaceTime you after practice, on your walk to the library, dripping sweat and chest heaving.

You’d always seen the appeal, but now you feel it.

You smooth down your asymmetrical skirt and Maddie steps up to adjust your tits in your lowcut lace blouse just as the door swings open to reveal none other than Violet.

“Oh—” Her voice catches as she takes you in.

Maddie gives your ass a little swat and Vi’s gaze is following the movement as your roommate pushes past her to slip inside.

“I was— I was just about to step out. To, uh, to call you,” she stammers.

You breath out a little laugh.

“Here I am.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Here you are.”

Jesus, fuck Vi could burst into flames right now. Your boots hug your thighs and Violet’s not gonna lie, she really wishes it were her head squeezed between—

“You look...” Hot, so fucking edible, downright fuck— “...really nice.”

You smile, but you can’t help the way your teeth chatters.

“Fuck, shit, you’re probably cold,” she curses, warm hands closing around your shoulders to pull you inside. “Why didn’t you wear a jacket? You’re gonna get sick.”

I wanted you to want me.

“Guess I just forgot,” you say quietly.

She looks like she wants to scold you, but instead, she’s pulling down her coat, a big black work jacket, hanging from the banister of the stairs around your shoulders and you’re relishing the residual warmth that lingers there and her familiar scent.

“Can I get you a cider?” she asks. “It’s still warm.”

It hits you as her fingers curl through yours, that Vi’s truly nothing like what you initially thought. She’s sweet, and she’s respectful, and she’s everything you could ever hope for.

You freeze at the thought, and Vi’s glancing at you when she’s tugged to a stop.

“You okay?” she hums.

Your eyes search her face, gliding over the scar on her lip and the one slit through her eyebrow. The gold hoop pierced through her nose glints under the lowlight and her thick lashes flutter as she looks down at you.

You give her a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes because wow, you’re in deep.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, give her fingers a squeeze for good measure.

When she finally secures you a mug of steaming cider, she’s guiding you to her group of friends that occupy the living room.

You only recognize Ellie, her best friend and her roommate, and Abby, the captain. Everyone else is a jumbled mix of names and faces and you stick close to Vi as she settles into the left corner of the couch.

You make a move to sit on the armrest, legs crossed and hands folded around your mug, but Vi’s spreading her legs and pulling you into her lap before you can effectively protest.

Her warmth immediately engulfs you and it takes every ounce of self control not to curl up into a ball in front of all her friends and classmates.

As they recap the game and catch up with each other, you remain hushed, eyes flitting from person to person as they speak. Toes curling whenever Violet’s voice vibrates in her chest as she talks big about sports and the hot teams this season.

You’re caught off caught when Ellie’s directing a question towards you and you barely register.

“What do you like to do?” she asks you.

All eyes audibly shift to where you’re cozied up in Vi’s lap, cider empty and abandoned on the side table.

“Uh.”

Your words are lodged in your throat because you’re so used to talking Vi’s ear off about your interests (namely, Animal Planet and your son Pip), showing her your little craft projects you like to do in front of the television on a weekend evening (you’d taken a break from the scarf / hat combo you were knitting to finish the bracelet you designed for Vi), and yapping about some obscure film you’d watched while finishing said projects.

But here, now, you don’t know what to say. Not when this isn’t your typical crowd and you don’t know what to expect from her friends.

Vi must feel your hesitation because her digits are slipping into her jacket, fingertips ghosting the small of your back as she presses a palm against your spine to smooth the tension there.

It’s okay, is a silent insinuation.

You give her a look from the corner of your eye before you turn your attention back to Ellie.

“I don’t do much,” you offer honestly. “Just starting my old cat lady duties early, I suppose.”

Ellie laughs benevolently.

“You have a cat?”

“Yes, his name’s Pip, and he’s basically my kid.”

“Cute,” Ellie coos. “You got any pictures?”

And you seem to light up, spare Vi one more glance as you dig in her coat pocket to produce your cellphone, charms jangling as you power it back on to show Ellie the lockscreen.

“I contemplated naming him Toothless from—”

“—How To Train Your Dragon!” Abby fills in from across the couch. “That’s such a good ass movie.”

It warms Vi to the bone, seeing you and her friends nerd out. Seeing them put in the effort because they know she likes you and seeing you reciprocate because, well, you’re you, and you just need a little warming up.

She doesn’t know how long you and her friends chat for until you’re shifting a little and turning your attention back to her.

“Can you show me the bathroom, please?”

Her gaze flits to her circle, and they’re smirking, obviously under the impression that this must be some sort of code the two of you concocted.

She ignores them, and most importantly she ignores the way her pulse jumps when you stand from your seat and perch between her legs, offering both of your neatly manicured hands to her.

This is getting fucking ridiculous.

The bathroom is tucked under the stairs near the front of the house and she stands post outside the door as you finish up.

It’s only when you’re poking your head outside the door sheepishly that she stands up straight.

“Can you help me with my zipper?” you ask timidly.

She puffs a laugh, slips in through the space you crack for her to find you holding the two sides of your skirt together.

And she knows she shouldn’t look, but the space allows her to see the pink lace of your panties. She’s shoving her tongue in her cheek, focusing on lining up the seams and pulling up your zipper as you hold the fabric taut.

“Thanks,” you whisper, looking up to see that Vi’s impossibly close to you in this cramped little powder room.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she croaks, leaning against the counter as you wash your hands.

She thumbs the hem of your skirt absently.

“I like this,” she admits, gaze trailing up to meet yours. “You look pretty.”

Your ears burn, unable to meet the smolder of her steely eyes. You’d probably find that her pupils are blown wide if you did. Instead, you’re watching her mouth, lips stained cherry and tongue coming out to wet the dry patch.

You hold your breath as you reach across her for the hand towel, but her hands find your hips, teetering into dangerous territory as she moves almost close enough to slip her hands under your skirt.

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” she asks, watching you through hooded eyes.

A nervous giggle bubbles.

“Thanks, Violet,” you murmur.

“‘Course,” she agrees easily. “You gonna wear it again?”

You bite.

“If you ask nicely.”

She licks her lips again, body flexed as you allow her to press you closer. One of your hands splays on the counter behind her, the other brushing over the blooming bruise on her jaw.

“Can I?” she husks.

You don’t need to ask for clarification, not when her nose is nudging yours and your breaths are mingling.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Pl—”

The door rattles with the ferocity of whoever’s knocking on the other side.

“Hurry up in there, I gotta piss!”

To your dismay, the two of you don’t talk about Saturday night. And things’s aren’t particularly bad, but something’s definitely shifted and it’s driving you nuts.

Vi’s on the ice practicing the following morning and after classes on Monday, so you wait for your session with bated breath on Tuesday. You try extra hard despite every voice of reason telling you that you’re reading into it too much.

Vi smiles at you easily as she drops into the seat across from you, pulling out her biometry textbook without so much as a peep about the fact that the two of you almost kissed in whoever the fuck’s bathroom that was over the weekend.

You’re staring, hard.

Because that familiar feeling’s coming back. The seedling of doubt that had rooted in the beginning about Vi’s intentions with you. She’d done a good job of weeding it out over the weeks, of dismantling whatever image you’d built of her in your head, but it plants itself again.

She’s squeezing your hand across the table and your gaze flits down to her rough fingers. That’s when you notice it, the bracelet, still fastened where you clasped it on game night.

You relax a fraction.

“Everything okay?”

You smile, something small.

“Yeah, good,” you assure her.

The rest of your tutoring session is uneventful, goes off without a hitch. And you’re shameless in admitting that you hate to see her go as she walks you to your car in the student lot near the library.

You’re grasping at straws, clearing your throat before she closes your door for you.

“Uh,” you squeak. “Do you want to come over?”

Vi’s pausing, hand still on the edge of your door as her lips twitch.

“Like right now?”

You nod because you’ve already pulled the trigger.

“Like right now,” you confirm.

She checks her wristwatch, sighs heavily because fuck yes, she’d love to come over right now, but Anderson and Williams are expecting her for a strategy meeting with the coach and—

“Sorry,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to, I know we only really—”

She pinches your cheek before tucking some of your hair behind your ear.

“I can’t tonight, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she says. “But tell you what, if you’re willing to free up your Friday night, I’d really like to plan something.”

Your heartbeat skips.

“All yours,” you say without missing a beat.

Vi’s grinning wide.

“Perfect, drive safe,” she bids. “See you tomorrow.”

And you don’t know why you’re so fucking high strung, not when Vi hasn’t done anything to make you doubt that this isn’t all in your head, but it only gets worse as the days go by.

It doesn’t come to a head until Thursday, when your tutoring slots are miraculously empty until Vi’s and you receive an email from Medarda to meet in her office after her string of lectures.

“Afternoon,” the older woman greets, smiling warmly at you as she lets you into her office. “Just wanted to check in with your audit and request any feedback you have.”

You think for a moment before shaking your head.

“Nothing in particular that I can think of,” you say easily, then add with a laugh, “feel like I’ll be a professional by the end of the semester.”

“Why do you say that?” Medarda chuckles as she logs into her computer.

“I have a student sitting every Tuesday and Thursday for tutoring in your class,” you reveal.

She gives you look crossed between surprise and amusement.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You giggle at the distant memory of Vi’s expression in the weight room. “She seems to be picking it up well enough, though.”

“Huh, every Tuesday and Thursday?” she asks, fingers flying over her keyboard. “I must be doing something wrong.”

“I’d hardly say that,” you say. “When Violet booked all my sessions, I thought it was a joke, but I think she’s just really dedicated to doing well.”

“Violet?” Medarda repeats, hands stilling over her mouse.

“Yeah, Violet, on the women’s hockey team?”

Your professor’s eyebrows twitch.

“Why would you— huh. Weird,” she comments.

“I admit it was a little strange, but—”

“Violet’s a consistent top scorer on the exams,” Medarda shares. “She’s been top of the class since the beginning of the semester.”

And it’s like the world stills as she reveals that information, fragile pieces shattering as the gears start turning in your brain and you try to put the puzzle together.

You glance at the clock, find that you’re due to meet Violet in half an hour.

“Uh, if you’ll excuse me,” you say politely, try to ignore the concerned expression etched on your professor’s face at your sudden departure. “It was nice chatting with you. If I think of anything feedback-wise, I’ll be sure to email you.”

And you’re running.

Vi’s in the locker room after practice, toweling off after an extra long shower because she’s been looking a little extra forward to seeing you today, but perhaps that’s everyday as of late.

She’s hooking the bracelet you gave her back on when her phone vibrates and she’s practically diving into her locker when your text tone bleats.

sweetheart: I have to cancel your session this afternoon. I’m sorry.

Her expression screws up.

everything ok? can i do anything for you?

sweetheart: Personal things to take care of. I’ll see you next week.

I’ll see you next week.

But what about tomorrow? She’d been working so fucking hard on tomorrow, on finally pulling her head far enough out of her ass to ask you to give the two of you a shot.

She sets her phone down, slumps down on the bench as she turns her wrist and takes in the smooth glass beads of the bracelet.

She sighs. Hard.

You hole up all weekend long, put your phone on do not disturb, and try your best to get whatever this is out of your system. But you’re a slave to your emotions and you can’t help but check your messages every time you know Vi’s free.

It’s a single text on a Saturday night, one that surprises you because you know she has practice now that the big game’s fast approaching.

violet <3: hey sweetheart, just checking in. i know you said you had a few personal things going on, but i’m here if you feel like you need someone <3

You’re texting back before your better judgement can stop you.

Just been a little stressed. You wanna come over?

.

.

.

Then you add, We can smoke.

Vi’s sending you three running emojis and you crack a smile at your screen before realizing that you need to shower.

You lay out some clothes beforehand, ultimately settling on last Saturday’s skirt.

Vi’s giggling as you fumble with the wrapper, rolling it with clumsy fingers because, truthfully, you don’t do this often, but she shuts right up when you don’t break eye contact as the tip of your tongue slides across the seam to seal the joint.

She’d picked you up with a Sprite and a slice to split from Valentino’s, throat drying as you bounded down the stairs in the same fucking skirt that had her touching herself after she’d gotten home from the party, guilty and wound tight. Now the two of you are tucked away behind some abandoned strip.

“Ready?” Her voice rasps as you pop the end between your lips and she brings the lighter to ignite the end for you.

It burns as you inhale and Vi’s thighs squeeze together involuntarily. She’d smoked with you twice before, both times on the roof of your apartment building and at a reasonable distance. But now, she knows what your body feels like, almost knows what your lips taste like.

You take a few more puffs before offering it to her and the smoke begins to plume to fill the space of her little coupe. It’s moments like these, tucked away from prying eyes, that it’s just you and Vi.

Not Vi, the supposed womanizing hockey star, or you, the nerdy homebody tutor. Just the two of you, two souls trying to get through university and carve your paths.

“I aced Medarda’s exam this week,” Vi says softly, jay pinched between her fingers as she watches you with lowering eyes.

“Oh, yeah? I wonder why,” you quip in return, face impossibly close to hers despite the console between you.

“I have a smartypants tutor that does an especially good job when she’s motivated,” she answers.

Your cheeks flame, but you don’t back down. Vi’s been extra good at pushing your buttons and flirting hard as of late, and maybe you’re a little more than willing to receive and reciprocate, but the two of you have been toeing the line, yet neither of you have taken the leap.

This moment, however, feels like it could be it. Like you’re going to find out what the fuck all of this even is.

“I have to meet this tutor of yours,” you play along. “She sounds like a miracle worker.”

“Among other things,” Vi teases, sucking in the smoke and blowing it through her nostrils.

“Like?”

“She’s also funny as fuck,” she hums. “A big baby when we watch Animal Planet.”

You narrow your eyes at her and Vi lets out a little laugh that makes your toes curl.

“Uh-huh?”

“She’s really fucking pretty too,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Kind of pretty that makes you wanna do bad, bad things.”

You smile falters as a shiver rips down your spine and before you know it, Vi’s putting out the joint before climbing in the cramped backseat of her car to spread her legs.

Doesn’t even give you a moment to process before she’s pulling you on top of her and allowing you to settle comfortably in her lap. Her hands run up your thighs and disappear under your skirt to grab the fat of your ass.

You breathe out a little giggle as your slender fingers come up to cup her jaw.

“Think my tutor’ll be mad at me?” Vi murmurs, nose brushing yours. “‘Cuz I really, really wanna kiss this pretty girl in my lap right now.”

You let out a broken little sigh when her hips buck.

“Maybe she’ll forgive you,” you whisper. “I know I would.”

And that’s all the affirmation Vi needs from you before she’s taking the plunge and slotting her lips with yours; kissing you with so much fervor, you’d think she needs you to breathe. She tastes like mint and weed and you can’t get enough.

Vi’s all-consuming, her kiss a delicious mix of teeth and tongue. And, god, her hands. Rough and calloused, but gentle in the way she explores your body. It isn’t until she’s snapping the band of your thong and her fingertips ghost the seam of your sticky heat that you’re hyper-focusing.

“Mmmph, Violet, Vi—” Your voice cracks as she breaks from your lips to map a series of kisses from your jaw, to the juncture behind your ear, down the column of your neck. “Wait.”

She stops, hands pulling from under your skirt like you’ve burned her. And perhaps you have, branded nearly every part of her because she can’t really think of a sound moment if you’re not there.

“Sorry, sorry,” she shudders as the arousal ebbs through her tightened body. “I—”

I’m caught up. I’m losing it, and it’s all your fault, and—

“Violet,” you swallow, fingers toying with the collar of her varsity sweatshirt. “I have something to say.”

Her throat bobs and her grey eyes gleam like ash in the lowlight of the backseat of her car. The windows are smoked out and it’s exceptionally warm, equal parts sexual tension and another thing Vi can’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, anything,” she assures you, hands resting on your waist instead. “You can tell me anything.”

One of your palms settles over her chest, right where her heart is and you suck in a sharp breath.

“I— uh, I really like you, Violet,” you admit quietly. “A lot more than I think I’ve ever liked someone in a long, long time.”

Oh.

Oh. Here it comes, the big fat rejection. The coming to your senses.

“But?”

The look on your face is devastating and Vi’s scared.

“I have to know that if I give you a chance, you won’t abuse it,” you hiccup, and wow, that’s definitely not what she expects you to say, but fuck does it leave a sour taste in her mouth.

“Abuse it?” she repeats, face crumpling.

“Violet,” you sigh.

“Abuse what?” she husks.

“I know you—”

“Do you?” she scoffs, a wave of irritation washing over her as she looks you with disappointment. “What gave you the idea that I would ever even dream of taking advantage of you giving me a chance?”

“You don’t necessarily have a spotless record, Violet,” you say, voice edged. “And I know that I’m not your usual—”

“Not my usual what?” The venom in Vi’s tone is uncharacteristic, but this is not at all how she expected tonight to go and she’s frustrated. “Not my usual type? You internalized all this shit that people say about me even though I’ve been trying to get you to see me for months.”

Emotion clogs your throat because a small part of you knows that Vi’s right. She’s never given you an outright reason to doubt her interest in you, but it all just seems too good to be true.

“Sue me for wanting to protect myself,” you choke, climbing out of her lap and back into the front seat. “Especially because I know that you don’t actually need help in Medarda’s class.”

And that catches Vi off guard. You see as much in the rearview mirror when she pales.

She clambers back into the driver’s seat.

“Who told you that?” she asks, not even bothering to deny the fact.

“I mentioned that I was tutoring you in passing when Medarda asked for feedback on her class,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “She asked why I’d be doing that when you’re top of all her sections.”

Violet’s voice is stuck in her chest.

“And then your past hook ups parade around campus like a reminder that—,” you cut yourself off, obviously hurt after bottling this all up. “And it isn’t any of my business, nor are we anything enough for me to plausibly upset—”

“Yes, I lied,” Vi admits quietly. “But only about one thing.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re right, I don’t need help in Medarda’s class. I lied about being clueless and I signed up for tutoring even though I didn’t need it,” she says.

“Why?”

“You know why,” Vi huffs. “From the moment I met you, I knew.”

It’s a glaring insinuation that makes you crack.

“No one ever says it out loud, but I know what everyone thinks,” you choke. “Violet’s fucking that loser?”

“You really believe that?”

“God, Violet, I don’t know what to fucking believe,” you cry out. “My life’s fucking fine and dandy and then you show up and make me fucking question everything I—”

Vi lets out a humorless laugh, can’t even look at you and it could make you sick.

“You’re so fucking loved by everyone, even those who won’t admit it,” you croak. “And you’re incredible at everything you do, turn everything you touch to gold, and I’m just...”

Vi’s brows furrow.

“You’re what?”

“I’m me,” you whisper meekly. “I’m just me and you’re you, and I just don’t see what makes me so different.”

And Vi realizes that she’d read it all wrong.

“Look at me,” she says softly, fingers tracing your jaw.

You knuckle your tears away, make a petulant noise in your throat.

“You wanna know why I booked all your stupid tutoring sessions?” she huffs. “Because I really fucking like you, ________. And it’s beyond wanting to fuck you even though god knows I’d fucking die if you let me. It’s so much more than having you physically. Because I’ll take being just friends with you if it means having you around. I don’t give a shit about anything else but you.”

It’s the most sound declaration you hear from the girl in the semester you’ve known her and it makes you cry.

“You make me feel so fucking normal and you remind me that I don’t need to be anything else but me,” she breathes. “And I get where you’re coming from, I hear you. I just really hope you hear me too.”

“I do,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

Vi squeezes your thigh, takes your hand in hers and brings your knuckles to her lips.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” she offers gently.

Vi only has one more game before the championships and she won’t lie and say that this limbo with you has her feeling like she’s going to be ill.

You’d cancelled her tutoring sessions this week, told her that maybe the two of you needed to spend some time apart and that she was clearly doing a number on you. So she agrees, tries to give you space to work through what’s weighing on you.

sweetheart: Good luck at your game tonight, Violet. I’m rooting for you.

She really wishes you’d be there, but she knows you need the time alone.

thanks, sweetheart. i appreciate you.

“Alright Vi, we have fifteen til puck drop,” Ellie says carefully, has been front row to everything transpiring between you and her best friend.

Vi tucks her phone away in her backpack, unhooks your bracelet from around her wrist and fastens it to the handle of her bag, and grabs her stick from the rack before she lets her teammates jostle her into the tunnel.

And she wishes she could lock in, clear her head and get into the game, but all she can think about is you.

It’s a narrow victory once the game ends, but she can’t find it in herself to celebrate, especially not at the kickback afterwards because fucking Sev and her assholes are there.

“Where’s your little dime piece?” she taunts.

“Fuck off,” Vi warns, obviously not in the mood.

“Shame,” she whistles. “She looks like a fucking weirdo, but she sure does have a fat ass—”

Ellie’s fist cracks so hard across her jaw.

“She told you to fuck off,” she hisses.

Sev spits the blood in her mouth on the toe of Ellie’s shoe, fists bunching the collar of her sweater.

“Keep that fucking energy on the ice because I’m gonna wipe the floor with your fucking pissbaby team.”

You wake up on Monday morning to a text from Vi and a handful of notifications from Instagram.

violet <3: can i see you this week?

You open Instagram.

sev.94 has requested to follow you! sev.94 has sent you a message request!

Your brows furrow, opening the message request hesitantly. There’s a few DMs and a video from this Sev person.

sev.94 hey pretty, sorry to text you like this. sev.94 just thought you should know the kind of person your little girlfriend is sev.94 sent a video. sev.94 i don’t really do relationships, but i’d take your mind off of it if you let me.

You’re playing the video, quality grainy and audio blasted. You don’t know what you’re looking at at first, it’s dark, and there’s so many voices. But you see skin, see the outline of a girl’s naked back, delicate and arched in pleasure.

You think this Sev person’s just fucking with you, playing some stupid joke with a shitty punchline as someone’s hands snake around to palm the flesh of the unnamed girl’s ass, but then you see it.

The bracelet.

Vi going to lose her shit for two reasons.

(1) Because you haven’t responded to her message despite your read receipts being on, and (2) she can’t fucking find the bracelet you’d gifted to her.

She’s barging into Ellie’s room, shirtless and hair dripping.

“Jesus, fuck, do you knock?” Ellie hisses, buds she was in the midst of grinding scattering across the floor.

“I can’t find the bracelet she gave me,” Vi says quickly.

Ellie’s face scrunches.

“Huh?”

“The bracelet ________ gave to me,” Vi says. “I hooked it on my backpack before practice on Saturday but it’s not there anymore.”

Ellie’s expression morphs, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Maybe you misplaced it,” Ellie offers. “Regardless, we practice tonight, I’ll help you look for it.”

Vi’s chest is tight, doesn’t want to admit that the stupid little bracelet means way more to her than she lets on. She only ever takes it off when she’s on the ice, won’t risk losing it when she’s got a target on her back and everyone plays rough.

It turns out to be futile when they enter the rink and she retraces her steps only to come up empty-handed.

This, she realizes, is the start of a very long week.

You should’ve seen it coming, really. Don’t know why you tried to psyche yourself into thinking that Vi could ever really want something with you when the world’s her fucking oyster and she can have anything she wants.

And you want to feel bad when she texts you intermittently through the days, checking in, offering to meet you, anything. But part of you is angry, unforgiving, tired.

You could’ve gone the rest of the school year unscathed if she’d just left you the fuck alone, but she pried and she tugged and she settled, and she made a home inside of you and you hate that you let her.

xxxx: i really miss you.

You block her number, block her social media, and even though finals are imminent, you now know that Vi’s been playing you for a fool this whole time and you cancel every last one of the sessions she’s booked.

You hope she’d get the message, figure that you’d caught onto her little game and aren’t willing to play anymore, but she doesn’t, that much is clear when you’re finishing up your two thirty session and find her stalking into the library just as the student leaves your table.

“Are we going to talk like adults or are you going to keep acting like—”

You don’t entertain a response, just pack your bag and sling the strap over your shoulder because the tears are bubbling and you don’t trust yourself not to break.

“Seriously?” Vi bites, hot on your heels as you throw all of your weight against the library doors and suck in the icy air.

“Leave me alone, Violet,” you warn.

“No, fuck that,” Vi spits, hand closing around your bicep. “You don’t— You don’t get to make me fall for you and then try to leave with no explanation.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Fuck you, Violet,” you hiccup, yanking your arm from her grasp and putting as much distance as you can between the two of you. “I hope you and your friends got a good laugh out of it.”

Her face is screwing up and if she wasn’t confused before, she’s definitely confused now.

“Listen, I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Vi argues. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

You hate how believable she is. How the thought of hurting you seems so inconceivable to her. But that grainy video was clear enough.

“I hate you,” you murmur. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Your name comes out broken, like you’ve wounded her. But you’ve officially folded your hand, won’t dare look her in her eyes because the both of you know it’s not true.

The championships roll in fast like a tide and neither your or Violet are ready for it.

You hear they’re live streaming the game, it’s the most anticipated one in the season. Piltover Stallions against the Zaun City Tigers. A part of you wishes you could support them, but then you’re starkly reminded that you’re a laughingstock amongst them.

The library on a Friday night is as quiet as can be, the hum of the fluorescents background to the voices in your head that are loud. You’re so engrossed in the study material that you don’t realize someone’s making a beeline for you until they’re knocking on the tabletop.

Ellie Williams stands before you in all her lean glory, hands sunk in her pockets as she stares down at you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?” Your tone is clipped, disinterested because you believed that you and Ellie could be friends once upon a time.

“Coach sat me out because I socked one of those dickhead Zaun City Tigers in the mouth last weekend.”

You humph.

“Listen, we don’t have much time left, so I’m going to make this short and sweet,” she says. “Whatever happened between you and Vi is obviously personal and that typically would have nothing to do with me, but she can’t get her shit together because all she can think of is you.”

“And that’s my problem because...?”

“I know that Vi comes off a certain way, but she’s my best friend, like my best friend in this entire shithole of a world, and she’s—”

“No offense, Ellie,” you cut her off. “But if Vi sent you here to plead her case, I think that’s pathetic and—”

“Okay, well maybe if you shut up for three seconds and let me get to my point—”

You close your textbook and shove it in your backpack before standing to signal the end of the conversation.

“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.”

Ellie watches you walk away, takes in a deep breath because wow, you’re a bitch when you’re mad, but she absolutely gets why Vi is whipped.

“Violet’s in love with you.”

And that statement makes you freeze. Tears cloud your vision as your fists tighten around the strap of your bag.

“If you fuck someone else while you’re in love, I want nothing to do with it,” you bite.

Ellie’s brows shoot up.

“Whoa, what?”

“Violet fucked someone else as soon as things got tough, and if that’s the kind of person she is in love, I’d rather be alone,” you say stiffly.

“Respectfully, there’s no way Vi’s interested in getting pussy from anywhere else with how down bad that bitch is for you, but even if she was, I spend over seventy percent of my day with her and know that all she’s been doing the past two weeks is moping over the fact that you handed her ass to her on a silver platter.”

“There’s a video.”

Ellie’s brows must be mingling with her hairline right about now.

She reaches a palm out.

Show me.

You open the DM from sev.94, watching as Ellie’s expression morphs from morbid curiosity to disbelief, to a quiet rage.

She’s handing your phone back to you and grabbing you by your forearm.

“She’s fucking dead.”

When you enter the rink, the ice is tense.

It’s the middle of the second period and the game is tied 3—3.

Your eyes comb the playing area, can’t find Vi’s jersey number in the mix, but finally settle on her on the bench, shoulders terse and obviously on edge.

She doesn’t clock you yet, had given up on the idea of patching things up with you after your last conversation.

“Vi’s been missing her bracelet since practice on Saturday,” Ellie’d told you on the way there, then pulled out her phone to show you the photo she’d taken of Vi passed out in nothing but her boxers on the couch the night of the last game, fucked up and sad. “We went out for like an hour after the game, but that was it. Vi was too fucking in her head.”

The girl from the tunnel, the one who’d been taunting the two of you, you piece together, has been the one behind it all, stirring the pot.

Throughout the end of the second period and all through intermission, Vi doesn’t notice you, too busy trying to get off the fucking bench to survey the crowd.

It’s only during final puck drop in the third period that their coach finally gives in, smacks the back of her helmet and tells her to make him proud that she lifts her head up.

And there, front and center of the student section is you.

Her eyes are wide, body frozen in place as she tries to figure if you’re just a figment of her imagination, but then the horn’s blaring and she’s having to zone back in.

At this point in time, she doesn’t give a fuck if they win or lose, she just needs to get to you.

“Your little bitch looks cute tonight,” Sevika comments wolfishly. “Bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

Vi easily intercepts her pass, cuts between two players as she shuffles it along with practiced precision. She sends the rubber flying and the goalie narrowly misses block.

“Maybe if you played as good as you ran your mouth, you’d wipe the floor with my pissbaby team you big bitch,” Vi calls, resetting in their corner.

And perhaps you’re her good luck charm, the only thing she needed to see to get back into it, because Vi reignites. The adrenaline pumping through her veins fuels every shot, and soon the timer’s buzzing.

7—5.

The roar is deafening, but you’re all she sees in the ocean of cowbells and pompoms.

She barely inches forward before something arcs through the sky and lands before her feet.

Her bracelet.

You watch from the sidelines, the final confirmation as Vi picks up the loop and launches herself at Sevika.

The crowd cheers.

Fight, fight fight!

You don’t know how many swings Vi gets in, just know that she’s flashing you a bloody smile before she skates off the ice.

Ellie emerges from the locker room and you’re perking up.

Most, if not all, of Vi’s teammates had come and gone and you’d been waiting patiently, anxiously, for her to emerge since the end of the game nearly an hour ago.

“She’s the last one in there,” is all Ellie says before strolling off.

“What if...what if she doesn’t want to see me?” you ask hesitantly.

Ellie chuffs a little laugh, doesn’t bother turning as she calls from halfway down the hall, “Find out for yourself, sweetheart.”

Vi’s pulling a tank top over her head as soon as you enter and your cheeks bloom when you catch a split-second of her tits.

She glances up at you, nose bruising and lip busted.

“Hey,” she spares you, stuffing her uniform and skates into her gym bag.

“Hi,” you squeak.

A pregnant pause as you take her in, hesitant to close the distance between the two of you.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” she observes.

And you don’t really have a bullshit response, know that you had every intention of staying as far away as humanly possible, so you settle on humming your agreement.

“Ellie told me,” she starts. “Why you lashed out on me.”

You swallow.

“And part of me gets it, I really do,” she continues, “but I also thought you had more faith in me than that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Fuck, Violet, I’m so sorry.”

“I told you to free up Friday night a few weeks ago,” she says, shuts her locker door and slumps down on the bench behind her. “I was going to tell you everything, officially ask you out, but then all that shit happened and it caught up to me.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and another until you’re standing in front of her.

“You have to know that I would never do something like to anyone, but especially not to you,” she says softly, taking your hands in hers.

“I know.”

She brushes her lips against your knuckles, pulls you in closer so that you’re standing between her legs.

“You’re right,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I don’t have a spotless track record, but I meant it when I said that I don’t give a shit about anyone else but you. I would give you anything I can if you let me.”

Your hands rest on her shoulders, her chin resting against the plush of your belly as you look down at her, speechless.

“That night, in the car, you said that you didn’t see what made you so different.”

“I don’t,” you admit.

Vi stands, caging you between strong arms as she drops her face into the hollow of your neck. You shiver when you feel her lips press to the skin there.

“We could start off with the obvious.”

One of her hands rests on the small of your back, pulls you flush so that the only things that separate you are the flimsy fabrics of your clothes. The other grabs a handful of your ass.

“I meant it when I said that you’re the kind of pretty that makes me wanna do bad things.”

You gulp, thighs squeezing as her lips part and she bites.

“Vi.”

“You got a giant brain,” she laughs breathily, fingers coming around the fiddle with your belt.

She kisses you, mouth hot and breath warm. It’s better the second time around, no doubt obscuring you from truly indulging.

“Pl—ease.”

“You’re kind and you’re selfless, and you’re my sweet, sweet little crybaby.”

“Violet,” you sigh breathlessly. “Listen to me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Fuck me,” you pant. “Please.”

Violet nearly runs two red lights and whips into your neighborhood on two wheels.

The two of you are stumbling up the stairs and she’s spanking your ass on the last step as you fiddle with your keys and try to find the right one under the dim light of the complex hall.

Violet’s already unbuckling her belt as you turn the key, nearly taking you down as she shoves you inside and up against the front door.

“Maddie home?” she breathes.

“Out of town,” you answer quickly, kicking off your sneakers and pulling your sweater over your head. “Visiting her family upstate.”

“Perfect,” Vi hums. “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you on your couch.”

“Oh–”

One of her rough hands comes to cup your tit over your bra, her tongue laving over the other while her free hand makes work of the clasp.

You walk her back to the couch, stand between her knees as she flops back into the seat. Her arms spread over the back as she settles in, legs widening to give you ample room to strip.

Her eyes never leave yours as you easily unclasp your bra and shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a tight pair of little lace panties and pink socks that has Vi wet.

“C’mere,” she rasps, pulling you to straddle her lap.

Her lips immediately latch onto one of your pebbled nipples, tongue hot as her hands wander.

“Fuck.”

“Tell me what you want,” she husks, biting down on the swell of your breast.

And having Violet this close, her touch excruciatingly featherlight and tempting, you wind tight.

“Want you inside of me,” you whimper, fingers fixing around her throat. “Please.”

“Yeah?” she eggs you on, lips brushing yours as her palms settle on your ass. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly, hips rolling in her lap as her breath pitches.

“Vi.”

Her nickname puffing from your lips makes her crack. You’re wound in her arms, face in her neck as she peels your thong taut, away from your waiting cunt, and runs her fingertips from your slit down to your clit.

“F...F—uck,” you sigh.

“Holy shit,” she marvels, licking her lips when she easily glides through your folds. “You’re really fucking wet.”

You grind down against her, clothed clit catching against her belt buckle. The cool metal sends a jolt through your pussy and you’re moaning loud in her ear.

And Violet really wants to take her time with you, wants to milk the first time she ever gets to fuck you for as long as she humanly can, but she’s still fully dressed and you’re practically naked, perfect tits pressed to her chest and fat ass in the palm of her hand.

She shifts you further into her, so that she can peek over the arch of your back as she sinks her middle and ring finger three knuckles deep into your needy heat.

“Ah, fuck, Violet.” Your voice breaks as she starts pumping into you, your arousal coating her fingers and the sound of her easily slipping through your pussy reverberating through the living room. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

She kisses your jaw, litters them until she’s catching your lips and licking crudely into your mouth.

You cry out when her fingers slip out.

She’s leaning the both of you forward, easing you from her lap and onto the couch as she takes a moment to shuck her shirt off and pull her belt through the loops in one tug.

You watch her through it all, the way the trim muscles of her biceps and shoulders flex as she leans over you, takes you by the ankles and yanks you until your ass is half-hanging from the edge of the couch.

She kneels before you, strips you out of your thong.

You don’t miss the way she shoves the soiled fabric in her jeans pocket.

“Jesus,” she breathes, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your pussy. “You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart.”

Your toes curl at the praise, fingers closing around where Vi’s holding your legs apart.

“You know how bad I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy?” she rasps, gathering the lewdest amount of spit to dribble onto your clit. When you don’t answer, she’s freeing a hand to slap your slit.

“Nnngh, fuck!”

“Think I’ve always wanted to have you,” she admits. “But it was that stupid party fucking party and that stupid fucking skirt. God, I would’ve fucked you in that skirt if you let me.”

“Yeah?” you whine breathlessly. “Tell me.”

She’s stuffing you again without warning, curling her fingers in a way that has your back arching off the couch.

“Would’ve bent you over that sink and made you watch yourself while I ate you out,” she says easily.

And it’s so fucking delicious, the nasty shit Vi’s saying to you while she pounds your aching heat; the way she finally gives in and tastes you, sucking on your clit like she’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sate her hunger.

Your fingers curl through her hair as you teeter dangerously over the edge, nails grazing her scalp and tugging when she hits the spot deep inside of you that has you keening for more.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ cum,” you choke. “Holy fuck.”

You feel Vi grin against your pussy, watch her with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes because the sight of her between your legs in your moonlit living room has your insides twisting hard.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she encourages you. “Cum all over my fingers. Wanna see you gush.”

“Hah, h—” Your thighs tighten around her head, fingers curled so hard in her hair, she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, Vi, please.”

She moans into your cunt, savoring the heady taste of you as you practically ride her face.

The sound that fills the room is downright filthy, the sight that Vi beholds when she peeks from where she’s devouring you equally so. It’s picturesque, the way she has you writhing. A sheen of perspiration glistens over your flesh as she eats you out and it’s a perfect mix of her tongue and her fingers that send you soaring over the edge.

It’s a pitched whine that echos, the staccato of your shaky breathing that sings like music in her ears as you cum. And hard.

Her lashes flutter against the skin of your inner thighs as she peppers kisses there, her lips slick with spit and arousal.

“Fuck, babe,” she whispers. “That was...”

She can’t really choose a specific word, is just mind blown at the fact that she’d just made you cum so hard and so fast. It makes her tense and tingle, a smug wave of pride washing over her as she starts mouthing a trail from your belly, between the valley of your tits, up your throat, to finally press a chaste one on your lips.

You taste yourself first and foremost, but then you taste everything she’s ever wanted to say to you, all the unspoken words and the things she’d been too scared to share. Feel it in the way her hands are roaming, squeezing, caressing.

You breathe a disbelieving laugh, peck her lips again when she pulls away to brush your hair from your face.

“Vi—” Your breath hitches and your eyes glaze.

“I know, I know.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, legs hooking around the narrow of her waist as she bears your weight and picks up your boneless figure.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

The sun is warm against your skin when you wake up the following morning, your bedroom bathed in an orange glow.

You feel bone tired, body sore and muscles tight as your arm sweeps the other side of the bed in search of balmy skin, but instead you’re met with cool sheets and swelling dread.

You sit up quickly, find that you’re still naked, and take a moment to asses your bedroom. The bathroom door’s cracked, light off, and everything else is exactly where you left it.

Everything except Vi.

Oh, you think to yourself.

Almost don’t want to leave your room because your empty apartment will be confirmation enough that Vi really did get the last laugh in the end.

But you force yourself out of bed, shrug on an oversized t-shirt before finding the living room just as still as it had been before the two of you had barreled in the night before and she’d left her mark on you.

The only sign that the entire thing wasn’t just a figment of your imagination was Vi’s belt strewn haphazardly on the coffee table.

You feel hollow, almost numb, and even if a persistent part of your brain was consistently telling you that you should’ve known better, the tears well in your eyes because you’d really hoped Violet was different.

You knuckle the tears away angrily, mind racing far too fast to register the door quietly unlocking and the soft footfalls coming down the hall.

“Babe?”

Your gaze snaps up.

Like a vision, Vi’s standing in the doorway, a handful of plastic bags in tow. She’s wearing her clothes from last night and the puffs under her eyes make her a little worse for wear.

She sets the bags down on the eat-in, rounds the couch to take you by the shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she worries. “What’s going on?”

You hiccup, crumpling in her arms because you were so fucking scared.

“Thought you left,” you croak.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief, blowing out a hollow laugh because her girl’s such a baby.

“You have jack shit in your fridge,” she teases lightly. “How am I supposed to make you a five star breakfast with greek yogurt and carrot sticks?”

You whine.

“Don’t care about breakfast,” your muffled voice sounds from where your face is pressed in her chest. “Just wanted to wake up to you.”

Violet groans.

“You’re so cute,” she laughs, kissing the top of your head.

“I wanna go back to bed,” you mutter petulantly, emotional whiplash making your eyes droop.

“You’re not gonna let me make you breakfast?” Vi picks, smoothing the hair from your face.

Your eyes catch the bracelet refastened around her wrist and you grin softly, taking her fingers to press a kiss to her palm.

She could combust, gaze gooey as she watches you watch her.

Yeah, Vi has a huge problem.

One that’s particular, and overarching; one she doesn’t think she can go without.

And frankly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

neng © 2024

[brain-works]

because every point matters. they were literally telling everyone yesterday that this was the plan all along. Oscar said in his interviews that he would give up the win. if this came as a surprise, I’m sorry to say that it happens a lot in this sport and will not be the last time McLaren does this if they’re actually trying to win something.

No cause genuinely why would McLaren switch them?? Oscar had a chance to be the first driver in three years to win from pole at the São Paulo sprint race and they switched them because of what? So Lando could win with two more points than his championship contender? Truly, revolutionary stupidity.

[andrewmsaidso]

so seth was dead less then 24hrs after neil insulted riko on live tv, right? which is a crazy timeframe—like he was dead that night—to orchestrate murder and make it look like an accident, so just how exactly did riko figure out which fox to kill off so quickly? just how obsessively was he watching the foxes to know that seth was the one player they didn’t necessarily need to get to championships? (and did he silently rage over the fact that he unintentionally sort of kinda lowkey did them a favour 🌝)

[lovrsm]

“ꜱʟᴜᴛ!”

sum: Ferraris golden boy moves over to RedBull Racing Team.

Daughter of the CEO of Red Bull, you’ve grown to love racing, and in the way making new friends. Even if you felt like your world was falling apart, even when you denied it, he was the only one you needed. And there was absolutely nothing that could change his mind about your beautiful self, the way he loves you.

word count:idk, prb 2k

pairing: rb!charles leclerc x horner!reader

warnings: name calling, alcohol, smut f! receiving, first time writing real horny shit!

a/n: sorry for the long intro, I swear it’s worth it😔✋ LOOOL, I WROTE THIS LIKE A YEAR AGOO, and I rlly wanted to clear up my drafts but this is too good to not come out. Yet idk if I have any mistakes, if I do let me know!! Also, checo acting as a dad (#IloveCheco)

Spotify - Apple Music

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

“and I break down, then he’s pullin’ me in In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman”

Clink, clink, that’s what our champagne glasses sounded like together.

“Congratulations, what a wonderful year. It’s been a pleasure being with all of you.” Sergio, Checo Perez, made a brief goodbye to your team.

He was leaving Red Bull. Everyone here loved him, and loves him, including yourself. He became quickly your family after seeing him every day for more than 3 years.

“We will miss you” your dad palms his back, making Checo break a smile.

“It isn’t the end yet, you know that boss.” He laughed.

His reasons? Family, everything for him, he couldn’t bare leaving them anymore alone, so he decided after, several years, to leave formula 1. After helping Max to win his championships, he is a fucking legend.

“Well, I won’t leave you alone, I will still drag you everywhere, you know? Even after you leave.” Max and Checo have developed a very special bond, even if social media said otherwise.

“We, wont leave you alone, you still owe me those therapy sessions” I winked at him, he became a very big emotional support for me, believe it or not, he’s got some great advice to give.

“Lovely dinner” I took a picture of all of us with my camera, a goodbye dinner for Checo, and tomorrow, all of the world would see this on the newspaper.

-

“I really don’t know what to do, do you know how many drivers have reached us out in the last 2 hours? I mean, I have a few options but they keep giving me more reasons and… I just don’t know.” My dad was stressed, typing in his computer as if his life depended on it.

“It’s going to be alright, okey? You don’t necessarily need to worry about it right now, we still have a championship to win, you know?” I gave him a cup of tea, just so he could relax a bit.

When something is about work, everything else doesn’t matter. At all.

“We’ll watch your options, alright? I can help you with anything you want” I smiled at him.

“When did you became such a great business woman?”

“You’re my father, of course I’m hardworking.”

-

“Red Bull did it again, Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez, world champion and sub-champion!”

Screams from Max and Checo blasted my ears, P1 and P2, again. Absolutely no mistakes. The internet going crazy. And somehow it all became quiet.

“Who will get that Red Bull seat next year? Will he be a fit to Sergio Perez place?”

Everyone went outside to celebrate, while I stayed so I could hear the TV and media.

what do people want?

“Ferrari didn’t have a great year, let’s hope they both get a better car”

“I agree! Great drivers, such a shame Ferrari has been getting worse every year. What a waste of talent.” The other interviewer said.

Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz appeared in the screen. Both with an obvious forced smile plastered in their faces.

Charles, my secret crush ever since… forever. Was I obvious? Not a single soul knew, well, except him.

-

Charles Leclerc signed in RedBull that was the only thing appearing on my feed right now . Red bull? Bullshit, you mean? What kind of a big lie is that?

Internet was filled with Charles leaving Ferrari for RedBull.

In what twisted universe does that even happen?

I later learned, I am living in that twisted world, and I discovered the great news in social media, and not my own team.

“What do you mean Charles Leclerc, dad? Why wasn’t I even informed about this. Wait, hold on, when did it even crossed your mind?!” I was dignified.

Following around the kitchen.

“I didn’t have to, oh, I do think I need to tell you this, he’s coming to dinner tonight so wear something nice.”

Wear something nice.

Thanks dad, as always, you’re so, so great.

Night time came sooner than expected, if my dad hosts a dinner, even if there’s a million, or just one person coming over, he likes to be extra.

-

Almost time, 8:00 and it is 7:50, all that was missing was the dress. It was placed on my bed. Showing all of it’s beauty.

Navy blue, our color. It was my dream dress.

Light, silky and fancy dress.

I walked downstairs, watching people running and arranging everything, doing just the final touches.

I’ve come to learn, that people arrive late, or just in time. Never earlier.

“Ah, what a beautiful young woman I have here!” Geri, my father’s wife came to greet me.

“You look amazing, I knew that dress would be perfect for you!”

“Geri, you are amazing, seriously. Thank you, and look at you! We both look gorgeous.” I smiled at her and we linked arms, she and I were walking towards the garden, where would be the dinner.

Some big, round, wooden tables were set in the middle. Each seat would have a name, decorated with a white flower in the middle of the plate.

It was easy to find my place. I was at the biggest one of all, where the most important people of this night would be seated.

Lucky for me, his name was right next to my plate.

In a matter of seconds, people started to arrive, old friends, and new faces passed through those doors.

This will be a great night.

“Funny to find you here, it’s been some time since I last saw you…” I rolled my eyes, I (sadly) recognized that voice anywhere.

“Go away Mike.” I grabbed my wine glass and took a big sip out of it. “C’mon princess, where are your manners?” He got too close to me.

“Hey y/n! Your dad was looking for you, like right now.” Max Verstappen here to save my day.

“Oooh that’s unfortunate, I’m so so so sorry Mike, hope to see you later!” I waved him off and quickly moved towards Max who then friendly linked his arm with mine.

“I owe you one.” I sighed. “You owe me much more than 1, little one.” I laughed at him.

We got close to my father, who now had a microphone at his hand.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming here and be with us tonight. A toast for Checo here!” He announced and a light was shining on Checo, standing from his seat.

“It has been a wonderful year, sadly it has to end. And I know I’m not the first to tell you that an incredible young talent will be joining us for next season.”

There he was. Navy suit with our logo on him. His hair was messy yet perfectly placed. He showed his dimples and I’m sure I heard someone behind me moan at his sight.

My heart rate was increasing slowly but surely.

“y/n, you’re going to squeeze all my blood from my arm. Stop.” Max whispered in my ear.

Shit. I basically dug my nails into his arm due to my tiny crush.

“Yeah, It’s amazing to know that I’m to race with RedBull next year. I hope we can achieve everything we’ve dreamed of. Looking forward to race with my lifetime partner, Max here.”

Now the light was on Max and me. I discreetly let go of max so that he could have the spotlight. As Max waved I looked back at Charles.

The dimples in his face showed even more, he was looking at me too.

“I can’t wait to work with these wonderful people, and I hope we have a great year to remember, thank you and enjoy this night!” He raised his glass and so did all.

“Well, I hope we don’t have any inchidents” Max laughed at his own joke. Dad joke I must say.

“Well If you don’t push me off the track I think we’ll be just fine” his voice gave me chills. I felt his chest on my back.

I wasn’t strong enough to turn around.

“Oh, shoot, you hear that? I think P is calling me!”

“No, Max-” I tried to stop him.

Around Charles, I barely have control over myself.

“Uh-huh, yeah that’s P, she wants to go to the bathroom, and she needs food, ok have a great night bye!” He rushed to god knows where.

“You really don’t want to be with me, do you?” He whispered on my ear. Feeling the heat of his breath.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are such a lovely company, mr Leclerc.” I gathered the strength and turned around, and his beautiful green eyes shined at me, making me blush.

“Look at you, could you get any more beautiful?”

He lowered so he could whisper again. “I’ve missed you” I looked around real quick, thankfully Max took everyone’s attention on the other side of the place.

“Not here, Charles.” I whimpered.

“Yes here, I can finally be with you, do you think I would waste any more time pretending to not love you? If you do, let me tell you, you are completely wrong.”

He kept whispering, his hands slowly finding his way to my hips. And mine to his collarbone.

“It’s not even 9pm, Leclerc, this party hasn’t even started” I fighted against my own will to drag him upstairs.

“You know I’ll wait, just for you.” He winked at me, before slowly letting me go and walking away.

“You’re not coming, mon coeur?” Charles turned around to look at me. “If you insist.” I happily walked by his side.

We walked and talked for a few minutes before Mike magically appeared before us.

“Oh not even 5 seconds and you are already like a slut with the new driver” He looked at me with a disgusted face.

“Excuse her? Don’t tall to her like that. Do we even know you?” Charles used a very cold tone on him. And Mike started to stumble on his word.

“Uhm, no, she does, like I was something to her-”

“Was, that’s a key word, pal. Don’t you ever talk to her, no, don’t you ever talk to any woman that way do you understand?”

Now, I can defend myself just fine, but that right there soaked my pants in an unexplainable way.

“Get out of our sight, man.” And he crawled away.

“That was hot.” I whispered and he blushed. “Your mother did raise a gentleman.” I smiled at him and he gave me a cheek kiss.

-

Lost on the moonlit pool, drinking my… 11th (?) glass of wine at 1 in the morning while everyone was still dancing, was weird.

My feet swinging as I drink the last drop of my glass.

I went on a side quest myself just to get distracted for a bit. All the noise was going to hurt my ears if I stayed any longer.

“Here you are, you got lost?” He sat down at my side. Didn’t have to look, his thick accent gave him away immediately.

I took a long breath and rested my head on his shoulder . “Yes, Charles, I’m going to get lost in my own house.” I felt him move beside me. He then had his feet in the pool, just as I did.

I smiled to myself.

“Has anyone told you just how beautiful you look today?”

“You have, more than once.”

“I couldn’t let that slip, you do look beautiful with that dress. It suits you just perfectly.”

He paused.

“But I bet you’d look much better without it.”

I nervously chuckled at his comment.

“You haven’t talked to me in ages, you came back being a driver for my father, and now you want to have sex? Why don’t you already make me your wife?!” I dramatically fell into his arms

“Ages? I talked to you last week!” He showed his teeth to me in a smile. “That was a long time ago! Besides, you never told me about you and RedBull.” I sit straight up again.

“I needed your dad to love me one way or another. How else am I going to get him to approve of our marriage?” He joked.

“You are unbelievable Leclerc.” I stood up, and grabbed my high-heels on my hand, walking back to the party barefoot.

I surrounded part of the pool, my dad wanted to add a bar right beside it, and it was freshly cemented.

He quickly copied my moves, but instead, he went on a straight line to me, and in a step he covered his feet in cement, falling down and thankfully placing his hands before getting worse.

“Shit!” I ran back to help him. I stupidly placed my hand in the cement, the other helping Charles to get up.

“Look, we made a masterpiece! Your handprints and mine in wet cement.”

“And your feet.” I laughed

“And my feet… I really need to wash this off before it gets dry.” I grabbed his hand and he followed my lead.

If my dad sees that I’m getting his new driver to my room…

We rushed through the multitude of people on the garden.

“Ooh we’re going to your bedroom, can’t remember what happened last time there…” he whispered shouted as we were running up the stairs.

I jokingly rolled my eyes at him. We were giggling like children. He kept making dirty jokes and as much as I tried to control myself I’d end up giggling much more.

We got there quicker than I thought. With my clean hand I closed the door and he was already in my bathroom washing his hands, and feet with water. I ran to his side and did the same with my left hand.

“I’m done” I announced and got out of the bathroom. Deciding to do a touch up for my makeup, thankfully nothing was much out of place, but my lipstick faded.

I slowly applied it looking in the mirror, and through it I saw a curious Charles looking at me. “Why do you even apply lipstick?” He slowly walked towards me.

I took my sweet time spreading the color on my lips.

“Cause we are going back, party is not over.”

“But we don’t need to.” He grabbed me by the waist and turned me around to look at him and he swiftly placed me on the desk. A smirk plastered on his face, as he slowly got on his knees.

“Charles…”

He got to his knees, not breaking eye contact with me.

“You know that if you say no, I won’t do anything. But I’m not hearing those words, am I?” He lifted my dress planted wet kisses on my inner thighs, getting closer to my sweet spot. “You’re so fucking wet”.

“They will know we’re gone” I nervously whispered. He looked into my eyes and stopped, his hot breath making me squirm. “That isn’t a no.” He stood his ground.

And I’m not saying “do it anyway”, but we both know he is going to.

I didn’t even have a chance to think about the cons, his tongue was already doing its job.My legs were closing due to the pleasure, but his strong arms kept them wide open while he drew circles with his thumbs.

“Charles…” he hummed in response, sending me shivers all the way up. He kept licking my folds and as I looked down, he had his shiny green eyes looking at me. A hint of darkness in them that made me moan just at sight.

His head between my legs was surely what heaven looked like.

I curved my back and my hand gripping his hair so he could get closer. He groaned and sucked even harder.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy, I missed this.” His hand moved quickly into me, curling his two fingers finding my g spot. “Fuck, Charles!” I screamed his name while cumming all over him, his tongue taking all off of me, as he rose without slowly moving his fingers again. My hips rocking back and forth as he arose, keeping his hand busy. “Too bad that pretty mouth of yours can’t do much right now. I really would love to feel it sucking my dick.” I hummed imagining it and getting even closer to my second climax.

“I'll take care of you, just so my princess can remember who she belongs with.” His lips were on my neck, whispering sweet nothing between kisses and soft biting. My moans filled the whole room along with the sound of his fingers working on her center.

Charles, Charles, Charles…

Each time his name left your mouth his cock got even harder, to the point where it hurt. In a short motion his pants down and without any warning he thrusted into you. You both let out a pornographic scream. If the music wasn’t loud everyone would have heard you two. The sound of your slaps were evident, heat rising, the feeling of his beard in your neck was all too much. Curses along with moans were the only thing louder. He did a final thrust and immediately pulled out, jerking off and finishing in his hand.

“You just washed your hands.” I joked breathlessly, he messed up with my head real bad. “Couldn’t resist” he smiled, gave me a peck and disappeared into the bathroom. I melted on that spot.

“Come on mon coeur.” What I loved about Charles was that he always cared. we got into the bathroom and I washed my hands, in the reflection of the mirror his eyes were already in mine.

“What?” I asked as the blood rushed into my cheeks. “Nothing.” He gently smiled, and his eyes shined to me in a different shade of green.

-

Taglist

@delicatepeanutsublime @ironspdy @architect-2015 @buendiabebeta @dreamergirlatpaddock @lercvlie

[iimplicitt]

SELFISH | LN4

pairings: lando norris x fem! reader

request!

summary: Lando and you can’t seem to agree on whether or not to go public with your relationship, but after two years together you’re getting tired of it. His stress from the championship isn’t exactly making it easy to have a conversation with him, in fact it usually ends up in a fight… among other things.

warnings; smut 18+, unprotected sex (stay safe), slapping/hitting, choking, jealousy, toxic! lando, secret relationship, angry sex, make up sex, sprinkle of fluff, and max being baby girl

wc: 3.4k

You were a natural flirt, according to many people who knew you. Personally, you thought you were just being nice. Just because you smiled at a guy or gave him a hug, that didn’t mean you wanted to get into his pants.

You preferred the word charming. Charismatic, perhaps. However, your boyfriend wasn’t a fan. Really, what guy would be? Especially when the men you were surrounded by were for the most part attractive, wealthy race car drivers.

You and Lando had gotten into yet another fight. It seemed like a nightly occurrence these days. You wanted to go public with the relationship and he didn’t. For a while you didn’t mind. After two years together though, sneaking around was more and more of a chore. You knew you could handle it, and the pair of you had already been through hell together. So why keep hiding? You didn’t get it and he could never give you a clear answer that seemed justifiable.

Any response he did give was from a place of pure possession and jealousy. He wanted you all to himself. And for some reason he couldn’t get it through his head that even when the world did know about your relationship, he would still be the only man for you.

Besides, you weren’t necessarily the type of woman men came flocking to in DM’s. Sure, once you did go public there would be more media attention but you knew you could handle it. In the worst case scenario, you’d just delete whatever app and move on with your life.

For some reason, Lando didn’t think it was that simple. It never was with him. When you were out, any man who looked in your direction always got a death glare from the British driver. It was getting a little ridiculous. Lando wasn’t controlling by any means, but it felt like you couldn’t go anywhere without him thinking some random guy would hit on you.

Even if that did end up happening, so what? You never gave them the time of day anyway so you didn’t see why it mattered.

Regardless, as you walked into the paddock that morning, annoyance at him still had all of your nerves in a tight bunch. He had left the hotel at an ungodly hour without so much as a goodbye. He didn’t think he had to apologize for blowing everything out of proportion and you were too stubborn to forgive and forget.

Waving hello with a tight smile as you passed people, you came to a halt in front of Red Bull as someone called your name.

Arching a brow, it took you a moment before you realised it was Max who was waving an arm at you. An easy smile easily replaced your tense one, you and the Dutch man have always gotten along well.

“Good morning,” you greeted as he approached you with two cups of coffee.

Max smiled at you warmly, his cheeks and nose slightly red from the Spanish sun. He set down the coffees and gave you a hug, something you didn’t even have to think about. It was a common form of a hello between the two of you, though it hadn’t happened in awhile.

Not only with how hectic the season has been, but Lando had had a stick up his ass about your friendship with the Red Bull driver. You knew they were rivals in the championship, but throwing away a many years long friendship over a trophy seemed ridiculous in your mind.

He smelt like apples and cinnamon and the scent was comforting and new, knowing he had probably just used whatever was in the hotel bathroom to shower.

“You ready for today?” You asked, pulling your head back to look up at him with your arms still wrapped around each other.

Max shrugged, “as long as I get a good start I’m not all that worried.”

You hummed. Lando was on pole, something he was both excited but a bit anxious about considering Max was starting second.

“Coffee?” He asked, stepping back to grab the two cups he had been holding a minute ago. “I saw you coming so I made it to your liking.”

You couldn’t help but smile again. Despite his reputation of being aggressive on track, off of it he tended to be an absolute sweetheart. “Thank you, Max.”

“Anything for my favorite commentator.” He grinned at you and ruffled your hair, laughing at the annoyed scowl on your face as you tried to fix the mess he made. “Uh oh,” his tone suddenly turned a bit weary.

Your brows furrowed and followed his gaze, catching sight of a very unhappy Lando leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.

Max leaned down to whisper in your ear while still looking at the McLaren driver. “Did you write a bad piece on him or what? He looks like he wants to kill someone.”

You looked back over your shoulder, Lando’s eyes narrowed and jaw clenched at the proximity of Max to you. You sighed and took a sip of the coffee, like always Max made it perfectly. “I interviewed him and I guess I struck a nerve.” The lie slipped out easily, just like they had the past two years when people asked questions about you and Lando.

Max rested a hand on your elbow, meeting your eyes with a look of concern that wasn’t needed but it was appreciated nonetheless. “Want me to scare him off?”

You laughed, which was probably a mistake because you could physically feel the daggers your boyfriend was throwing at you. Shaking your head, you patted Max on the arm. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure you’ll do great today. I’ll see you later.”

You turned and faced Lando, raising a challenging brow at him and shooting a silent what the fuck is wrong with you? at him.

He clenched his jaw before turning, his steps purposeful as he walked towards what you assumed was his driver's room. You rolled your eyes, knowing you were about to walk into another argument. The pettier part of yourself was itching for one, but you knew a fight before a race was the last thing he needed.

With a bit of foresight, you probably would’ve chosen differently. But at the moment you were mad and thought you were doing the wisest thing for both of you.

So you turned left to go to the commentators box, ditching your boyfriend and turning off your phone. He needed a clear mind for the race and you needed a clear mind to give at least a shred of decent commentary.

Your stomach had dropped the moment Max had overtaken Lando’s lead and it didn’t pick back up when the checkered flag waved over the Red Bull car. It didn’t pick itself back up when your boyfriend followed after him about two seconds later, the papaya orange glowing almost angrily in the Spanish sun. It didn’t pick back up as you watched his post-race interview. It didn’t pick back up when you watched him step onto the podium. It didn’t even budge when he sprayed the champagne and smiled for photos.

He was furious. You could tell. No one else probably would besides Oscar. Lando’s teammate was remarkably good at reading people and was one of the only few people who knew you and Lando were dating. Your suspicions were only confirmed later on when a team photo was taken, Oscar leaning over to quietly ask if he was alright and Lando waved him off casually, but his smile was tight for the camera.

Your stomach fell further into the pits of hell as you neared his driver's room. You had waited a little while till the crowd died down, not wanting to blow your cover. Despite everything, when you two did go public you wanted it to be on terms you both agreed on.

You calmed your breath, preparing yourself to get yelled at when you inserted the key he had given you and popped the door open. The room was empty but you heard the shower cut off just as you shut the door softly behind you.

The room was neat, his clothes folded up and put away, ready to be on the road again. You paced for a moment, not quite sure what to do with yourself as you heard Lando shuffling about in the bathroom. You eyed his trophy warily, not sure if congratulating him was a good idea tonight.

The bathroom door opened and you spun, watching as Lando stopped abruptly at the sight of you. One hand clutching at the towel that was hanging loose at his hips and you couldn’t help it as you watched water droplets fall from his curly hair and drip down his tanned chest.

“About fucking time,” he muttered before moving again, walking right up to you and making you feel cornered all the sudden. “Where the fuck have you been? Off hugging Max, hm? Congratulating him on his win?”

You clenched your jaw, doing your best not to roll your eyes. “I have a job, you know. I couldn’t just prance up to you after the race.” You then gasped dramatically. “Oh wait, I could. Except somebody wants to keep me locked up in their bedroom.”

Lando completely ignored your last statement. “What the hell were you doing hugging him this morning?”

You balked at him. “He’s one of my best mates? And from what I can recall, you two are also friends. What difference does it make with me?” You knew what the answer was, you just wanted him to admit it. To say it out loud. Maybe you were bating him, maybe you were the problem. But at the moment you didn’t care.

“I told you not to fucking talk to him—“

“I can talk to whoever I want! Do you hear yourself?”

“But Max of all people? Really? You know how stressed I am about the championship and you go and fucking hug him and he makes you coffee? What, do you want to fuck him or something to piss me off—“

Lando’s words cut off as his head snapped to the side, rolling his jaw and his cheek slowly turned red.

Your eyes widened as your hand began to sting, only then realising you had just slapped him across the face. You even winced a little bit on his behalf because you were wearing rings. Your hands covered your mouth, a string of apologies leaving your lips.

“Oh my god, Lando I am so—“

You barely had time to blink before he took a step forward, hand grabbing your jaw harshly as he forced your eyes up to meet his. He didn’t look himself, his eyes glazed over and jaw clenched, silently seething as he looked at you but not quite. Like he was seeing a ghost, perhaps.

It was a little frightening and your eyes were probably wider than the moon. He shouldn’t have said any of those things, they were hurtful. But you also shouldn’t have hit him.

“Darling,” you said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Lando a blinked a few times, finally looking at you properly. As if the wave of anger finally passed over him and his hold on your jaw loosened, his hand falling to softly cup your neck. His eyes closed, his thick lashes brushing the top of his cheekbones before he let his head fall forward. His forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He then lifted his head, cradling your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead, whispering a string of more apologies as he went.

You two always ended up in this dance. In the moment you never minded, and no, you never regretted it. But fucking after a fight never solved anything in the long run.

Despite this trail of rational thinking, you didn’t protest as he backed you into the wall. His hands dancing up your shirt and a groan leaving him when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra.

There was a voice in the back of your mind telling you to put an end to this and talk, but when his mouth latched onto the space beneath your jaw, a moan fell from your lips instead. Your hands buried themselves in his damp hair, tugging lightly and he let out a delicious sound as he left wet and hot open mouth kisses along your throat.

His hands reached down, quickly finding the hem of your skirt and hiking it up around your waist. Not a moment later you gasped into his mouth at the feeling of his fingers tugging your underwear to the side, the cool air of the room hitting your sensitive pussy which was now exposed.

You barley registered the sound of Lando’s towel hitting the floor before you felt his hands grip the back of your thighs, picking you and turning towards the bed. He lowered you on it, the movement felt oddly graceful but you didn’t have time to think or even prepare yourself before Lando had your legs spread and he sank his cock into your cunt, bottoming out and it was painful and electric and amazing.

You didn’t have time to gasp out his name before he pulled out and snapped his hips back into you, a scream ripping up your throat at the brutal pace of it. You felt light headed, each of your nerves in a daze as pleasure wreaked havoc on your body. You were so out of it, in delirium that you hadn’t even registered Lando slapped you until you heard the echo of it bounce around the room.

Your cheek felt warm, the heat of it a slight tingle and it was strange and fucked up but you clenched around his cock harder, if even possible.

At the sensation, Lando’s head fell into the crook of your neck and he shuddered. “Fuck, you liked that didn’t you?” His breath was hot against your ear and you whimpered as his hand snaked up to your throat and applied pressure, choking you. “You like being used.”

He laughed and pulled back, the grin on his face sharp and devastatingly handsome.

You couldn’t get enough of him. He looked heavily above you, dominating you in ways you never thought you’d actually find attractive. But there you were, being choked out and slapped around and on the verge of cumming.

His other hand danced down your body, feather light and making you go mad. When his fingers landed on your clit and began rubbing tight circles into it, your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head and you choked on your own moans.

“I’m— I’m gonna—“ you struggled to get the words out, choking on them and hot tears began to leak from your eyes. Leaving ruddy trails of mascara in their wake and you were sure you looked like a mess.

Not that Lando cared, in fact, he seemed to love it. He was looking at you as if you had just offered him a slice of heaven. Like he worshiped you. Like he would call out your name even beyond the grave.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?”

You tried your best to nod but you could barely function with the way the crash of pleasure was building up in your body, it was almost torturous at this moment.

Lando’s pace got even more brutal if possible as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours as he thrusted his cock deeper and harder into your cunt. “You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he ground out as he kissed away your tears. “Come for me, darling.”

As if his words were some magical spell, you crashed over the edge almost violently. Your back arching, his name a scream that was ripped right from your lungs. Barely a second passed before he yanked your hips back down onto him and you felt his cock twitch as he came inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, both your bodies covered in sweat and panting. It was comforting nonetheless, being so close to him.

Lando’s arms wrapped around you as he rolled you both to the side, peppering kisses along your neck and shoulder. Being so gentle it made your head spin.

Dammit, you were about to cry for a whole other list of reasons, and despite the mind blowing make up sex part of you still wanted to stay mad at him.

The timing was awful, but this had to be fixed now. Or else it would turn into another fight eventually.

You turned and gently took hold of his wrists, meeting his eyes and you took a moment to collect yourself before you asked the question that always started problems.

“Why don’t you want anyone to know about us?” Before he could open his mouth, you kept talking. “I’m not going anywhere, Lando. Not now, not ever. And I can take whatever the media throws at me, I already do on a daily basis. That’s the life of a journalist. Not only that, I’m a grown woman. I can handle myself, and if I ever do need help I know I can count on you to be there for me.”

Lando let out a long breath, looking at you intently before he lifted a hand and brushed his thumb along your cheekbone. “What if I can’t handle it? I won’t be able to hold my tongue or my temper if anyone says something about you. About us being together.”

“You can, and you will.” You looked at him pointedly. “You hold your temper all the time, you’re better at it than you think when it comes to racing—“

“When it comes to racing, yes. But when it comes to you, that is a line I don’t want people crossing.”

You bit your lip, looking at him. You appreciated his concern, you really did. But you were tired of the secrets and lies. “So what? I’m just going to be a hidden part of you for the rest of your life? You’re just going to be a hidden part of mine? I don’t want to live like that, Lando.” You brushed the damp curls back from his eyes, taking in the stunning green of them and you fell in love all over again.

You fueled purpose into each of your words. “Let me love you loudly. I’m not saying we rub it in everyone’s faces, we can still have our own privacy but I don’t want to be this little secret you carry around anymore.”

He let out a heavy breath, hands holding you to him tightly. “Baby…”

“I can’t keep hiding. And I can’t keep lying to everyone. And I don’t want to ghost all my guy friends because you get jealous. Jealous for absolutely no reason. Max and I are friends. That’s it. That’s all it will ever be.” You then leaned forward and kissed him. His chapped lips rough against your as he met your urgency.

“You’re it for me, Lando. There was never going to be anyone else.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a calming breath before looking at you again, his eyes glowing and his lips pulled up slightly, revealing his dimples.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded, “Okay.” He pulled you in for another kiss and muttered those three words that drove you mad into your mouth.

landonorris and youruser

liked by carlossainz55, youruser, oscarpiastri and 820,027 others

landonorris happier than ever, happy three years baby

*tap to load more comments*

userone: my jaw fell to the center of the earth WHAT

usertwo: talk about a hard launch hello???

oscarpiastri: finally jesus

| userthree: YOU KNEW???

userfour: IM SORRY THREE YEARS??? ISNT THAT ONE OF THE F1 COMMENTATORS

| userfive: YOURE SO RIGHT IT IS HER

youruser: i love you

| landonorris: i love you

| usersix: im losing my mind

| carlossainz55: i’m losing my appetite

tag list: @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @hearts4acemyluv

[rickybaby]

What is going awn at the House of Red Bull??

[yeoslattes]

Courts and Stands

Genre: smut, college AU

Pairings: band geek!Hongjoong x fem volleyball player!reader

Summary: after a small interaction, you have your eyes set on Hongjoong not knowing he's been after you for a while.

Warnings: smut, no dom/sub themes necessarily but Hj is lowkey kinda subby, more experienced reader, semi experienced Hongjoong, he's in love with her literally, Seonghwa cameo (ofc), slight pervy thoughts from Hj, unprotected sex, blow job, swallowing, cunnilingus, slight overstimulation if u squint (fem receiving), he is surprisingly good at being a munch, pussy drunk Hongjoong bc yes, reader on top, accidental creampie, hongie kinda loses control

A/N: im back with a new fic, lowkey it’s a bit tame but Hj is so cute in it. Decided to drop early because why not!!! Hope you guys enjoy :))) my asks are always open for anything!!

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

If you mess this chance up, you kiss bye bye to the championship finals. Your team is on a 3 point run, your teammates are exhausted as are you. Your knees have rubbed raw from the thick material of your knee pads, yet you can barely feel the pain from the adrenaline. Playing the libero position for one of the nation’s top universities was not light work. You knew you were good at it, no need to doubt yourself; you had all the medals and trophies to prove it. Yet somehow, a knot always formed in your throat during important matches like this one.

The crowd goes wild as your teammate serves the ball perfectly over the net. You’re quick on your feet, hovering over the open areas, trying to cover as much ground as you possibly can. You’re on your toes as the opposing team’s hitter floats up in the air to slam the ball down. The ball bounces hard on the floor as your response is a little delayed; immediate point for the other team. You sigh in annoyance but huddle with your teammates, patting each other's backs and yelling encouraging words.

“C’mon guys we got this!”

The process repeats itself; the world moves in slow motion around you as you read the opposing team’s play. You watch as the tall girl soars through the air, her arm bending far behind her to bring down against the poor ball. You fall to your knees, arms extended, setting a strong platform as the ball ricochets perfectly towards your team’s setter. The crowd yells loudly, the fans on the edge of their seats as your outside hitter puts the ball away against the other team. The six of you on the floor cheer loudly. Two more points and this would all be over, but there was no time to relax.

The next two points fly by and suddenly you’re huddled on the gym floor with all your teammates. You guys had done it, you were going to the finals. The cameras surrounded you, all taking different angled pictures all while the famous sports broadcasting network attempted to get an interview with the 6 players in the starting line up.

***

The gym was clearing up except for a few of the camera crew people. Hongjoong sat watching some guys roll up some thick black cables wondering why he hadn’t picked a major that allowed him to be more involved than being on the stands playing a clarinet. He checked his phone expecting a message from Yeosang. When he doesn’t see anything he decides to kill time by scrolling on instagram. The school had already posted celebrating the semi finals win, he saw you in the picture and couldn't help but smile. It was a rather intense action shot of you. Your hands are fists in the air as you celebrate. He taps on the picture and your tag pops up. He’s about to scroll through your feed when he sees someone approaching him from his peripherals. When he looks up he sees Yeosang; he’s still sporting his cheerleading uniform with a backpack slinged over his shoulder.

“Ready?” he asks,

Hongjoong nods, fumbling with his phone which Yeosang catches a glimpse of. The pretty brunette smirks in a teasing manner.

“You’re stalking now?”

Hongjoong shoves him.

“Shut up, ‘m not stalking…just admiring.”

Yeosang giggles at his roommate's words.

“You should-”

“Can we not Yeo?” Hongjoong shuts him down because he knew exactly where he was going with this; they’d had this convo once or twice before. The pretty boy lifts his hands up in defeat, a low chuckle resonating in the empty hallway that led out of the arena.

***

“Alright class. With winter break coming up, it’s important you stay on top of your work.”

Murmurs erupted within the class at the professor’s speech, everyone knew this spiel always led to some type of project. Hongjoong looked around at his peers confused, any project that was thrown his way he’d be more than happy to complete.

“I’m going to have you all write me a four page essay on a song of your choice. I want it to be a song that resonates with you. It’s also only four pages with no specific word count. I'm making this easy for you, the rest of the details will be up on Blackboard. Good luck, class dismissed, have a great winter break.”

The students erupt into motion, scurrying out of the class. Hongjoong drapes his backpack over his shoulder and makes a straight beeline for the library, determined to finish this essay today.

You on the other hand stay behind, you curiously watch the boy with glasses rush out of the lecture room. Your friend watched him and starts laughing,

“Ah Hongjoong, top of the class always. How much you wanna bet he’s headed for the library right now.” Kimmy says, walking slowly beside you as you both make it through the doors.

“Kimmy don’t be mean. He’s committed just like we are towards the team.” At your words your friend sighs,

“I’m not ready for this championship game at all, we have to win this national title to keep the school’s rep going.” An uneasy feeling rushes through you the more you process her words.

“I know,” you sigh.

“but…I can’t think about the next match right now. Imma focus on this essay, it may give me some peace of mind. I’ll catch you at practice later.” Kimmy smiles and gives you a side hug.

“Don’t stress, see you later!” She waves you off as you head towards the library.

When you step through the library oak doors, you immediately spot Hongjoong nose deep in his computer as he typed away. You frown at how easy it must come to him since his major is literally music related. You huff and walk past the table he's sitting at and plop on the table in front of him.

You sit there staring at your computer screen after spending 45 minutes scrolling through your Spotify playlists trying to pick a song. When you lift your eyes, Hongjoong is still typing away, he’s now joined by the silver haired nerd Seonghwa. Seonghwa was part of the robotics club and was also in band like Hongjoong. You often saw him in the stands next to his brunette friend.

He’s focused on the lego set he’s building. Suddenly, the top of his head becomes more interesting, as you notice the way his roots are slowly growing back. Your eyes shift to Hongjoong and you meet his eyes momentarily before he looks down. You cock a brow up at him and shift in your seat leaning forward towards your blank computer screen.

You huff loudly in annoyance and stand up, the mahogany chair scraping loudly despite the carpeted floors. The noise catches both of the nerd’s attention, their eyes now on you. You grab your computer and walk over to their table. Seonghwa’s mouth is slightly agape as he watches you. Hands frozen as he grips onto a lego piece. When you sit down you notice the way Hongjoong gulps.

“Hey!” You smile, you watch them curiously, they both let out a squeaked ‘hello’.

“Sorry if this is random, but Hongjoong we are in the same class and I was wondering if you could lend me some help with this essay.” Hongjoong’s wide eyes remain on you, he finally blinks the shock away.

“Uh yeah.” He clears his throat. “What do you need help with?”

“Well I have my song, The Night We Met by Lord Huron. But I’m struggling on applying it towards my essay.”

He nods attentively leaning back

“Well, tune into the song, and describe how it makes you feel. Explain what kind of memories come up when you listen to it. And relate certain situations that you’ve been in to the song. That's Basically the whole synopsis of the assignment.”

You nod, comprehending his explanation. Suddenly you begin typing away on your computer, the pair stares at you expectantly as you remain on their table and work on your assignment. They give each other a look and Seonghwa makes a face at his friend before focusing back on his legos. Eventually you had reached your 4 pages, barely, but you’d hit the mark. You smile proudly as you save the document.

“Thank you so much Hongjoong!” You say packing up your bag.

“When do you guys have band practice?” You ask, standing by the table.

“Uh, tomorrow actually.” Seonghwa replies, adjusting his glasses.

“Fun! If I am correct, we will be practicing then as well. I’ll see you guys! Here’s my number if you ever need anything, you’ve been a great help. Thanks again Joong.”

The nerdy boy sits slumped and confused at the whole interaction.

“bro…” Seonghwa chimes in, excitedly pulling at his friend’s shoulder.

Hongjoong shrugs just as shocked.

“She called me Joong.” is the only thing he can get out. He’s incredibly smitten by you, the thought of the nickname making him feel all fuzzy on the inside. He smiles leaning back burying his flushed face in his hands.

***

“You're sloppy!” Coach yells at you.

Your gaze is focused on the stands, you search for Hongjoong and you spot him next to a head of silver hair. He sits quietly, clearly spacing out. His friend next to him yaps excitedly about whatever to Mingi who was also part of the robotics club with Seonghwa. Are they all in band? You ask yourself but get brought back to reality by your coach calling your name.

“Focus, We are not winning a national championship with this performance!” She yells

“Yes coach!”

You do your best to center yourself back to the task at hand. You take a deep breath lowering yourself into your receiving position. As soon as the ball is over the net you go for it, but instead of a smooth pass the ball flies off your arms and into the stands. You sigh and roll your eyes in pure frustration.

“Okay no, everyone a lap right now! Grab water and get your asses back here as soon as you're done.” Coach is red in the face at the team’s poor performance, but you’re almost sure you’re the main root of the problem.

“Why are you so distracted today?” Kimmy asks, she squeezes water into her mouth.

You shrug,

“I actually have no idea Kimmy.” You say, looking back towards the stands, but you kind of did.

Kimmy follows your gaze and tongues her cheek and scoffs in a playful manner.

“No way,” she nudges you,

“The top nation team’s libero is interested in a band geek? Which one of the three?” You hush her,

“Stop it, no. Hongjoong just helped me with my essay yesterday, that's all. I wanna properly thank him.” The redhead raises her eyebrows playfully,

“I know of ways you can thank him.” At that you shove her,

“Hey hey, I'm okay with running laps because of your poor performance if it means you finally have someone.”

“Kimmy oh my god. Focus .” You shake your head

“Says you.”

***

Hongjoong watches the volleyball team practice unfold before him. His band instructor has given them directions for whatever song they’d been practicing for the last week and Seonghwa is blabbing to him about something but he can barely focus. His wandering eyes roam over your frame. He swallows thickly at the way your legs and ass look in the short spandex. The warmup shirt with the university colors hugging your frame just right.

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies.” Seonghwa leans and whispers to him. He might’ve been spacing out this entire time, but that brings him back to reality. He shakes his daze away and looks around, his cheeks tinting pink from slight embarrassment.

“Stop it.” He tells his silver haired friend.

“Yeah, but you’re the one drooling over the volleyball player. I must admit those shorts do her right.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes,

“Don’t talk about her like that.” He whispers smacking Seonghwa upside the head.

“Gentlemen, let's focus on our instruments please, not side conversations.”

Hongjoong looks down, feeling the gaze of his band peers on him. Taking a deep breath he does his best to follow along. Though his eyes steal glances of you periodically.

***

Practice had kicked your ass. Never had you felt more distracted by anything, much less anyone. You stand under the shower, at this point you were the last one that remained in the locker rooms. The warm water relaxes your muscles and calms down the slight shivering that rattled through you.

You dress in a relaxed outfit, ready to get back to your dorm and sleep. When you walk out of the locker room you are met by Hongjoong. He’s leaning against the wall, looking down at his phone. At your footsteps his head snaps up. His eyes soften when he realizes it’s you,

“Hey hongjoong!” You greet him.

He gives you a small wave.

“Hi, practice looked good.” He compliments.

He suddenly regrets saying that in fear he sounded stupid, in reality he had no idea what was going on during your practice.

“Eh, not my best performance but thank you anyway.”

“Uh, are you waiting for someone?” You ask him, tightening your grip on the pink duffle bag on your shoulder.

“Yes actually, I’m waiting for Yeosang but his practice is running later than usual.”

“Yeosang? The one on the cheer team?” You asked rather surprised.

“Yes that’s him…” awkward silence falls between you two.

“Okay well, I was gonna go back to my dorm and sleep but I’m suddenly craving a sweet treat. Care to join?” You send him a sweet smile, your wide eyes gleaming as you waiting for his answer.

“Uhm…sure why not.” Hongjoong lets out an airy laugh, adjusting his instrument carrier on his back; you both begin the journey to the boba shop.

Hongjoong didn’t have much of an appetite for sweet things but he’d eat an entire bakery if it meant getting to spend time with you. He settles on a matcha milk, he’s about to pull out his card to pay but isn’t able to get his wallet out before you place your card against the reader. The small machine beeps in approval and he watches you grab your receipt from the cashier.

“Why did you do that?” He chuckles, you turn to look at him and he almost falls on his knees.

“Because, you helped me with my essay.”

“But…you did most of the work I just-”

“Jeez, just take the damn drink.” You chuckle,

“It’s okay, this is my way of repaying you.” You stab the thick straw through your drink and take a sip.

Hongjoong’s eyes are big behind his glasses as he focuses on the way your lips wrap around the straw. He wonders what they would look like around…

“This is so good, oh my gosh.” You moan, he swallows thickly and chuckles nervously, finally getting around to trying his drink. He hums at the way the sweetness of the matcha invades his taste buds, trying to play off the way he almost choked on a boba pearl.

Finally you begin your journey to your dorm. You both walked side by side silently, the winter night biting into your cheeks. It’s not long before you’re standing in front of the entrance to the dorm building.

You open your mouth to say something but are interrupted by the loud ping of a phone that is clearly not yours. Hongjoong shimmies his phone out of his pocket, he stares at the screen for a moment before sighing in pure exhaustion and slight annoyance.

“You okay?”

He nods,

“Yeah I’m fine, Yeosang is going over to this girl’s house but he has our dorm key and I lost my copy.” He sticks his phone back in his pocket.

“Oh…well I know it’s not allowed but do you wanna come in? You can kill time here, maybe even take a nap, you know whatever you need.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, you? Inviting him? To your dorm? He couldn’t wrap his head around that but he thanked Yeosang in his head. He’s quiet for a minute, a strangled noise emitting from his throat. When he sees the way you cock a brow up at him he composes himself.

“Sure.”

You grab his hand and pull him inside. You look around the corner for the RA and when the coast is clear you tug him into the elevator and up to the last floor. Quickly running to your room, letting out a heavy huff when you’re in safely.

“No roommates?” He asks, setting his backpack down and taking your room in.

“Uh no, no roommates. Got lucky with that one.”

You settle comfortably on the small couch in the corner, curiously watching him as he studies all the pictures stuck to your wall.

Eventually he joins you and just like that you begin talking. The pair of you conversate for what feels like hours. You both exchange your passions for your majors, as well as where you were both from. Slowly but surely you felt closer to him, only then realizing that you truly enjoyed his company. On the inside you’re smiling at how much he had visibly relaxed.

“Why are you talking to me?” He suddenly asks.

“Why not?”

“You don’t think it's weird?” You shake your head at his question.

“Why would it be? Because I have a “popularity” status?” you ask, raising your fingers in quotations.

Hongjoong nods silently.

“No, that means nothing to me. I like you, ever since you helped me with that final essay. Not everyone is so willing. Plus I know you’re an absolute academic weapon and that’s cool.”

His cheeks flush a bright pink and suddenly he’s looking down, trying to shy away from your gaze.

You shift closer to him and he remains frozen in his spot. Hongjoong’s stare lingers on your lips before shooting back up to meet your eyes. Without thinking much of it he leans in very slowly, it was like his body was set on autopilot. With one final look into his eyes you press your lips against his. His glasses are pressed against your face as your lips work against his. He’s tense, but the more worked up you both get the more his body decompresses. Finally he brings a hand to your cheek deepening the kiss. You gain the courage to climb up on his lap, he pulls away, and you look at him with a slight worry on your face.

“I haven’t-” he shakes his head catching his breath,

“Only once or twice but I’m not that-.” You cut his rambling off.

“It's okay, just let me do the work and follow my lead.” He nods, his glassy eyes looking up at you.

You press your lips against his again, your hands encircling around his wrists to lay his hands on your hips. You grind down against him and his breath hitches and you almost smirk into the kiss. He’s hard underneath you and your panties only get stickier by the minute. He groans softly against you as you slowly continue to work your hips on him.

“Gosh please i-i want you so bad.” He says quietly gasping for air. Hongjoong is shuddering and he has to try hard to keep himself from busting underneath you.

You pull your sweater off yourself and hop off onto the floor. You tug on his pants and he raises his hips slightly. Managing to get both waistbands down, his cock springs free. It's warm and stiff in your grasp as you wrap your lips around the tip. Hongjoong leans his head back on the couch, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you continue to inch down the expanse of his dick. You shove him all the way down, his flushed cockhead hitting the back of your throat deliciously. You work what you can’t fit and continue to lather him in your saliva. His hands shyly come up almost as if he wants to rest them on your head. You pull away and look up at him,

“You can push me and do what you need to get there.” You reassure him, voice hoarse from the previous intrusion. He nods and watches in awe as you go back down and swallow him almost whole. Your mouth sucks so hard that he’s seeing stars. Suddenly not shy anymore his hands tangle in your hair and he pushes down, causing you to gag on him. The noise resonates loudly in the room and he groans softly. His eyes are now closed and his head is back once more, his hips slowly move up forcing more of his cock down your throat.

“I’m- i-m…cum.” He groans, his breathing is labored as he chases his high that’s right at his reach. His hips still and his hands keep your head stable in a single spot you can’t do anything besides take his load in your mouth. When you pull away he looks down at you. Hongjoong relishes in the way your eyes are teary and there's spit and cum running down your chin. He suddenly leans down and captures your lips in a final kiss, his remnants all over him now.

“Was that good?” You ask, he nods still trying to catch his breath.

You smile at him and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Feel free to stay or go, up to you.” You offered, he pondered for a moment.

“I’d stay but Yeosnag should be back already and will wonder where I am. Uh, thank you I- I guess.”

He gathers himself and his belongings and heads for the door. As he's about to exit you pull him into a quick hug.

“See you soon?” Hongjoong blinks, you wanted to see him again?

“of course yes.” He replies quietly.

“Good, don’t get caught by the RA.” You wink closing the door behind him.

***

You’d spent the following week texting Hongjoong, that is until the day before the final championship game. You’d ghosted him completely, Hongjoong had spent the entire day and night ruminating, he had gone over the texts a billion times wondering if he’d done something wrong. He so desperately wanted to tell Seonghwa or Yeosang, but no one knew about you and him and your escapade that one night. He didn’t want rumors to spread so he kept quiet. The final championship match day had arrived. Hongjoong was in his dorm squeezing into the white pants that were part of the new uniforms. He tried on the silly little hat that went with it and he didn’t completely hate it. He grabbed one of his expensive colognes that he only sprayed if the occasion called for it and tonight he’d be seeing you, at least that’s what he hoped. Ignoring how mildly silly he felt in his marching band uniform he headed out the door.

By the time he and the rest of the band members had made it to the packed arena you were already on the floor warming up. He smiled at you when you spotted him but frowned when you didn’t return the smile back. His stomach was in knots and he wasn’t sure how he’d make it through the possibly 3 hour long match when it mostly revolved around you. You on the other hand, the star libero of the university's volleyball team were shitting bricks. You’d completely stopped replying to Hongjoong and you felt bad but there was nothing else on your mind than this match right now. The nerdy boy sent you a smile when he walked into the arena in his pretty little uniform that fitted him nicely but you failed to return in. You couldn’t wait to win this thing and go after him to say how sorry you were.

“Are you okay? You’ve been looking pale since we got on the bus?” Seonghwa asked Hongjoong who kept his gaze straight ahead.

“Yeah I’m fine.” But his long haired friend wasn’t buying it.

He had never seen Hongjoong like this before, his face was stoic. Lips in a permanent frown, no emotion behind his eyes. Still, Seonghwa didn’t push him any further. The match was starting and Hongjoong stood up to play his part in the school’s fight song. The entire time his eyes remained on you. As the game proceeded he watched the way you’d dig the balls and the way you’d throw yourself aimlessly just to keep that ball in play. He was in awe, as always you never failed to impress him. But he felt slightly resentful and sentimental, was he just a game to you?

There was only a point difference between both teams and right now your team was behind. You gulped, hands sweaty as you prepared for the opposing team to serve. As the ball makes it over the net you pass it perfectly to your setter who sends it towards the outside hitter. You wait, feeling antsy hoping that the attack was enough to score a point but the opposing team keeps it in play.

It all happens so fast, the opposing team spikes the ball over the net which is received by one of your teammates except it was such a forceful hit the ball has gone haywire. You chase it down running towards the stands were Hongjoong sits, you ram into the people on the sideline chairs but successfully manage to send the ball back to your teammates. Hongjoong watches as you wince slightly and run back to the court. The point ended up being yours and now both teams were tied.

You grimace at the stinging pain on your rib, but there was no time to dwell on it. Somehow someway your school manages to stay afloat and now you’re 1 point away from calling that trophy yours. Your team's outside hitter swings hard sending the ball over and it slams on the floor, you’d done it; the championship was yours. You teammates run and pile up, tears flowing down everyone's faces. You hug kimmy and she squeezes you back,

“Top libero, thanks to you we are here.” She sobs, you squeeze her tightly and let go moving on to your other teammates.

***

The team had decided to go out right after the match to celebrate but with your bruised rib and how exhausted you were you decided to head back to your dorm instead for some rest. Walking out of the locker room with all your stuff, Hongjoong is standing right outside the entrance. You’re slightly puzzled at his presence,

“Hongjoong…hey.” You greet him sheepishly.

He sends you a tight smile,

“Hey, congrats on the win.”

You nod and smile at him. You can’t help but rake your eyes down his figure. He looked amazing in white and the gold accents of his uniform contrasted with his skin tone perfectly. His pants are slightly fitted and they accentuate the fullness of his legs just right.

“Thank you, I'm glad you were there to witness it.” Awkward silence fills the air.

It was clear he was waiting for some sort of explanation, so you swallow your pride and decide to apologize.

“Listen sorry I stopped replying so abruptly. It was nothing you did but this match was really weighing on me that I kind of tuned out everything to prepare for it.”

You gesticulate with your hands nervously hoping he wouldn’t think that you didn’t want him anymore.

“No worries, I get it.” Hongjoong says nothing more.

“W-would you wanna come back to my dorm with me? We can order food in?”

You cross your fingers behind your back hoping that he’d say yes. His face lights up slightly and he nods. You both walked side by side towards the campus housing. The cold winter night is unapologetic, the heavy wind making it hard for you to move forward from the force.

“How come you're not out celebrating with the rest of the team?” Hongjoong asks, shivering just like you.

“I’m tired and my body is beat. But maybe tomorrow, it’s only friday.”

He nods understandingly, silence falls between you two again, only the loud whipping of the cold December air being heard. You decide to jog the last bit of distance until you’re both safely inside the building.

“Wait.” he pulls you back,

“No RAs?” His eyes are wide in fear.

“No, just one but she's here only during the day. Almost everyone is gone for break.”

Hongjoong lets you pull him along up to your dorm.

“Feel free to do what you need to do to get comfy, imma order pizza!”

He drops his bag and searches for a loose fitted shirt to change into. He groans slightly as he wiggles out of the uncomfortable jacket, that weight a little too much with all the embellishments on it.

“Pizza should be here in 15. I’ll shower quickly. Please make yourself comfortable.”

***

One movie and almost an entire pizza later you were ready to lay down. You get up and hop on your twin bed. You watch as Hongjoong stays on the couch, awkwardly fiddling with his hands.

“Joongie…come here.” you whine motioning him over with your hand.

He gets up and shyly walks over to you, he gets on the bed and lays on his side next to you. Now you’re both face to face. Bringing a hand up you caress his face gently, admiring how smooth and impeccable his skin looked. Your hand moves up to pull his glasses off and when you do you press your lips against his. It escalates quickly, with his own frustrations going on and your need to blow some steam off after an intense match you both needed this. He maneuvers you on top of him, his hands cowardly resting against you.

“Touch me joong.” you murmur against him.

His hands roam more freely, you can feel him straining against his pants and when you pull away to begin unbuttoning the tight white pants off him he stops you. You pull your hands back in shock.

“I just want to try it on you.”

Just by his shy words you knew what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“What do you want, baby?” His face is red from embarrassment, and his hands shake slightly.

“I want to…” Hongjoong feels like the words have all clumped in his throat and somehow he cannot get them out.

You let out an airy laugh and lean down to give him a sloppy kiss.

So you nod smiling at him, you lay down on your back and he slots himself between your legs. His hands roam from your clothed breasts down to the hem of your sleeping shorts. Wasting no time he tugs them down, now you lay there exposed in front of him. Hongjoong leans down, his breath brushing against your heat. He suddenly leans in, taking your clit into his mouth sucking slightly, your back arches off the bed and he wraps his arms around your legs to keep you open for him. His tongue runs up and down your slit as he tests the waters, he eyes your reactions carefully taking note of what makes you writhe under him. He moves his mouth onto your clit focusing on the sensitive bud, his eyes are closed and he completely loses himself on you.

“F-fuck joongie.” You wiggle under him, head lifting to look down at him. And what a sight he is, his eyes are closed as he completely devours you open with his tongue. You were barreling towards you high at a fast speed. You clutched onto what you could and even then it didn't feel like enough. Your hips buck up and he tightens his grip to keep you glued against the mattress.

The feeling of his wet tongue, and his arms around you send you into your first orgasm. His tongue massages you helping you ride out your high, but he’s too far gone to even bother stopping. He presses his face harder into you, his nose bumping your clit occasionally. When he looks up at you his eyes are droopy and glazed. He flattens his tongue against you and lets you grind yourself into him.

“So good j-joong,” your breathing picks up, the sensitivity sending you into overdrive.

“Im-imma c-cum oh god.” your eyes roll to the back of your head as the pleasure waves roll up and down your lower half. Your legs quake in his hold and at your state he can’t help grin internally. With a finishing kiss to the inside of your thigh he pulls away. Hongjoong sits back on his legs and you stare at him still in a daze from your orgasms.

“I didn’t know you were that good.” you mutter still catching your breath.

He shrugs looking down shyly.

“Come here.” you instruct

He leans over you and you press your lips against his, this time it's his turn to lay on the bed. You pull your shirt off and he oggles your tits and the way they perfectly sit.

“Take this off please.” you whine pulling at his shirt, he sits up in the small cramped bed and pulls off his shirt exposing his torso. You next move to his pants,

“I'd blow you but I just need you now.”

He doesn’t say anything and instead helps you pull his bottoms off. You quickly straddle him and guide him in,

“Wait n-no condom?”

He stops you,

“Pull out.” you simply say and sink down on him.

Hongjoong swears he sees heaven. He gasps, his eyes closing tightly when you bottom out on him. You pick your hips up and sink back down on him creating a nice even pace.

“So good joongie.” your voice is high pitched, and he swears it almost sends him over the edge. Your hips pick up pace moving fast up and down, only pants and skin slapping fills the room. His hands are tight on your hips as he pulls you down against him wrapping his forearms around your waist. You slow down switching to grinding your hips into him instead. As you sit back up you lean your weight on one of his thighs and you continue to move up and down on him the best you can while your other hand rubs your clit fast.

“Joongie…” at his name he pulls you back down against him. His pelvis grinding perfectly into your clit and he takes a nipple into his mouth sucking gently. The pleasure propels you into your final high of the night and you stutter against him, your walls clamping down on him as he feels them pulsing around his cock. Your face is buried in the crook of his neck and you pant heavily against him. As you come down and your muscles relax your hips begin moving again.

“Make me cum p-please.” Hongjoong pleads, his face contorted in frustration from holding off from his release. Your hips move fast against him again, your ass bouncing up and down on him. You hear his moans get more persistent and high,

“Oh hmphf s-shit.” He moans his hands now clawing against your waist. Hongjoong completely loses himself, his grip tightening harder on you as he pulls you down hard against him, his tip kissing your cervix deliciously. You try to pick yourself up and off him so he can finish but when you look at him, his eyes are pressed shut and his arms are firmly locked around you.

“J-joong…” you try to warn him.

“I-imma cum oh fuck.” With a final stutter of his hips his grip tightens on you once more pulling you flush against him as heavy ropes of cum decorate your insides. You lay there against him panting in a haze. When you pull back his eyes are still closed as he tries to catch his breath.

Your movement on top of him makes him crack open an eye, you lift yourself off him and his eyes widen when he realizes.

“I -i didn’t mean to-”

You hush him “it’s ok, it's ok shhh.”

Your hands caress his panicked face gently. Your lips meet his in a kiss before you lay back down.

“Why did you do this with me?” He suddenly asks,

“Don’t ask me that right after we just did this but if I must answer, I already told you I liked you. I wasn’t lying…”

“Oh, I thought you weren’t being serious.” You giggle and lift your head to look at him again.

“Shut up please.” You lazily mumble, head resting on his chest as his fingers fiddle with your hair.

“I guess you’ll have your own personal cheerleader for the next volleyball season.”

[br7ght]

In the Cards (part 1) lucy bronze x ona batlle x alexia putellas x jenni hermoso x reader

Resolutions and Revelations

summary: You wanted nothing more than to go home with your girlfriends after being teased all day, yet when you finally get there it turns out your girlfriends have set up a little game for you, with a few other guests.

warnings: mainly orgy build-up, lots of teasing, fighting for dominance, fingering, edging, praise, voyeurism, a lot of power dynamics

pairing: lucy bronze x ona batlle x alexia putellas x jenni hermoso x reader

thank you for meeting me and @occasionallyaurora at midnight, this is your reward! there will be an explanation coming shortly, but for now just enjoy the ride

It was the end of the year, and you had to admit, your football team had absolutely smashed it. FC Barcelona had ended the first half of the season untouched and on top of the world. Everyone had their eyes on you and your teammates. There was nothing but celebrations to be had as the final team training session of the year was now finished. Now, the entire team was enjoying a meal; talking and laughing with drinks in hand. One of the rare times you could all come together and relax, enjoying time as friends rather than colleagues.

You were sat between Jenni and Alexia; your girlfriend’s possessive over you even when it didn’t necessarily require it. Jenni’s hand settling on your thigh, her thumb inconsistently stroking in gentle circles. Alexia’s hand, rather, was still in your space bubble, but on top of the table so that you could toy with her fingers; your common calming gesture. The three of you weren’t the only couple, Marta and Caro down at the other end of the table, both animatedly discussing something with Paredes and Panos. Mapi and Ingrid are to your right, Aitana looking a lot like their child as the three of them share bites from their plates. Finally, across from you, Ona is stroking Lucy’s fingers in a similar manner as you’re doing to Alexia. The pair softly talking, almost in their own world.

Everyone had dressed up too, the occasion had warranted it according to Alexia. She had told you as such while pressing gentle kisses to your shoulders as she helped you dress for the dinner. Jenni had quietly nodded along from the chair in your shared bedroom. Her white silk shirt unbuttoned just enough, while Alexia had gone almost over the top in a slinky, skin tight, black dress.

“You do not outdress the captain,” she had huffed out when asked. The team had backed off after that. You loved it when your girlfriends dressed up. Ever since they had both appeared in the bedroom to distract you, your arousal had been building. It hadn’t helped that at dinner, Jenni would occasionally dig her fingers into your bare thigh and each time it had happened you felt the feeling grow. It was now to the point that her teasing had become moan inducing; you desperately wanted Jenni to just take you on the table, even with all your teammates watching.

“Here’s to an incredible first half of the season, and some resolutions (wishes?) for the second half.” Alexia raises her full champagne flute, looking down the table at everyone. “To the rest of the season, may it be filled with championships,” she finishes as the team drinks. However, you notice the sneaky smirks that had been shared between your girlfriend and Lucy, who sat across from her. Your brows briefly furrow, but quickly the confusion dissipates as you join the team in another toast.

“Let’s keep it up guys. We’re on top of the table, just as we should be,” Lucy smirks, though this one is directed at you. Her gaze causing a blush to creep up on your cheeks, feeling as though she could see straight through your dirty mind when your thighs had squeezed together. Both Jenni and Alexia had caught your reaction - Jenni’s hand getting caught in between your thighs - their shared smirks easily felt by you even though they were already rejoining the group's conversation. Your own personal resolution had officially been accomplished; let them know that while you were enjoying the team’s celebration, you were definitely ready for them to take you home. It was to the point that even Lucy was adding to your arousal, and those feelings hadn’t surfaced since you were both playing in Manchester. It was all just too much.

You tug ever so gently at Alexia’s fingers and drag a manicured nail around her palm, trying to signal to one of your girlfriend’s that you’re ready to leave. It takes a well timed puppy dog pout in Jenni’s direction before they both share an understanding look. Announcing shortly thereafter that the three of you were heading home. You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief, but you also didn’t know what was coming. You didn’t know it would be quite a while before you would receive what you wanted.

The journey home wasn’t long, rather it felt long, Alexia cradles you in the back seat as Jenni drives. The blonde’s fingers traced patterns on your thighs while her lips attached themselves to your neck. Your breath hitched in your throat, small gasps leaving your mouth at every touch. Every so often, Jenni would peek back at you both through the mirror; you’d catch her gaze and her smirk as you grew desperate.

“Our guests should be here soon, Ale. You better go and get everything set,” Jenni says when you arrive home. She’s the first out of the car, offering you a hand and a devilish grin, and conveniently not addressing your obvious confusion.

“Make sure what’s set?” You ask, trailing behind them both. Jenni’s hand is still holding yours. “Ale, Jen, what guests?”

Alexia’s already moving furniture when you find her and Jenni in the living room. You had dropped Jenni’s hand in favor of removing your heels. The large wooden coffee table had been moved into the middle of the room, nestled between several couches and the favorite reading chair you all fought over.

“You’ll have to wait and see princesà,” Jenni teases lightly, her thumb trailing from your cheek to lower lip, gently tracing it as you pout. You’ve sat yourself on one of the sofas, frown deepening from not understanding why your girlfriends weren't currently stripping you bare and handing you what you wanted. Rather they were now working around you, Jenni had pulled a few bottles of wine from the kitchen’s rack and five glasses, setting all of it on the table. Alexia searches the drawers of the table in front of you until she finds what she’s looking for… a pack of playing cards.

Alexia and Jenni weren’t giving anything away even with your pleads and attempts to piece everything together. The playing cards Alexia had pulled from the table sat beside the glasses, you peeked over at them. Clearly, they weren’t a typical 52-card pack; instead the top card is neatly inscribed in Alexia’s handwriting. You reach for the deck, intrigued by your girlfriend's handwriting. The blonde smacks your hand away just before you reach them. She places a gentle kiss on your hand as an apology.

“No, no, wait for our guests, amor,” Alexia quickly goes back to teasing you, but your eyes are still fixed on the game, squinting trying to make out the words on the top card. “It won’t be much longer.”

Then comes the knock, you startle a little, the anticipation building now. Jenni’s the first to the door, her hips moving in a gentle sway and drawing the attention of you and Alexia.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Your head whipped around - the voice easily recognizable - heart jumping into your throat. Lucy waltzes into the room, the suit she had on at dinner now without its jacket. The small cropped top she had on under the jacket in full view, and the chequered trousers hugged her thighs so tightly that you swore you could see her muscle definition through the material. Ona followed Lucy, the girl looking equally as confused upon seeing the set up for the evening.

“So, a glass of wine before we play the game?” Lucy questions as she and Ona make themselves comfortable on the couch across from you. “Or while we play the game?” Lucy and your girlfriends all share a knowing look, while you and Ona share confused faces, watching them. Alexia takes her seat next to you, settling for only a moment before she taps your knee closest to her. It was her signal for you to lay your legs on top, allowing her access to touch, stroke, and grip your thighs as she pleased. With Lucy and Ona cuddled up on the other couch, Jenni places herself in the armchair near the head of the table. The chair is close enough to the couch that Jenni can still reach Alexia, but the positioning would still make her the most dominant in the room.

“What is going on? What game are we playing?” You’ve finally mustered up the courage to ask. The small outburst met with a smirk from Lucy, Jenni, and Alexia. Decidedly, you ignore Lucy for the time being, mumbling a quiet apology to Alexia before you meet her gaze. The blonde had been drawing circles on your thigh since she had sat down. Her gaze unashamedly jumps between your face and chest - that was barely covered by a mildly see-through black crop top that had ridden up when you had sat down; your make-up is slightly smudged, courtesy of Alexia, but she still looks at you like your the most beautiful thing she’s ever set her eyes on.

“Well, Lucy and I were talking, and we just thought it might be fun if we all played a fun game together…” Alexia answers you, trailing off as her hand migrates just a little higher and holds a little tighter. Then you knew, instantly, that this game was going to be a bit more than you had bargained for tonight. The pop of a cork brought you back to the group, Jenni had poured a generous glass of the white for each of you. Lucy grabbing both hers and Ona’s glasses as the younger girl was just out of Jenni’s reach.

“What type of game?” Ona asks, her freckled face flushing pink as she glanced at the faces around the room; still toying with the fingers on Lucy’s free hand.

“Why don’t you find out, love?” Lucy encourages, while she sips from the wine glass, gesturing for Ona to grab the deck. You lean forward slightly, trying to get a better angle to watch from. Jenni, Alexia, and Lucy all shared wide smirks, eagerly waiting for the reactions of their girlfriends. Their eyes sparkle when Ona picks up the first card and reads it in her head, that alone telling you that they knew what was written on each. You didn’t think it was possible but, you swear they only grow as Ona’s face contort to resemble something between confusion and unfiltered desire. Lucy carefully nudges Ona, mouthing for her to read the card aloud.

“Where is the wildest place you’ve had sex?” She asks, looking around the room. Alexia and Lucy’s grins mirror each other from across the table. Your own mouth dropped wide open in shock after hearing what was written on the card.

“Now, you have the choice to either answer the question on the card or drink,” Alexia instructs after Ona’s gone quiet. Ona was squirming in her girlfriend’s lap, her nails digging into her fingers as she worked out the mood that had settled over the room. You could definitely feel the sexual tension rising with every passing second that everyone waited on Ona’s answer. Despite playing several years with Ona, you knew little about her, the other three you had slept with before, but Ona… Ona was an awe-inspiring mystery that you couldn’t help wanting to devour. You couldn’t help the thoughts that filled your brain, the ones that found her desperately attractive as she struggled to get the words out.

“Go on now, love.” Lucy whispers in her ear, but it’s loud enough that you are able to catch it.

After pondering a bit longer, Ona raises her glass to her lips, but sees slightly disappointed faces and finally responds, “in the Barcelona showers and locker room, after training.” Jenni and Alexia are quick to tease, you barely join in after releasing your lower lip from between your teeth. Lucy leans back against the cushion, looking smug, nodding her head out of pure cockiness. Her girlfriend though, the pink flush on her cheeks deepening. You were speechless, not really at Ona’s answer, but more so at the dynamics that had emerged. You and Ona were now sharing the same little boat as Jenni, Lucy, and Alexia shared smirks and laughs amongst themselves.

“Alexia,” you gasp as the room goes quiet again. The hand that had been tracing gentle circles had dipped in between your thighs and stopped just before your center; her fingertips pressing gently into your skin. Everyone’s eyes flick towards you as your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment.

“It’s your turn, baby,” the blonde quietly tells you as Jenni passes the pack of cards. Alexia pulls a card off the top and hands it to you.

“What’s the best sex you’ve had in the last three months?” Your mind instantly floods with many options. After a while of thinking, you raise your head, catching Jenni’s devilish smirk aimed at you waiting for your response. “But it’s difficult to pick just one…”

“You better drink then.” Jenni attempts to hand you her glass, but you gently push back, refusing. You were not going to be the first one to cop out of answering a question by drinking.

“No, no, fine… I guess that time after you both got home from national team camp. The one when you woke me up that next morning.” You were sure that it wasn’t just your cheeks that were bright red as your mind took you back to riding Jenni’s thigh while you woke up, before they both fucked you as you lay between them.

“Good answer carinô,” Alexia praised, placing a kiss against your bare shoulder as her grip tightened on your thigh. You couldn’t help yourself, glancing at Lucy to see what was running through her mind. She had a similar grip on Ona, but her gaze stuck on you. Now, it wasn’t riding Jenni’s thigh at the forefront of your mind’s eye, it was flashing back to those times where Lucy, and her raven hair buried between your thighs - time after time - having you whenever she wanted you. You slowly gulped, sucking in air, before breaking eye contact with her as your head falls against Alexia’s shoulder.

The five of you traded turns for a while… no one had dared drink, yet. With each turn of a card the sexual tension seemed to thicken. Jenni seemed to be the most frustrated, judging by how tightly her hand was gripping the wine glass’ stem.

“What’s the sex skill you are the proudest of?” Jenni asks aloud. It was her turn again, and with no hesitation, blushing, or stuttering she answers, “making two girls’ orgasm at the same time.” She still chooses to drink from her glass, regardless of the rules, and licks the remnants off her bottom lip. Your own arousal getting to you now. Even Lucy looked desperate to be doing something more than just answering the questions. It was clear she wanted something… and you were finally sure of what it was.

“Who in the room would you like to fuck, but haven’t?” Lucy asks. Instead of answering she hands the card across the table to you. “I’d like to hear you answer this one.” Her confidant smirk grows as your eyes widen. Gingerly, you take the card from between her fingers. Everyone’s eyes are burning into your skin waiting. You were the first cop out of the night, downing the rest of your glass; unable to admit that the only person you hadn’t slept with was Ona.

“Exactly as I thought,” she states, winking at you. You didn’t know how to respond and ended up looking towards Ona. The youngest Spaniard wasn’t jealous, but a curious look played on her face as she examined the tension between you both. Ona had to know, Lucy wouldn't bring her here, play this game with her in the dark.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, next question.” You rolled your eyes. The action quickly garners a yelp as Alexia pinches your inner thigh in response to your apparent rudeness.

“My turn.” Alexia grins widely, this time pulling a card from the center of the deck. “This is less of a question…” she pauses, building up the suspense that you knew she had originally started. “Kiss the person across from you.”

Before you can even process your girlfriend’s words, Jenni is turning towards you, but she only gently pecks Alexia’s lips, clearly skipping you - even though the rules dictated that she didn’t need to kiss you - and turns to kiss Ona. She catches Ona’s lips between her own, one of her hands coming to rest on the back of her neck to pull her ever so slightly away from Lucy. Ona whimpers under Jenni’s touch, earning her a small laugh from the tattooed woman as she pulls away. Lucy sends her a hardened gaze that is instantly shrugged off the slight jealousy. She would need to get over hearing her girlfriend whimper at the touch of another woman, especially if tonight was going to work.

The rest of the group works their way around, Ona removing herself from Lucy’s lap to kiss Alexia. Her hand resting gently on your thigh as she leaned over, capturing the blonde’s lips in a soft and gentle kiss. You feel Alexia’s thighs clench under you. Ona whimpers once again after she had tried to take control of the kiss but it had earned her a small bite from Alexia. You had a good view of how your girlfriend’s tongue traced her mouth; nothing but soft touches before they both pulled away.

“You’re a good kisser sweetheart,” Alexia hums while praising Ona. Your stomach churns just a little at the earned praise, the way you would get spoken to if you were Ona. Reassurance isn’t far as Alexia's hands fall back to your thighs, gently squeezing before she reminds you it’s your turn. You gulp, meeting Lucy’s smile once more. Alexia helps you up out, gently nudging you towards Lucy. Ona’s sat to the side of her now, eagerly watching something that Lucy has only told her about.

As soon as you are face to face with her, Lucy helps your mouth find hers by gently tugging on your hair. The rest of the kiss is not at all gentle. Lucy is devouring you as if she had been waiting to show you what you had been missing. You gasped at the contact, Lucy’s hand sliding from the back of your neck around to the front. She squeezes gently for barely a second, knowing the whine that would leave your mouth. You've both barely come up for breath before you're tugging against her ever loosing low bun; your fingers tangling in her hair as you moan breathily against her tongue.

Your cheeks were a deep pink when Lucy pulled away from you, leaving you frozen as the three others stared at you. Alexia and Ona watched with awe, but Jenni’s gaze was hardened, sucking her lips against her teeth. She had just heard noises that she thought only she and Alexia could draw from you. Clearly, this was going to be more of a competition than the ‘wholesome’ experience you had first presumed it to be.

“I’ve still got it,” Lucy teases with a smirk that only grows when Jenni’s jealous look is reciprocated. You were speechless, your stomach in knots. Even if you could say something, you’re sure it would come out a stuttering mess. “Can’t handle watching someone else with your girl, Jen?” She asks cockily. If your thighs weren’t squeezed together before, they most certainly were now.

Jenni, thankfully, chooses not to respond as you move back to your seat practically on Alexia. She reaches for the cards again. You flick your gaze up to Alexia’s, ready to ask if she’s sure it's a good idea. However, the huge grin plastered on her face tells you otherwise. This was Lucy and Jenni’s little fight for dominance and Alexia had planned for it to take place. Jenni turns over the card in her hand, reading silently as you all watch her eyes widen in shock.

“Pick one person in the room and edge them in any manner you would like.” The words tumbled from Jenni’s lips in a rather confident fashion as she scanned around the room, quickly landing on Ona. “Come here then sweetheart, let me show you how it should feel,” she smirks at the freckled brunette, and you feel yourself flush with both curiosity and jealousy. Lucy helps her girlfriend up, giving her a gentle pat on the ass as she moved nervously - a lustful nervousness that was heightened by the anticipation - towards Jenni.

The tattooed woman gestures towards the coffee table in the center of the room, gently placing the wine glasses on a different surface, and having Ona perch on the edge.

“Can I touch you?” Jenni asks, wanting to confirm consent with the youngest Spaniard; fully aware that she probably wasn’t aware of the finer details of the night, just like her girlfriend hadn’t been.

“Please, Jenni.” Ona’s submissiveness bubbling to the surface, her eyes darkened with lust as Jenni pushed her down against the table. There’s a moment where she shifts to make herself comfortable, knees bending over the edge. Then Jenni wastes no time shifting the hem of Ona’s dress above her waist, revealing the black lace lingerie that was quickly dampening at the feeling of Jenni’s fingertip running along the material.

Ona whines, hips squirming as Jenni pulls the underwear to the side. The raven haired woman gazes down in awe of the glistening arousal that she slowly gathers on a finger. Jenni’s touches begin light, softly teasing Ona, turning her into a whimpering mess beneath her. Ona continuously looks between Jenni and Lucy, who wasn’t seething, but rather enamored as she leaned back against the sofa watching Ona enjoy the touch of the other woman.

“Baby girl, are you having some big feelings?” Alexia coos in your ear, snapping your intense focus from Jenni and Ona. You hadn’t realized how much you had been squirming in her arms, rocking your hips towards her hands that sat firmly on your thighs. “Do you like watching Lucy’s good girl get pleased by Jenni?”

“No.” It was all you could whimper, the word catching Lucy’s attention; her smirk making your need for contact even greater. Your hips rocking even harder in a desperate attempt to get some friction.

“She’s just making her feel good, like she makes you feel good cariño,” Alexia states. Her eyes not moving from the way you were reacting to her teasing touches. Jenni now teasing Ona’s entrance with the tip of her finger as the younger woman’s back arches, waiting for more.

You were entranced by the scene in front of you, that was until you felt Alexia’s hand slip under your skirt covering your centre with her palm. She quietly giggles feeling the dampness beneath your underwear.

“But I think you were enjoying watching, baby girl, considering how wet you feel.” Alexia’s comment made your breath hitch in your throat. A gasp leaving your lips when you felt Alexia dip her fingers under the lace band of your lingerie, gathering your arousal on her fingers before leaving you untouched again.

“That’s a good girl Ona, can you take two fingers?” Jenni asks the pleading brunette, one finger already pumping fiercely into her. You allowed your gaze to wander to Lucy, who had perched herself next to Ona on the table. Her fingers toying with her girlfriend’s nipples; each pinch garnering a louder moan.

“But I’m Jenni’s good girl. Not Ona.” Your cheeks now burned red, an extreme wave of jealousy crashing over you. You wanted to be the one on the table, the one receiving Jenni’s praise.

“I think you should have thought about that before you let Lucy give you a little necklace earlier.” With that the heel of Alexia's hand pushes against your clothed clit and a sweet moan falls from your lips. “Now, Ona gets to be a good girl for Jenni and you just get to sit and watch.”

“Do I still get to be your good girl?” You ask, desperately grinding against Alexia’s hand that was refusing to move, to give in to what you need. Your doe like eyes flick back up to your girlfriend, who couldn’t ever say no to you… especially when you looked at her with such a lustful twinkle behind your eyes.

“Always baby. You’re always my good girl,” Alexia’s words and voice are gentle. Her eyes flicking between your squirming hips and Jenni’s hand that was thrusting hard into Ona, each moan getting louder and more primal. The blonde uses a soft hand to turn your head, bringing you in for a gentle kiss; you whimper as she catches your lower lip between her teeth, tugging lightly. You grab Alexia’s free hand as she kisses you, returning it to its earlier movement along the seam of your underwear.

Alexia catches a glimpse of the sheer mauve lingerie that you had hidden underneath your outfit. The urge to strip you down to just the set overwhelming her. She wanted just a few moments to relish the view of your body to herself before she had to share. Your skirt is the first to go, she simply shoves it down off your hips and legs. Alexia gingerly threads each button that goes down the back of your top through its hole and eventually throws it towards the other end of the couch. Alexia takes a moment for herself before coughing gently, gesturing for the other three to look over. When they do, your cheeks flush a similar color to your lingerie set.

Lucy lets out a small gasp at the sight of you, and that alone was enough to replace the lack of contact you had. The thought that you still impressed her - enough to make her gasp - felt electric, heat flicking under your skin. However, before Lucy could say anything, Ona whines. Jenni had slowed her movements while she took you in, but Ona’s noise had snapped her and Lucy back to their original task. Alexia smiles down at you, gesturing for the other three to continue. She dragged her finger though your folds, each movement slick with your arousal.

While Alexia teased against your entrance, she made sure you were watching as Jenni readjusted her hand so her thumb could reach up against Ona’s clit, making sure each thrust of her hand allowed the swollen bud the contact it desired. Ona’s moans quickly gave way to desperate gasps, her breathiness completely different to how Jenni made you sound, aiding the older women’s movement to speed up in response.

“Ale, please,” you plead, wanting the same treatment as Ona, unable to take the teasing much longer. You wanted Alexia to fuck you hard while you sat in her lap. You felt Alexia’s lips against the back of your neck as she pushed one of her fingers all the way inside you, making you moan in harmony with Ona’s sounds. As she thrusted into you, she was careful to match Jenni’s speed, making the experience all that much overwhelming for you.

“That’s a good girl; look you can do it,” Alexia praised knowing it would make you moan louder, trying her best to divert the other girls attention. It was usually never this easy, but you could feel the orgasm building quickly. The entire evening of teasing and now watching Ona moan and writhe on top of your coffee table under the hands of Jenni and Lucy was working its magic.

“I’m close, Ale,” you whine. The feeling only intensifying when Alexia brushed a finger against your clit. A moan that falls from your lips echoes around the room. “Can I cum please?” At your question, Alexia's fingers slow their movements, holding you at the very edge now causing a cry of frustration to escape.

“Don’t you think that there’s another person you need to ask too?” She questions, her fingers now completely stilled inside you. You squirm in response to the lack of movement and shake your head. You didn’t want to ask Jenni for what you wanted while she was working Ona up. The sudden burst of brattiness deriving from the jealousy you felt over Ona being the center of attention. “You won’t get to cum until you ask her, and will remind you, I have a lot of patience.”

Alexia keeps her hand still, waiting for you to give in… but you don’t. When that doesn’t work she begins gently rocking her hand, a reminder that you were still on the edge of an orgasm.

“Jenni, can I cum please?” You manage between laboured breaths as Alexia gives into your rocking hips and resumes her finger’s motions. She curls them inside you, tapping against your sensitive spot with each slow movement.

“No.” The instruction crystal clear. Jenni’s gaze not even moving from Ona’s body as she kept up her relentless pace. Ona clearly taking longer to reach the edge than you did.

“What?” You ask pittfully before begging. “Please Jen.” You’re confused as to why your orgasm was being withheld from you. Alexia’s brow also furrows, but doesn’t stop the torturously slow movements wanting to make you struggle a bit.

“If Ona is getting edged, so are you,” Jenni remarks plainly and Ona moans loudly, having forgotten that she wasn’t being led to orgasm. The frustration making her whine against Jenni’s fingers; Lucy’s tongue now attacking her nipples with sharp circles.

“Oh, come on Jen. She’s been desperate all day,” Alexia attempts to plead your case, though it was only because she wanted to be the one to finally make you orgasm after a long day of teasing and sexual tension.

“She knows how to be my good girl, Alexia. She can be edged just like Ona.” Jenni’s words were final and with that, Alexia stops her movements, removing her fingers from you entirely. Though she attempts to comfort you by placing kisses against your neck.

“Come on princesà, I know you’re close now,” Lucy teases, watching the way her girlfriend’s body tensed up, the way she nodded and gasped. She obviously unable to speak as her orgasm built too close to the brim.

“Close!” Ona finally manages to find her voice and both women stop their movements. Jenni immediately pulling out and bringing her fingers to her lips, softly tasking Ona’s arousal. Lucy looked on with eagerness; Jenni rolls her eyes tilting Lucy’s chin towards her, allowing her too to circle around the length of her fingers. The action causes both your and Alexia’s knees to weaken, Lucy taking Jenni’s fingers just to get a taste of Ona.

While Alexia’s hands remained firmly on your thighs, her nails gently digging into them out of desperation as Jenni towered over Lucy, now replacing them with her mouth. Alexia’s head tilted just to the side to see Lucy grabbing the back of Jenni’s neck to pull her closer.

“I hope you’re not too tired. We’ve only just started,” Lucy says as she pulls away from Jenni’s kiss. She looks down at the way Ona was splayed across the table, her thighs shaking slightly as her denied orgasm still ran through her body. Even you gulped at the words, if this was just the beginning, you had no idea what else was going to happen tonight

[munson-blurbs]

Can I request something with Eddie x reader in a long term relationship. They didn’t meet until their mid to late 20s. maybe they are out to dinner one time with his old highschool buddies and she hears them joke about how eddie always wanted to fuck a cheer leader. she gets the bright idea to buy a cheer leader out fit with a tiny skirt and pom poms and wears it for him one day

Oh, now this is what I'm talking about. Written with the gorgeous queen of fluffy smut, @corroded-hellfire 💚

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (m! receiving), unprotected p in v, Reader wears a cheerleading uniform, mention of Eddie's crush on Chrissy

WC: 1.8k

Divider credit to @saradika

It’s not the first time you’ve met any of the guys from your boyfriend’s old Hellfire gang. It is the first time that you’ve been around them as a group, though. They’re much louder in a pack—not necessarily trying to shout, just be heard over the guy who is telling a story next to them. 

The guys are funny though and you’re enjoying getting a glimpse of what High School Eddie was like from those who got to experience it first hand. It wasn’t terribly long ago that they were all in high school together; you’re all only in your twenties. But Eddie seems to groan every time there’s a reminder that the youngest guys in the group can legally drink now. 

“So tell me more about this hellion during his younger years,” you say with a laugh, draping an arm over his denim-clad shoulders. “Because he claims to have been a total badass, but he’s such a teddy bear.” To emphasize your point, you smack a wet kiss to his cheek. 

Eddie blushes but doesn’t wipe it off; instead, he tilts your chin till you’re facing him and kisses you until the group throws wadded-up paper napkins at you both. 

“This guy was definitely not a teddy bear,” Lucas says. “I asked him to postpone one Hellfire meeting so I could play in the championship basketball game, and he put me on probation!”

You look at Eddie, slack-jawed. “Eds!” you chastise him teasingly. 

“It was the last campaign of the year!” Eddie rebuts. “Actions have consequences, Sinclair.”

Lucas rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink, using his free hand to flip off his friend. 

Dustin cackles at the exchange. “Yeah, he was pretty much an asshole to everyone.” His voice is mischievous as he waggles his eyebrows and adds, “except Chrissy Cunningham.”

“Ooh,” you mimic Dustin’s playful tone. “And who is Chrissy Cunningham?”

“Head cheerleader, cute and blonde, super sweet to, like, everybody,” Mike pipes up.

Eddie gets flustered, not because Chrissy was brought up, but he thinks hearing about his crush on her might upset or annoy you. He sputters over his words, which just riles him up even more. 

“I don’t think we need to, uh, talk about that,” Eddie says, shaking his head.

“Why? What happened?” you ask with a frown. It was no secret between you and Eddie that neither of you were popular in high school and had crushes that went unrequited. But Eddie never told you about anything particularly bad happening between him and a cheerleader.

“What?” Eddie asks before realizing what you mean. “Oh, no! Nothing happened. We spoke maybe a handful of times ever. I just didn’t think this would be something you would want to hear about…”

Eddie brow pinches in worry but you just laugh and wave a dismissive hand.

“Eddie, come on. Who wouldn’t have a crush on the sweet, pretty cheerleader? I mean, I had a thing for my school’s star basketball player back in the day. You know that.”

Lucas laughs. “You definitely would’ve hated the star basketball player at our school.”

“Kid was a total douche,” Jeff adds. “Made these obnoxious, over-the-top speeches that had everybody rolling their eyes.”

“So, like Eddie, but athletic,” Gareth chimes in, putting his hands up in surrender when Eddie shoots him a look and then breaks into a grin. 

The waiter brings out a chocolate cake, loudly singing Happy Birthday to Eddie, which promptly puts a stop to their bickering and taunting. The guys lock in on the dessert, serving Eddie the first slice before turning into barbarians over the second. 

You finally manage to snag a slice among the chaos, but your mind is elsewhere. If Eddie was as into cheerleaders like his friends claim, you might be able to finagle one last birthday surprise.

A week passes from the dinner-turned-impromptu-Hellfire-meeting. Eddie saunters through the door, tossing his keys on the counter. 

“Babe? You home?” His hair is kept in a low bun; it’s easier to work on cars with it out of his face. 

“In the bedroom!” you call back from behind a half-closed door. 

Eddie kicks his boots off in the general direction of the welcome mat. “How was your day, sweetheart?” he asks as he walks down the hallway towards your room. “Mine was pretty good. I just—holy shit.” He comes to a halt in the doorway, jaw dropping open as he stares at you. 

You lounge on the bed waiting for him, a green and white cheerleading uniform on. There wasn’t one with some yellow on it as well like Hawkins High’s had when you’d gone looking, but you didn’t think your boyfriend would mind. 

He stands frozen and it makes you let out a small giggle before trying to regain the seductive air you’d been going for. 

“Wh…What’s all this?” he manages, caught completely off-guard by your outfit of choice. 

“Just your own personal cheerleader,” you say nonchalantly, crooking your finger and beckoning him over. “Wanna see my pom-poms?”

His grin nearly splits his face in two. “Yeah—wait, do you mean, like, actual ones, or…” he trails off and shakes his head. “Ah, fuck it.” He grabs you and pulls you onto his lap. 

“So, do I get to see a cheer?” he asks with a smirk. “A little, ‘two-four-six-eight, who do we appreciate?’”

You kiss his neck and murmur, “kinda figured my mouth would be busy somewhere else.” Your lips down the pale expanse of bis torso and you unbuckle his belt. 

Eddie groans and leans back against the headboard, eagerly watching you. He lifts his hips enough so you can slide his pants and boxers all the way off and toss them aside. 

You make sure to keep your gaze locked on his as you start to stroke him, using his pre-cum to lubricate your palm. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

He inhales sharply, trying to remain focused. “Need you to suck me off.”

You get on your knees in front of him so he can see down your uniform top, and he twitches against your lips. Flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft, you lick up to the head and wrap your lips around the tip before slowly taking him into your warm, wet mouth. 

“Fuuuuuck,” Eddie breathes out, throwing his head back and exposing his Adam’s apple. “Thassit, just like that.”

The tang of pre-cum is salty on your tongue, and you lap it up gratefully. Your fingers dig into the flesh of his ass as you pull him towards you, your nose grazing his pubic hair. 

“So good, goddamn, honey,” he mumbles, more gibberish than logic, “take me so well. Givin’ me the best fuckin’ head of my life.”

You’re more than happy to continue this, cheeks hollowed and tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, eagerly anticipating his cum down your throat. 

Eddie has other plans. 

He begrudgingly steps back, his throbbing cock thwacking against his stomach. If he pulls out of a blowjob, it usually means—

“Bend over, princess.”

You do as he says, palms pressed into the mattress. He quickly flips up your skirt, exposing your bare ass. 

Eddie laughs triumphantly. “Oh, fuck yes.” He taps the head of his length against it before pushing down on your back, giving him a better view of your pussy. “Mine,” he growls in your ear. 

The moan that tumbles out of your lips from his words only increases tenfold when he pushes inside of you. It makes Eddie smirk in satisfaction as his hands grip your hips beneath the pleats of the skirt. His eyes slip closed as he loses himself in the feeling of you around his cock. 

You whine as Eddie bottoms out, fingers grasping at the blanket below you. “God, Eddie, yes.”

Eddie’s thrusts gain momentum and he pulls your hips back against him for every one, never missing a beat. “Shit, you’re so fucking good for me. Your pussy’s so goddamn tight, fuck.” 

“Mhm, uh-huh.” The drag of his cock against your walls leaves you speechless, only able to whine, no coherent thoughts in your head. 

“My cheerleader feels good, huh? Aw, baby,” he coos, “so good you can’t even talk, yeah?”

Even if you had the capability to answer, you wouldn’t have time before Eddie pulls out of you for the second time today and flips you onto your back. Your legs fall open for him immediately in this new position and he wastes no time pushing back into you. 

He leans over your body, slipping his hands up the top half of your uniform. “Most beautiful cheerleader I ever fuckin’ saw,” he purrs as his hands grope your chest.

Your legs wrap around his body, only pulling him deeper inside of you. “So good,” you slur, eyes half-lidded. You feel your orgasm crash over you, waves of pleasure rippling through your body. 

Eddie’s hands slip out of your top and run down your arms until he laces his fingers with yours. He lifts your hands over your head, keeping a tight grip on you as his hips pick up the pace. Now that you came, he can take what he needs. 

“So tight,” he mumbles, breathing heavily. You can tell that he’s close. “Gonna cum all over this pretty little uniform of yours, ‘kay?”

You can only nod, and he leans in and kisses you one last time before pulling out and painting you in his release. Sticky warmth coats the exposed strip of flesh between the top and skirt, some of it staining the uniform’s fabric. He moans out your name as he jerks the last of his spend out of his cock.

“Holy shit,” he exhales, drinking in the sight of you in your cheerleader outfit and covered in his cum. His sexy cheerleader wearing his cum. The thought has him almost up for another round already. 

He leans over to the nightstand and reaches for a tissue to clean you up, but you wave him off. Your hand catches his wrist and you softly run your fingertips up to his elbow.

“Leave it,” you tell him with a smirk. “I want it to stain.” You’ll wake up in the morning to it dried on the uniform, a reminder of tonight.

“Goddamn, baby.” Eddie lets out a breathy chuckle and flops down next to you, completely exhausted. “I was not expecting this, but I’m certainly not complaining.” 

“Well,” you say, a teasing lilt in your voice. You push up onto one elbow, and gaze at him knowingly. His hair is a mess, his chest is rising and falling rapidly. He looks wrecked, and it’s a beautiful sight. “You’d better drink some Gatorade, babe. Because this is only halftime.”

--

[chimivx]

home;run -> fem!reader x mlb!mingyu, mlb!vernon, mlb!dk

College didn't work out, so you're stuck with the next best thing. Living with your superstar brother, traveling with his championship winning team, haunted by your past and heavily influenced by your present.

wc; {part two} 5.6k warnings; 18+, sexual content, alcohol consumption/abuse, bad influences around her, manipulation, her name gets taken advantage of in public media, if i missed anything please let me know!! notes; hi, i am posting & feeling shy. please enjoy. <3 dusting off my fingers for this one, i am still not feeling 100%, thank you everyone for your kind words & messages. peese n lurv. <3

Weeks ago your brother decided this Mingyu thing was good, but only in theory. Parading around with him, hanging out with him, going to bars with him, hooking up with him… All of it actually happening, not good.

DK would prefer you to have these rendezvous with someone who didn’t try to drink his body weight in liquor each time the first can hit his hand, but alas, you were brought home safe every time, so who was he to complain or pick and choose who you can and can’t hang out with.

After their first few seasons together it was clear the two had different outlooks on life, neither of them really in the wrong with how they chose to go about their time, but they didn’t match. They clashed. Your brother, after spending time educating himself on his fathers history and evidently learning that baseball wasn’t the only thing he played, he took a different approach to dating, to women. He was a proper gentleman, DK was, never using his status to acquire a girlfriend with status or money or a title, he searched for love.

A star studded, best pitcher in baseball shouldn’t have had his heart broken as many times as his had been, he should’ve been the one breaking hearts. The girls wanted his money, and they only liked him because he played baseball. His status, his money, his title. All the things he didn’t necessarily want, but had been blessed with. 

He was a good man, and he was always right, but you’d never admit that to his face. Especially after that night, after a weekend of staying at Mingyu’s. DK had sat you down, he spoke for many minutes, many dragging minutes, a monologue full of ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to do something else?’ and ‘Have your friends from Nasara come out to stay with us sometime, maybe you all can spend time in the city together.’ He never said the words, “Don’t date Mingyu,” but you know he despised the idea.

Deep down you despised it too. 

The hunk of golden muscle with a voice so pretty and persuading, he wanted to be your boyfriend. Mingyu’s asked a few times before, letting it become your decision, always telling you he’d wait for you, and that you were his no matter what, that he was here for you, he wanted to take care of you, he wanted to love you. He’d keep his word, you knew he would. It was Mingyu, he kept his promises, he spoke with utmost intent, he didn’t say shit just to say it, nor was he using it to coerce you into his sheets. That you did on your own.

His curly hair, his sappy brown eyes, you’d drown it in, in him, suffocate yourself with Mingyu, all of him until the guilt wallowing in your gut was gone. With each passing day it grew smaller. After each night with Mingyu it was easier to deal with. Like last night, like this entire trip would be.

Arriving in Haos, in the warm air that breezed over your skin like a dream when you stepped out of the airport hand in hand with Mingyu sending cameras flashing away, you finally felt like you could breathe. Away from Iloa, away from the restraints the city put on you, really your brother, this trip felt like freedom. Haos has always been a place you’ve thrived since you were a little girl, traveling back and forth on a jet with your parents and DK, vacationing for months throughout the summer, laying on these beaches until your skin couldn’t take it any longer. The air was different here, it excited you.

It invited you to dance in it, to get lost in it like you did Mingyu.

And that’s just what you did.

Waking up to sunshine peeking through the heavy grey curtains of the hotel room, washing over you where you laid in the king sized bed buried in white sheets and blankets, you didn’t even want to open your eyes. Pressing your hands to your forehead first, rolling onto your back, the ache squeezing your brain threatened your stomach, but you wouldn’t allow it to go any further. Taking a slow, calculated deep breath you lay your arms beside you and stretch, your limbs barely reaching the edges of the mattress. Muscles sore, body tired, you blinked open your eyes and scolded the light with a groan.

Moving beneath the covers, the soft sheets caressing your bare skin, you tugged them off and took your time sitting up. The weight in your head shifted, almost sending you forward. Clamping your hands to your knees, still blinking fervently in the bright sunshine, you find clothes scattered about the floor, your bell bottom jeans inside out and slung over a dresser across the room from you.

You weren’t sure whose room you were in, but the denim jacket, Nike luggage, and custom sneakers let you know where you were. Dragging a hand through your hair, the blow dry still bouncing even though your jaw ached, you took another breath and made your way out of his bed.

These headlines were gonna be good.

You scrolled, and scrolled. Instagram, Twitter, all the accounts that reported on you, that reported on Mingyu, you scrolled, and you read. Wandering out of bed, you scrolled, sitting on the toilet, you scrolled, brushing your teeth, you scrolled. The photos were cute, Mingyu’s arm either around your back or shoulders, unless his hand was wrapped around your neck or squeezing your ass. More often than not your lips were locked, the two of you ‘unable to get enough’ as one drama influencer said on her story.

You’ve been here one night and have already achieved what you came here to do.

There was a certain rush accompanied by seeing your name in posts, in headlines, coming out of peoples mouths. Everyone had their thing, everyone in your life, they had their thing. This was yours, and people were catching on. After each blow up of news, of rumors, of new photos, your follower count grew.

But where there were fun people talking about you, doing their makeup in their ‘Get Ready With Me and Chit Chat About Moon Isla…’ videos and TikToks, there were the assholes, mostly men, who spewed their worthless thoughts. That’s what DK would say. Mingyu had started saying it too, that those kinds of people had nothing better to do with their lives.

It didn’t mean their words didn’t hurt.

“I mean, she’s sloppy, she’s drinking all the time, and he’s there to carry her around,” a man with a microphone in his face and big headphones on around his head spoke from your phone. Dressed now, having read an article that informed you that you bought the entire bar shots of tequila, you attempted to liven up your face in the mirror that stretched across the bathroom wall. “His team is in Haos to train. To practice. To begin their season to take back their trophy, and this bitch is with them, dragging Kim all along Festa Street.” Slicking clear gloss over your lips, you narrowed your eyes and glared at the man on the screen.

Fair skinned, bald, with a bush on his face and all around his jaw. He had that nagging sort of voice, one that tugged on your eardrums and stabbed them thousands and thousands of times with tiny needles filling you with rage.

“Photos came out right away when the team got there, you know,” the man said, and his partner, another bald man with a Lions hat on, hummed in agreement. “Not a smile on his face. Sunglasses on, gear on his back, his hat tugged over his forehead. Now what do you think that means?”

“He’s hungover,” the partner said. The man threw his hands out to the side and cackled.

“Thank you, he’s hungover, and he has to play today.” You scoffed and snatched your phone off the counter. “They’re lucky the new first-”

“Shut up,” you groaned, swiping away to another video. A girl with long, waist length braids in her hair, each one entwined with a fun color was smiling to the camera.

“Guys,” she finally whispered after a second of staring. A giggle corrupted her, sending her face down into her pillows. The camera shook, then she picked her head back up and widened her eyes for a few seconds. “How do I become her?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, then giggled maniacally again. “How do I- Wait, hang on.” 

The camera cut and a picture showed up behind her. Your cheeks warmed. Mingyu had you pressed to a pillar in one of the bars you were in, the name unknown to you. His hands were in the back pockets of your jeans and his forehead was pressed to yours. The way he smiled down at you, god. The picture was a little blurry, a little grainy, but damn. He wasn’t looking at you like you were his dinner. Hearts engulfed his irises.

“Guys?!” The girl shrieked and you jumped, forgetting she was here. “Kim Mingyu, save me! Look at this, do you see this, are we all okay after this…” She rambled more nonsense, and you’re certain the thousands of comments were agreeing with her. On every video of girls like this the comments were full of more girls saying the same exact thing.

You dared, and you clicked.

‘how does she not die when he looks like that’

‘LORD WHEN IS IT MY TURRRRRRN’

‘Shes so lucky waht the actual fuck guys its not fair.’

‘how are they NOT DATING’

How are they not dating? How are you not dating Mingyu? How could you look at a photo like this one, all of it screaming that he loved you, how could you see this, witness this, live this, and not date him? Not want to date him?

Locking your phone, tossing it to the counter, you returned to your makeup and put on fresh mascara, not that anyone was going to see it.

Venturing out into the room, side stepping articles of clothing, you pulled on one of Mingyu's grey Lions tee’s and wiggled back into the jeans you wore last night. Your luggage was elsewhere. DK would tell you where it ended up, he’d tell you where you were staying. You haven’t seen him since you left the airport, you were not looking forward to the lecture you’d get when you met him at the field.

Sliding thick black sunglasses onto your nose, making sure your hair framed your face, you spritzed some of Mingyu’s cologne onto your neck, dropped your things into your little purse, slid into your shoes, and left his room behind.

The team was gone, they’d been out on the field for two hours already. Nearing eleven o’clock you weren’t sure who else would be left behind here at the hotel, hopefully someone you’d catch a ride with, but to your demise as you wandered the halls and rode the elevator down to the lobby, your least favorite people were here.

The WAGs.

A piercing cry echoed through the air and the glass ceiling of the lobby.

The WAGs and their children.

To the right of the main lobby, the carpeted area where large leather couches and a fireplace lived, fabulous heads of hair sat around or stood with their babies in their arms. Tight jeans, fun Lions themed jackets, the whole thing screamed WAGs and it made you want to gag. 

Then you remembered what shirt you put on and kept your thoughts to yourself.

Already regretting approaching them, you took yourself toward the couches and attempted to smile at them. In an instant their chatter quieted, their attention turned to you, and they broke out in cheesy greetings. There were only a few faces you recognized.

Seungcheols wife, Talia, who was very pregnant, had their son Tao on her hip where she stood in front of the couches. Luscious blonde hair flowing toward her waist, her full face of makeup smiled back at you. She was one of the few you actually trusted. Gesturing toward her knee high wedged boots, you shot her a thumbs up. From what you know she was weeks from popping out kid number two, so how she was walking around in those boots, props to her.

On the couch directly in front of you rocking her crying baby sat Daya, a brunette with macchiato colored skin married to the Lions second basemen, Soonyoung, or Hoshi, as the city of Iloa called him. They haven’t been married long, but their baby girl, Tora, was six months old. Hoshi was one of the reasons the team started to crumble last season. Between Daya and his new daughter, the family fought the narrative the entire off season. 

Daya sat beside Halle, a woman with curly black hair hanging at her shoulders and the smoothest dark chocolate complexion. She bounced a baby in her arms, her and her husband, Minghao, their eight month old, Sunday. Another daughter born into the Lions family, one toward the beginning of the season, the family just missing the reason for crumble rumors.

The two were best friends, Daya and Halle, just as were Hoshi and Minghao. With their chins turned up at you and their seemingly judging eyes studying what you wore and how you wore it, they smiled and shared a look.

“Isla you’re so fun,” Talia said with a shake of her head. 

Daya laughed under her breath. “She’ll be one of us soon,” she grumbled, and Halle laughed with her.

“Leave the girl be,” Jihyo spoke up as she passed by the couches, wandering behind her and Junhui’s four year old son, Jisoo. Jun belonged to the Lions long before DK had ever been traded, he was a veteran in Iloa. He and his wife, a couple of high school sweethearts, welcomed you back time and time again, treating you no differently, as if no time had ever passed. Just seeing her face was relief enough.

“Hey,” you half whispered, reaching out for her. She took your hand and squeezed it, the smile lines on her cheeks accenting her stunning smile. Talia watched your hands meet, then watched the interaction, adjusting her baby on her hip. “It’s so nice to see you.”

Jihyo tossed her dark brown hair over the shoulder of her leather jacket. “It’s so much nicer seeing you. Don’t let these girls be mean to you,” she shot Daye and Halle a glare and the two turned toward one another, “She’s a baby, she’s not having any anytime soon.” Smiling back at you, she squeezed your hand once more before returning to her motherly duties. “You came down just in time, they’re picking us up any minute now.”

“How are things with Mingyu?” Daya asked, giving you another once over. “You guys conjure quite the crowd.” You didn’t like the way her eyes felt.

Shrugging, you pursed your lips and said, “Things are great. Why?”

She and Halle spoke to one another again with their eyes, then Minghao’s wife looked up at you. “Why aren’t things official, Isla?” 

Because if things become official then you end up on the couch here with these women and their babies, maybe even with a few of your own. You become a WAG, your entire identity succumbed down into just being someone's wife, someone's mother. You’d be an extension of him, of Mingyu, it’s what he wanted you to be even if he’s never explicitly said it.

But, he has.

You’re his. You’re his whether the label is there or not.

The label.

More of their questions bounced back and forth between them. ‘Has he not asked?’ ‘You have to do something, Isla, you can’t just be his pet.’ ‘I mean, what does it look like, you traveling with him to do what, party and sleep together?’ ‘We’ve seen the photos, everyone has, you guys have something-’

“It is official,” you said with a sureness that shut them up.

The words were set in stone before you had a chance to take them back. The chatter of the wives and girlfriends in the lobby filled the air and did nothing to ease the anxiety around the next news story you just created for yourself. For Mingyu. For your brother.

Exactly what he didn’t want.

Taking a deep breath, you thought to yourself, oh well.

You’d be a different type of WAG, you’d change what it meant. You would not end up here wedged between Daya and Halle, two women unable to calm their fussy babies.

Halle smirked, shaking her curls a bit. “What do you mean it is?”

Narrowing your eyes that she couldn’t see at her, you tilted your head. “He’s my boyfriend. I’m his girlfriend. How much more official can it get? You want proof? Wanna see the pictures he took of us while he was in me last night?”

Daya threw her head backward with a holler of a laugh. Halle’s own jaw fell open, a scoff falling from it. Talia, eyes analyzing still, she started to smile. 

“No, you keep those to yourself,” Halle said.

Daya chimed in, “If you have any of just Mingyu let us know, though.”

Your heart would’ve shot out your chest if you weren’t so hungover. “I would,” you sighed, then started toward the doors of the hotel, “But, he’s mine!”

First one to get to the cars, recognizing your brother's driver, you beelined for the SUV and demanded he pull away and get you to the stadium before any other women could try to get into the car with you. Barely five minutes away from the hotel and twenty from the stadium, your phone buzzed from your purse, and then it buzzed again, and again. Pulling it out you sighed at the notifications polluting your screen, but weren’t surprised in the slightest.

Someone got their check.

‘BREAKING NEWS: The Lions Princess confirms her relationship with…’

It was too long to read across the screen.

‘Moon Isla and Kim Mingyu CONFIRMED!’

‘IT’S OFFICIAL!’

No matter who it was, no matter who sold the story or leaked it, you didn’t have time to feel bad for them, nor yourself. You were well off and doing better for yourself without the need to leak info to the press for a paycheck. You have a DK, and now you have a boyfriend, who doesn’t know he’s your boyfriend yet, but is about to find out he is your boyfriend and probably already did. 

Now you had to tell him in person.

And you had to swear to yourself that you were not going to become one of the WAGs.

As easy as it would be to just hand your whole life over to somebody, to follow them around, to have them take care of you for as long as they saw fit… It wasn’t you.

And it wasn’t going to be you.

The stadium in Haos couldn’t compare to the one in Iloa. Smaller, less sparkly and flashy, positioned directly in the sun, this stadium was lucky the Lions continued to come here to train for a month and a half. The tickets they sold within February and March were probably enough to fund the rest of the year for this company. 

To the Lions it was home away from home. A field to play on, a place to stay. Players like your brother saw it that way, he and a few others like Junhui, they had an appreciation for it. As long as they were throwing a baseball, running the bases, rolling in the grass, they were happy. You had few memories of this place, one of them being finally kissing Mingyu for the first time when you were eighteen and in Haos with your family for a weekend to watch the Lions play a series here. It was something short and sweet but all the more delicious. 

It was sneaky, in a hallway away from celebrations and cameras. The two of you had spent nearly the entire weekend together, talking, re-getting to know one another like most of the time like this was spent. He only kissed you after a dinner with the team, after a few drinks downed by the both of you, his liquid courage hands dancing along your neck gently before they took your cheeks and pulled you into him.

You started at Nasara that fall, though you longed to go back to that weekend every damn day of that grueling first semester. With little to no contact between you and Mingyu, it was easy to slip away from him, and you did so without even realizing it. There came a point in time where he wasn’t even a second thought, a side thought, a thought way in the back of your brain, he was just… gone.

Coming here, spending time at the stadium with the team you hoped that feeling would come back. That first feeling. The way nerves below your skin buzzed as he touched you, as he smiled at you and tipped his chin closer, whispering to you how he hopes no one turns the corner. His soft lips, his strong hands, his chiseled body you simply melted into… Everything about it screamed perfect.

Strutting over the concrete, a coffee acquired in your hand, sun blazing on your back, coaches, security, and other WAGs standing around eyeing you or trying to say hello, you ignored them and kept your head on straight, knowing he was at the end of this pathway. The stands of seats towered over your head, casting shadows onto the pavement, leading you toward the fence you so easily walked around with no one to stop you. Your feet quieted as the grass began, shade covering the green so lush you almost felt bad you were flattening it beneath your shoes.

The boys weren’t actively playing at the moment, the most activity happening that you could see was that of your brother and the Lions catcher Jihoon, or Woozi, stretching in the outfield together in their sponsored Under Armour get ups. Everyone else was wandering the dirt, chatting it up along the dugout, or checking out their gear. Few players stood in their positions from what you could see, everyone's backs to you as you approached the third base line.

“Isla!” His voice brought an instant smile to your face. He was heard before he was seen, scanning the different figures around you, you finally found him hurrying toward you, a big, goofy smile on his cheeks. Completely different than how those men on that podcast were describing him. 

A little bit sweaty, Mingyu wore a cut off Lions tank and matching black shorts, swapping his custom sneakers for a pair of old cleats that supposedly brought him luck while they trained. It wasn’t Spring Training if he didn’t have them on, no one would catch him jinxing the season before it even started. Some of his curls clung to his forehead, his skin aglow beneath the beating Haos sun.

“Change your mind, or something?” The way he scrunched his nose made you giggle. “Heard we’re dating now?” He made it in front of you finally, resting his hands on his hips as he caught his breath.

Pressing your lips together in a silly smile, you shrugged your shoulders and rocked on your feet. “Maybe we are.” He couldn’t tame his happiness, you were certain his cheeks would break. “Sucks I couldn’t have told you first, who’d you hear it from?”

“Hoshi.” He cocked his head backward toward the dugout. Peeking around his large frame you found the two best friends side by side leaning over the fence with their chins resting on their arms looking straight toward you and Mingyu. Hoshi, hair bleached into oblivion, and Minghao, shaggy black hair hanging down his neck. Both boys wore backwards baseball caps. “After he told me I checked to see if you said anything to me, but you didn’t.”

A pout graced your lips. “I wanted to come here and tell you, I’m sorry.”

He moved quickly, reaching out to take you by your shoulders. “No, please, don’t apologize, holy shit, Isla. If anything I’m sorry, it sucks that we can’t say anything without someone taking it and plastering it to the internet.” His thumbs drew circles over the fabric of his own t-shirt. “This mine?” He snickered.

“Yeah,” you sang, “I was in your room, Gyu. My suitcases are MIA.”

“They’re in your room,” he said as if he knew where it was.

You scoffed. “And you didn’t think to tell me where that was so I could-”

“On the other side of the hotel in one of the towers across the property by your brother.” It was all he had to say to have you both deadpanning in seconds. “Like, a mile apart.”

Laughing within a breath you leaned into him and slid an arm around his back. “Oh, agony,” you drug out, tipping your chin backward. “A mile, how ever are we going to do it?” It was too easy to make him laugh.

“DK did it on purpose,” he said quietly, bobbing his head, taking his arms around your back. “He thinks we don’t know what he does and why he does it but, it’s so obvious.” Sipping your coffee, you looked up at him and waited for more. “Does he know you were gonna do this? Today?”

Toying with the hem of his shirt you took a breath. “No, but I can tell you he definitely already knows, news travels fast around here.” The two of you spare your brother a glance, one he was returning. You’ve never seen DK mad, but you do know when his eyes have fallen upon something he doesn’t like.

“You’ll talk him down,” Mingyu nodded, gazing back down at you. “You always do, you have the magic.” 

Blinking, you turned your chin back up to him. “You could talk to him too, yanno.”

He made a face, baring his teeth, cringing. “Ah, you know how I feel about that.”

“It could potentially turn this whole thing around if you do, Gyu,” you muttered, defeat beginning to pool within you. “You want me, you gotta talk to him about it.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he reached for your coffee cup. “I have you. Watcha got in here?” He took a swing before you could answer him, his reaction making you laugh amongst the karma.

“Black coffee,” you droned, taking the white cup back. “And sugar, because someone made me do tequila shots all night.”

Snickering, he dropped down to press a kiss to your lips, one long and slow, as if he was putting the period on the It’s Official statement. Pulling back just slightly, Mingyu mumbled, “Why don’t you substitute that sugar for vodka so we can keep going tonight?”

“Aye, Kim!” A coach called out for him, the team heading back out onto the field.

Whirling around, pulling you into his side, Mingyu waves off the batting coach and ushers you into the dugout making sure you were along the fence with a good spot to watch him hit. Along the way he whispered nonsense to you, telling you what bars you should explore tonight, where you needed to go, what food you should try, but more importantly what drinks you could get and where.

“You’re gonna kill me, Gyu,” you whispered to him after he kissed you one last time. Laughing aloud, head thrown back with vigor, he took to home plate and his persona shifted. Gone was Gyu, out came Kim Mingyu, the Lions right fielder.

Sipping from your coffee, allowing it to ease the ache in your forehead and the unease in your gut, you stood up and wandered the empty dugout. Names were written on everything, the shirts, the bats, the gloves, the mits, it was adorable, it felt like when you’d watch your brother in little league and your father etched his name into everything he owned. Dragging your feet along the ground, dirt and pebbles scraping against the concrete beneath your shoes, you took a deep breath in through your nose and let the fresh air relax you.

Maybe this was a good thing.

The familiar sound of a baseball smacking into the glove of the catcher brought you more comfort than you ever could’ve imagined. Your brother was on the mound, Woozi behind the plate, Mingyu in the batter's box. The whooshing of the bat through the air as your boyfriend acquired another strike had the batting coach calling out a few things to him. With a small smile on your lips you wandered toward the stairs to the dugout along the first base line, stepping up them to lean against the post giving you the clearest view of the field.

Hangover aside, the day was beautiful. The weather was perfect, the boys were talking and laughing with one another, there was the crack of the ball hitting the bat filling you with excitement as someone shouted in the outfield. The ball Mingyu hit was foul, traveling just over right field, but it wasn’t hit long enough for their bench player whose name you hadn’t learned yet to catch it in right field. Your neck stretched, everyones did. Mingyu ran to first base, but Seungcheol would catch it before he made it down the line.

Except Seungcheol was behind home plate with the batting coach, arms folded over his broad chest, his knee wrapped in a brace.

Whipping your head back and forth, from Seungcheol eyeing the ball, to the team, then you, he shouted a name that made your blood run cold.

“Hansol!”

Every bone in your body went stiff, every muscle froze. Neck nearly breaking, you plastered your eyes onto the boy standing behind first base and your coffee cup almost slipped from your trembling fingers.

You could’ve been sick. You wanted to be sick.

Months. It’d been months.

Months of distraction, months of trying to make him go away, months of squeezing him and pushing him down into a feeling you’d only allow yourself to feel between the hours of one and three in the morning if you were any sort of sober. Even drunk, he was there, a ghost haunting your memory of what could’ve been, what you had and what you left behind. He stood here now, five foot ten, a little scrawny, a little pale. Those brown waves, they were just how you left them, fluffy, soft, inviting. His eyes, chocolate and sweet, were on you, he was looking at you, not through you, not around you, at you.

And it hurt.

Every feeling manifested into a stomach ache, a nausea so debilitating that only he would know what to do about it, like he’s done for you so many times before. The amount of times he’s held your hair, that he’s pulled it back for you. So many nights at Nasara, when he was allowed to, he would get you into your bed and make sure you’d fall asleep on your side, telling Ryujin that if either of you needed anything she could call him. He’d try to not let you drink too much, but when he couldn’t keep up with the way you’d bounce around the house he’d appear with a cup full of water and wouldn’t leave you alone until you finished it. 

He’d bring you to Blend, he’d buy you a coffee, he’d offer you breakfast, and if you refused he’d offer his shoulder and he’d let you talk. And not once would he interrupt, he’d only look away to sip his coffee, reminding you to drink some of yours between the stories you had to tell.

You’d follow him along to his practices, one of the only ones to sit in the stands, or behind home plate when he’d bat or train with his coaches gearing him up for this very moment.

When the hell did he get called up?

When the hell did the Lions get him?

Why the fuck is this the first you’re hearing of it, seeing it?

He missed the ball. It fell a few feet behind him. His teammates shouted for him, they tried to get his attention, so many shouts of a name so foreign to you only because you knew it wasn’t his favorite. He was stuck, much like you, with a thousand things to say splayed out between the two of you.

Vernon.

He was here, in Haos, playing on the same team as your brother. 

On the same team as your boyfriend. 

Holy shit, Mingyu was your boyfriend.

Mingyu was your boyfriend, words you chose to say on the same day the boy you had fallen in too far deep with appears on his baseball team.

“Hansol!”

Finally his gaze of disbelief was ripped from you, having you loose a breath you were holding. Murmurs of his voice, nothing more than a hum hit you where you were standing, a sound so incredibly comforting it had tears welling up in your eyes. You’re sure it was pleading, and apologies, and excuses for missing the easiest play for a first baseman.

He hurried toward Seungcheol and the coach, as did the team, and you hightailed it off the field while no one's eyes were on you, hurried for the closest bathroom and hid yourself in a stall, collapsing to the floor with rushed breaths, willing your heart to calm down.

home;run masterlist | talk to me | ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[race-week]

To be honest, with McLaren I very much get the impression that they weren’t expecting to be as competitive as they are this year.

Towards the end of last season, and preseason this year there was a lot of talk with them about 2025 and 2026, especially once their new wind tunnel was up and running as they would be the first cars designed wholly in the new tunnel.

I think there was a somewhat bizarre series of events and their car this year was stronger than they expected, or their competitors were weaker than anticipated, and somehow they stumbled their way into a championship fight that they didn’t foresee initially being a part of. (Post Miami)

This then became more apparent as the season progressed as Red Bull seemingly got weaker and then suddenly there was talk of two championships on the line. (Around the time of the summer break)

I’m not saying that McLaren didn’t expect to be competitive at all this year, I think they probably expected that they would be towards the front but not necessarily where they ended up. (I think they were probably aiming for a close P3/P4)

Now, they haven’t been a properly competitive, Championship contender (for either championship) in well over a decade, and in that decade the team personnel and management are pretty much completely different, so it’s not really much of a surprise that they have made the stumbles that they have done, and why they still act like a midfield team, because the majority of the personnel there are used to the ‘midfield mentality’.

They kind of tripped into a championship fight (or two) that they weren’t necessarily operationally ready for, and truth be told I think this would be the case for most, if not all midfield teams, if they suddenly (in relative terms) reached that level of competition.

It’s far more common for a front runner to become a midfielder, than the opposite to happen, especially within a season or two.

[ideaticaphelion]

puyo puyo tetris is a pvp game, i think everybody would agree, in which two players compete at independent tasks wherein success at ones task hinders the others ability to succeed

team fortress 2 payload race pits two teams against one another with both having the same end goal; they desire more or less the same result and are only "competing" to have done the best at that by the end. like they have a "canon" reason to fight but thats not important. this is also pvp i think we can all agree again - and if you disagree with my reasoning, we can instead turn to operation (1965), in which the end goal is unquestionably "to collectively remove all of the ailments from cavity sam" while still being unarguably pvp

in many competitions (i.e. archery, curling, etc) the end of the game is not determined by when a player gets a certain number of points, but by time or a certain number of attempts by each player or whatnot

as such, an experience where players are performing individual, separate tasks, which can make the game more difficult for the other players when performed successfully, and where all players have the same end goal, which is judged at the end of a certain length of time, is pvp, yes?

most asymmetrical multiplayer games offer up the idea that one party can hinder the other, while the other cannot respond in kind, while still being considered pvp; see "among us", among any number of other examples

now, consider The Safeway World Championship Pumpkin Weigh-Off; a competitor in this competition (or "pvp match") has no real agency in their own victory (on account of being a pumpkin), while still being a competitor (or "player") in the game.

if we agree that the above is true, then we must agree that a contest consisting of two players performing completely different tasks, in which one party may obstruct the other through their own success, both players having a shared victory condition of "most success within a set time period" (rather than "defeating" the other), even if there are competitors that don't necessarily have any agency in how well they perform, is a pvp game

therefore, if we were to start scoring pregnancy,