#(not really...but like...there's a good handful of them!)

[dmitriene]

cw: omegaverse, mating.

simon ghost riley knows well that you're a really skittish omega, his mate, too, which makes it all only more problematic, but it's shouldn't be an issue for him, not at all, he's sure that if he'll treat you right, pamper and stroke over where you tense in defense, you'll rub your face against his neck and purr sweet little sounds only for his ears alone, so he makes it his mission.

he let's you hiss and scratch all you want, slap his outstretched, offered hand, rumble like a fierce thing when he brushes a thumb down your neck, thumbing over the sensitive curve where your gland hides, blooming ripe and mouthwatering with the most luscious scent ever, and when you see the way his searing, amber eyes eclipse with dilating, opaque darkness, tracing a path of shivers over your skin from his gaze alone, you flee.

you make simon stalk you all around, to dig in the littlest corners you hide in to make sure you're nourished and feeling alright, no fever, no heat, no bite mark from someone who would dare to try, and the unmistakable care that sizzles calmly in his softened eyes makes you warm up, just a little bit, enough to not bite his hand off when he smoothes a palm over your head, or brings you some food he thinks you should have in your ration to be a healthy omega.

reluctantly, he get's to court you, as much as it can be called so, holding his hand barely from touching the small of your back as you walk beside him, the distance between you two getting smaller and smaller, but still there, when you glare daggers at him should he try to smell you, or tense as he touches you accidentally, only a brush, yet, you shiver and lean away, suppressing the flutter of warmth that creeps up your belly.

simon learns that you panic at the permeating scent of alpha pheromones the hard way, when he let's them out, noticing the lingering gazes of the unruly mutts around him that eye you like some bone, and he can't stand it at all, the lurking gazes, how oblivious you are, walking around unmarked, not mated probably, a shame to him, but he tries to be gentle, to take his time with you, yet he can't control the menacing sourness of his scent, acrid against your sensitive sense of smell.

it's scares you, the tang of menacity you pick up on, the way his lips pull up in a snarl, and when he growls, gravelly and loud, you let out an uncontrollable, instinctive whimper, shrinking in the bow of your body, trying to curl, hide, shield yourself with a sharp distress to your pleasantly sweet scent, whirling around your shivering form in waves that reach out to simon, distracting, forcing the haze of an possessing anger dissipate, leaving behind a pang of a quilt.

simon would apologize to you in private, properly, where he'd be able to persuade you to let him show how sorry he is for making you so uncomfortable, with your quivering legs spread wide, dangling at his broad, stretched out shoulders, and his drooling mouth devouring your sweet cunt, pulsing and soppy all over his twisting tongue, the pitch high keen of your voice a delight to his ears, and maybe, just maybe, you'll let him stick in with a tip, perhaps.

he just wants to make sure you'll be safe if he's suddenly wouldn't be any near you, and he was acting so good all the time, even with his gums aching to bite into the tender flesh of your neck, lick over your scent gland, make it swell, and when he does makes you gush in his mouth, swallowing gulps of your slick until dry, limbs boneless, toes spasming in a curl, you don't fight off the feel of his crooked nose digging in the curve of your sweaty neck.

your glassy eyes flutter shut, nails clawing up from simon's shoulders to his cropped hair, sharp, unsure, trying to pull him away and as close as possible, listening to the gravelly, almost purring coo of his voice, soothing your tangled, wracked nerves, and you let him, garbling, mewling, until his sharp canines pierce deep in, chapped, tissued lips suck down to soothe the sting that makes you sob, spine arching painfully, until your body sags completely, useless.

he'd wait for a next, better time to warm you up to try and take his knot, there's no pleasure in forcing you, rushing things, for now, his inner alpha is sated enough, seeing those imprinted dents of his teeth bruising over your neck like a brand, your body cradled close, deep asleep and letting out unguarded, barely audible purrs, humming something illegible as his palm cups over your gland, face nuzzling in the crown of your head, and yes, it's more than enough.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[paucubarsisimp]

Can I request a multiple F1 grid: Trying to build the Lego F1 cars together? I just bought one and it was both fun and frustrating to build. Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

lego cars

pairings: all current grid drivers x reader

summary: building f1 legos with your f1 driver boyfriend

warnings: swearing

୨ৎ lando norris

the floor was a mess of orange, black, and grey lego pieces, but your boyfriend looked entirely unbothered, sitting cross-legged in the middle of it like a kid on christmas morning.

“are we actually going to finish this tonight?” you asked, squinting at the thick instruction booklet in your lap.

lando didn’t even look up. “of course we are. we’re professionals.”

you snorted. “you drive a real mclaren, babe. that doesn’t make you a lego engineer.”

he finally looked over, a lopsided grin on his face. “speak for yourself. i’ve got the hand-eye coordination of a god.”

you held up two nearly identical orange pieces. “then explain which one of these is step 274 and which is step 275.”

lando stared at them, squinting dramatically. “…they’re the same.”

“they’re not,” you said, already laughing.

and so it went. for every five steps you made progress, lando somehow distracted you for three. whether it was joking around, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek, or making car noises as he pushed the half-built model across the table — he made it fun.

“this is kind of romantic,” he said suddenly, looking at the nearly complete mclaren between you.

you raised an eyebrow. “covered in plastic bricks, sitting on the floor, slowly losing our minds — that’s your definition of romance?”

he shrugged, inching closer. “yeah. it’s like… we’re building something together. literally and figuratively.”

you laughed, but your heart swelled a little at that. “that was either really cute or really cheesy.”

“both,” he admitted, nudging your knee with his.

when the final piece clicked into place, you both just sat there, admiring the tiny f1 car you’d brought to life together.

lando reached over and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, tugging you against him. “we make a good team.”

“you mean i follow instructions and you provide chaos?”

“exactly.” he kissed the side of your head. “perfect balance.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ oscar piastri

the floor was a battlefield of tiny lego pieces in shades of orange, black, and grey. oscar sat cross-legged across from you, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared down at the instruction booklet.

“are you sure you’re following the instructions properly?” you asked, glancing over at him. “this is starting to look more like a spaceship than an f1 car.”

oscar didn’t look up. “it’s fine. i’ve got it under control.”

you raised an eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the growing pile of mismatched pieces around him. “you say that, but i’m starting to question your lego expertise.”

he finally looked up, smirking. “i’m an f1 driver. i can build anything. it’s all about precision and… patience.”

you bit back a laugh. “precision, huh? so you’re saying you’re totally sure that piece you just put on is supposed to be there?”

oscar glanced down at the piece in his hand, eyes widening slightly. “okay, maybe it’s not exactly in the right place, but it’s close.”

you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

he grinned, clearly pleased with the compliment. “that’s the plan. get by on charm and looks.”

as you worked together, it became clear that while oscar might not be a lego master, he sure was good at making you laugh. every so often, he’d dramatically announce that a piece absolutely belonged in a spot it clearly didn’t, or he’d break into random comments about how the car’s “aerodynamics” weren’t up to his standards.

“this doesn’t look like a proper racing car,” he muttered, holding up a half-finished section. “i think we need to take this back to the pits for some adjustments.”

you grinned. “if only you could bring a lego car to the team garage for a quick pit stop.”

he winked. “hey, it’s the next best thing. no tire changes, but plenty of potential.”

finally, after some back-and-forth and more than a few wrong pieces, the lego mclaren started to resemble something recognizable. oscar stepped back, crossing his arms with a proud smile.

“we did it,” he said, his voice soft but pleased.

you looked down at the completed model and grinned. “well, you did it, actually. i just followed your instructions.”

“exactly,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “teamwork.”

“you mean your work and me just looking pretty while pretending to know what i’m doing?”

oscar chuckled and leaned over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “something like that. but seriously, i’m glad we did this.”

you smiled, resting your head on his shoulder as you both admired your work. “me too. i think it looks even better because we built it together.”

he nodded, wrapping his arm around you. “definitely. and now, we’ve got the most unique mclaren f1 car in the world.”

you both sat there for a while, in the quiet satisfaction of a task completed — and maybe, just maybe, a few more moments of laughter and memories added to your time together.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ george russell

the living room looked like a miniature pit lane disaster. grey and black lego pieces covered the floor, coffee table, and parts of george’s lap. he sat, back straight as ever, holding what looked like a front wing and staring at it like it had just insulted his entire career.

“this is… incorrect,” he muttered.

you looked over from the other side of the table. “you said that about the last four pieces.”

“and i was right all four times,” he replied with a faintly dramatic sigh, “but this one’s actually wrong.”

you leaned in. “george, the instructions are literally step-by-step. just follow them.”

he gave you a flat look. “i am following them. but the piece was misprinted.”

you blinked. “you think mercedes messed up a lego set.”

“not mercedes. lego,” he corrected, deadly serious. “mercedes would never.”

you bit back a laugh. “you sound like you’re defending the honor of the factory.”

he smirked a little, then looked down at the tiny W15 replica in progress. “well… they did build this one. just, you know, full size.”

“and not out of plastic.”

“small detail.”

you shifted closer, watching him click the front wing in, still with that careful, surgeon-level precision. “i like seeing you like this,” you said softly. “focused, but not… stressed.”

he looked over at you, some of the usual pressure in his shoulders melting a bit. “it’s nice. building something without a stopwatch.”

after a few minutes of quiet building, broken only by occasional lego clicks and your cat batting a tire piece under the couch, george finally leaned back to admire the half-built car.

“she’s beautiful,” he said, proud. “and more cooperative than the real one some days.”

you raised an eyebrow. “are you giving a press quote to a toy?”

he shrugged. “i speak from experience.”

you nudged him with your foot. “can’t wait for you to give a whole post-race debrief to this thing.”

“if it finishes ahead of me, i might have to.”

you both laughed, and george reached over to take your hand, twining your fingers with his without looking away from the tiny car.

“thanks for doing this,” he said. “i know it’s silly.”

“not silly,” you said quietly. “you spend all day breaking down the most complex machine in the world. it’s nice to see you build something just because you want to.”

he smiled, then gently tapped the half-built car. “it’s a good one. but it’s missing something.”

“what’s that?”

“driver figure,” he said, holding up the little lego helmet. “every car needs one.”

you laughed. “well, you better get him in before he misses quali.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ kimi antonelli

“mate, i swear to god, this is missing a piece.”

kimi antonelli sat cross-legged on your rug, a confused frown on his face as he poked through a sea of grey lego bricks. the nearly-complete mercedes w15 sat between you, missing exactly one sidepod.

you glanced up from your half of the build. “kimi, it’s not missing. it’s under your leg.”

he froze, looked down, and muttered, “ma che cazzo…”

you tried not to laugh as he pulled the piece free, shaking his head at himself. “this is why i drive the car and not build it.”

“oh please, even george finished his set last week,” you teased. “he timed it. wrote it down. probably logged it in a spreadsheet.”

kimi rolled his eyes, smirking. “yeah, well, george also irons his socks. i’m not competing with that.”

you both laughed, but kimi’s focus returned to the tiny car in front of him. he clicked the sidepod into place with careful hands, jaw tight in concentration. despite the casual “mate”s and the chill exterior, you could tell he wanted this perfect.

“you always this serious about lego?”

“only when it’s my car,” he muttered. “first season in f1, first time with mercedes… feels kinda unreal.”

you tilted your head, voice softening. “does it feel like pressure?”

he didn’t answer right away, just ran a thumb along the smooth line of the lego chassis.

“a bit,” he admitted finally. “but… it also feels right. like i’m where i’m supposed to be.”

“you are,” you said, nudging his arm. “you’ve earned every bit of it.”

he gave you a small smile, then leaned back on one hand, holding the tiny lego driver helmet in the other. “hope the real car treats me better than this damn brick one. this thing’s falling apart every time i touch it.”

“just like the rear grip in turn 11?”

he gave you a mock glare. “vaffanculo.”

you laughed, and he laughed with you, head tipping back slightly. there was something bright in his eyes—equal parts excitement and nerves.

“george said he’s gonna come over and check it when we’re done,” you said after a beat.

kimi groaned. “he’s gonna critique it like it’s an aero debrief. 'why did you use the wrong diffuser panel, mate?'”

you grinned. “better get it right then.”

he clicked the final piece into place with a satisfying snap, exhaled deeply, then held up the finished car with both hands like it was sacred.

“look at that,” he said, pride sneaking into his voice. “first mercedes built.”

“first of many.”

“damn right,” he murmured. then, with a smirk, “mate, we’re gonna need a bigger shelf.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ max verstappen

“this is stupid.”

max said it flatly, staring down at the unopened box of the red bull lego f1 car on the table.

you raised an eyebrow. “you picked it out.”

“yeah, well. it looked cool. didn’t realize it had a thousand pieces.”

you smirked. “scared of a few tiny bricks?”

“no,” he said, already slicing open the box with a kitchen knife like it had insulted him. “i just don’t like losing. even to plastic.”

you bit back a laugh. “who are you losing to, max? it’s just you and me.”

he gave you a look. “and i will beat you, obviously.”

“this isn’t a race.”

“everything is a race.”

you sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. max was already deep into organizing the pieces into small piles—color-coded, of course. he wasn’t about to admit he cared, but he was treating this with the same quiet focus he brought to race sims.

half an hour in, you looked over at his side of the build. it was surprisingly perfect—sharp edges, clean lines, everything matched the instruction booklet exactly.

“you’re weirdly good at this,” you said.

he shrugged. “spatial awareness.”

“is that what we’re calling lego talent now?”

he gave a smug little smile. “don’t be jealous.”

you rolled your eyes. “you literally threatened to throw yours out the window ten minutes ago.”

“because the rear wing wouldn’t line up,” he muttered, holding up a tiny piece with disdain. “this thing is so unrealistic.”

“you drive a car that hits 300 kph in a straight line and you're mad about a lego wing?”

he grunted, snapping it into place anyway. “it’s the principle.”

eventually, you both fell into a rhythm. soft music played in the background, and the only sound was the satisfying clicks of bricks and the occasional muttered dutch swearing when max misplaced a piece.

“fuck” he hissed under his breath, digging through a pile. “it was here, i saw it—”

you held up the missing piece. “you mean this one?”

he stared. “…you stole it.”

“i found it.”

he narrowed his eyes. “i want a rematch when this is done.”

“max, this wasn’t a competition.”

“you say that,” he replied, snapping the piece into place. “but i’m winning.”

you looked over at his perfectly assembled lego rb20 and sighed.

“okay. maybe you are.”

he grinned, leaned back, and crossed his arms like a smug cat. “next time, we build monaco.”

you raised a brow. “the whole track?”

“yeah,” he said. “then i lap you.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ yuki tsunoda

“why the fuck are there so many pieces?!”

you looked up to see yuki holding a clear bag of lego parts like it had personally offended him. his eyebrows were scrunched, mouth open in disbelief, hair slightly disheveled—classic signs of a yuki meltdown brewing.

“because you picked the detailed version,” you said, trying not to laugh.

he groaned dramatically and flopped back onto the couch. “i thought it was gonna be like, 100 pieces. max.”

“you drive a formula one car and this is what breaks you?”

he pointed at the half-built lego version of his old alpha tauri car, now rebranded and reboxed under a new team name. “this thing is too tiny. my fingers are not made for this shit.”

you reached over and gently fixed a piece he’d put on backwards. “you literally have hands made for this. they’re small.”

“rude,” he muttered, popping a sour candy into his mouth. “also true.”

you smiled and went back to your part of the build. yuki followed, a little grumbly but determined, muttering in both english and japanese as he tried to line up the next wing section.

“this piece doesn’t fit—kuso!—okay, never mind, i fixed it.”

“look at you,” you teased. “problem solver.”

he gave you a side-eye. “i’m gonna throw this car out the window if one more piece falls apart.”

you leaned in close, inspecting the tiny front wing he’d just attached. “actually, this is really good. like, suspiciously good.”

he beamed. “i know, right?”

you blinked. “did you just… accept a compliment without deflecting it?”

“i’m evolving.”

he sat up straighter, brushing brick dust off his sweatpants. “honestly, it’s kinda nice. building something that doesn’t involve brake temps and tire wear.”

you looked over, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “yeah?”

he shrugged. “everything’s serious all the time. it’s nice to just do something dumb with you.”

your smile softened. “we should make it a thing. post-race lego nights.”

“only if you promise to open the bags next time. i almost sliced my finger on that stupid little plastic edge.”

“deal.”

he held up the half-built car triumphantly. “look! it’s a car. kind of.”

“good enough for an f1 rookie,” you teased.

“oi,” he said, lightly kicking your leg. “i’m a veteran now.”

you giggled, and he reached over, placing the tiny lego helmet on the driver figure with way more care than he’d shown to the rest of the car.

“there,” he said. “now he won’t crash.”

“unlike you in austria 2022.”

“shut up!”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ charles leclerc

the coffee table was covered in little red lego bricks, most of them scattered far beyond where they were supposed to be. somewhere among the chaos sat charles, cross-legged, sleeves pushed up, brows drawn together like this was his actual ferrari on race day.

“you look stressed,” you teased, holding out a curved red piece. “you okay there, captain monaco?”

he sighed dramatically. “this is harder than qualifying in the rain.”

you grinned. “you chose this, you know.”

“yes, but i didn’t think ferrari lego would betray me too.”

you laughed, watching as he studied the instructions like it was a secret strategy briefing. he was painfully serious about it — biting his lip, double-checking every step, occasionally whispering under his breath in french.

“you do realize it’s just a toy, right?” you asked, leaning your chin into your palm as you watched him.

he glanced up, smiling sheepishly. “it’s not just a toy. it’s a ferrari.”

“ah. sacred ground.”

he chuckled, reaching for a piece but brushing your hand instead. he paused, letting his fingers rest lightly over yours for a second. “merci for helping, by the way.”

you shrugged. “i’m here for moral support. and to make sure you don’t accidentally build a mclaren by mistake.”

charles gasped, hand to heart. “that’s… that’s cruel.”

“just keeping you humble.”

as the model slowly took shape, you started to enjoy the rhythm of it — the quiet little jokes, the hum of soft music in the background, charles occasionally singing under his breath in french when he thought you weren’t listening.

at one point, he sat back and held up the half-built ferrari, inspecting it like an art piece. “it’s not perfect, but… it has character.”

“so, just like your real car?”

he smirked. “exactly.”

once the final piece clicked into place, he leaned back beside you on the floor, both of you just admiring the miniature sf-24 in front of you. the iconic red, the delicate little wings, the prancing horse.

“we should put it somewhere,” you said quietly.

“on my sim rig.”

“really?”

he turned to you, eyes soft. “of course. you helped build it. it’s important.”

you rested your head against his shoulder. “maybe next time we build something less… intense.”

he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “like what?”

“lego monaco. or, i don’t know… a tiny lego you.”

charles chuckled. “you’d still make fun of it.”

“absolutely.”al

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ lewis hamilton

lewis hummed quietly as he picked through the lego pieces, the ferrari logo staring back at him from the instruction manual. the new team, new car, new journey—but still the same lewis, calm and collected, moving through the pieces with ease.

“you’d think after all these months i’d be used to seeing my name in red,” he said, his voice soft. “but it’s still… weird.”

you looked over at him, glancing between the almost-finished lego sf-23 and his focused expression. “weird in a good way?”

he paused, then smiled, that familiar, relaxed smile that had always made him seem like he knew something no one else did. “yeah. definitely. it’s a change, but… a good one.”

you handed him a small piece. “you’ve been in a lot of teams, but this one’s special.”

“it is,” he agreed, clicking the piece into place. “ferrari’s got history. it’s a different kind of challenge, you know? charles and i, we’ve got a good energy together, but there's pressure to live up to everything this team represents.”

you nodded. “but you’ve already built so much in your career. now, it’s just about making something new.”

he gave a short laugh. “i hope that’s how it feels when this lego car’s done. fresh start.”

you watched him attach the rear wing, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he fitted the pieces together. “i think it’s already looking good.”

“well,” he said, eyes glinting playfully, “if it’s anything like my actual car, it’s gonna be fast.”

you smirked. “you mean like the perfectly tuned car you’ve already built over there?” you teased, motioning to the tiny, almost perfect lego ferrari.

“hey,” he said with mock offense. “i told you it was gonna be smooth.”

“that’s the thing with you, lewis,” you grinned, “everything’s smooth.”

he glanced over at you with a warm smile, his eyes softening. “i like to keep things balanced. at least here, we don’t have to worry about track limits or tire wear.”

you chuckled. “yeah, but look at how much you’re stressing over these bricks.”

“mate,” he said, his tone warm but teasing, “this is serious business.”

just as he said it, roscoe trotted over, sniffing around the legos with interest before promptly sitting on a pile of tires.

“oh, no,” lewis sighed, reaching down to gently move the dog. “roscoe, not the tires!”

you laughed. “he just wants to help.”

“help my ass,” lewis muttered, chuckling. “he’s got his own ideas of how to build a car.”

“maybe you should let him try next time.”

“only if he can actually get a car across the finish line,” lewis said, shaking his head as roscoe finally wandered off to nap. he looked at you again, his expression softening. “thanks for doing this. it’s nice to just… relax for a bit.”

you smiled. “it’s fun building this with you.”

he leaned back slightly, stretching out. “yeah. this is what i needed.”

you both leaned in to finish the last few pieces, the ferrari lego car coming together bit by bit.

“looks like we’re ready for the race,” you said as the last wheel snapped into place.

“we?” lewis raised an eyebrow. “i’m the one who’s going to take this one across the finish line.”

you gave him a sly grin. “in this case, i’m the engineer.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ alex albon

alex sat cross-legged on the floor, a slight frown tugging at his mouth as he studied the lego pieces in front of him. his arms were slightly crossed, his posture just the right amount of focus—like he was working on a race car, but also maybe half-watching a documentary on the side.

“i swear, the instructions are getting longer,” he muttered, leafing through the booklet. “first it was ‘snap this piece in,’ now it’s like, ‘align with symmetry,’ and i’m just—what?”

you peeked over from your side of the table, where your own lego car was slowly taking shape. “getting overwhelmed by legos, alex?”

he gave you a deadpan look. “no. it’s just… a lot of tiny pieces. i feel like i need a magnifying glass to find the one i need.”

you smiled and handed him a small pile of sorted pieces. “here. these are for the front wing.”

he looked at you with a raised brow. “are you seriously trying to make me faster than i am right now?”

“just building the car the way it’s meant to be,” you teased, settling back down.

alex grinned, clearly not offended. “ah, i see. you’re the one setting the lap times.”

you both fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft clicks of plastic as you built. occasionally, alex would let out a sigh or mutter something like “this is ridiculous,” but he was enjoying it. it was the kind of peaceful activity he didn't always have the luxury to enjoy, with racing schedules and endless debriefs.

finally, a piece wouldn’t fit into place. alex’s frustration broke the silence.

“nope, this thing’s just wrong,” he said, holding the piece up. “it’s not even close to lining up. does this look right to you?”

you looked at it, then shrugged. “looks like a sidepod to me.”

“a sidepod?” he repeated, holding it at arm's length. “mate, this looks like it belongs in the trash.”

you snickered, but then the two of you actually took a moment to study the instructions more carefully, only to realize it was the wrong piece altogether. alex huffed, clearly trying not to laugh.

“see?” he said, still holding it up. “this is why i’m better at driving the damn car than assembling it.”

“yeah,” you said with a smile. “you’re better at handling high speeds than handling legos.”

he stuck out his tongue at you, and you both giggled, your hands working together to fix the tiny mistake. after a few more minutes, the lego car was taking shape.

“hey,” alex said, his voice slightly more serious now, “this actually looks pretty good.”

you looked over at him, admiring the completed piece. “yeah. we make a good team.”

alex leaned back, stretching his legs out and looking at the car with satisfaction. “i think we just built the best f1 car ever.”

“only because it’s the one you made.”

he flashed you a cheeky grin. “fair. but i’ve got the race car driving skills to back it up.”

you nudged him with your foot, laughing. “keep telling yourself that, albon.”

he leaned forward again, fixing the tiny helmet in the driver's seat. “maybe next time, we’ll race our cars. legitimately.”

you raised an eyebrow. “only if you’re ready to lose.”

he smirked, giving the car one last look. “oh, i’m ready.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ carlos sainz

lego pieces were everywhere—on the floor, the couch, even somehow in carlos’s hoodie pocket. he stared down at the instruction booklet, jaw clenched.

“¿pero qué coño es esto?” he muttered, turning a piece over for the third time.

you laughed from your spot on the rug. “that’s literally the front wing, carlos. we’ve built, like, four of them by now.”

“sí, but this one looks backwards,” he grumbled, snapping it in the wrong way again.

you scooted closer, gently taking it from him. “nope. trust the manual. or me, preferably.”

he huffed but gave in, watching you click the piece into place with maddening ease. “you’re scarily good at this.”

“just say it. i’m the better engineer.”

he glanced at the half-finished lego williams car between you. “i’ll admit it when i’m not being humiliated by a plastic toy.”

you snorted. “this is your car now, by the way. you should probably get used to it.”

he paused, then gave a small, crooked smile. “yeah… it’s weird seeing it like this. not red anymore. it’s a whole new world.”

you softened. “and you’re building it. piece by piece.”

he reached for your hand without thinking, fingers brushing yours as he looked down at the little blue machine. “and you're here with me. that helps.”

you smirked. “even if i bully you about legos?”

he rolled his eyes playfully. “cariño, you’ve been talking shit for an hour. qué pesada.”

“and yet… you’re still here.”

he chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “i must be un poco loco.”

from the corner, your cat knocked over a bag of bricks with a loud clatter.

“joder,” carlos muttered, already crawling after them. “your cat’s trying to destroy my career.”

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୨ৎ esteban ocon

esteban sat on the floor, surrounded by a sea of black and white lego pieces. he was intensely focused, his brow furrowed as he carefully put together the first bits of the haas f1 car. the faint sound of a podcast played in the background, but esteban barely seemed to notice. in fact, you were starting to wonder if he could hear anything over his laser focus on the legos.

"hey," you said, nudging him with your foot. "you alright there, esteban? you look like you're about to go into qualifying mode."

he looked up at you, blinking like he'd just snapped out of a trance. "what? oh, yeah, just—wait, where's the piece for the front wing?"

you picked it up from beside him and handed it over. "here. you're getting a bit too into this, don’t you think?"

he smirked, giving a quick shrug. "it’s a race, no? besides, i’m here to show you how it’s done."

you raised an eyebrow. "oh really? last time i checked, you were the one struggling to find the right pieces."

“don’t act like you’re not intimidated by my lego skills,” he teased, snapping the front wing into place with ridiculous precision. “i’m about to make this thing look like a real car.”

you laughed, watching as he clicked another piece into place. "sure, but we both know your real talent is behind the wheel."

"and on the lego track, apparently," he said, his grin widening. "but yeah, ollie and i—it's gonna be a killer season with haas. we’ve got chemistry already. the car feels good, and i’ve been helping him get settled. we’re both pushing each other."

you couldn’t help but smile at how invested he was in not just the car, but also the team dynamic. "you two gonna be unstoppable this season?"

"absolutely." esteban's eyes sparkled with that signature intensity. "and when we’re not fighting for positions on the track, we’ll be fighting for the best lego car at the end of the night."

he gestured to the near-complete haas car in front of him. you tilted your head, inspecting his work. "not bad, ocon. this looks pretty good."

"not bad?" he repeated, arching an eyebrow. "this is perfect. i’m practically a lego engineer."

you chuckled, adjusting a small piece that was slightly off-center. "i hate to break it to you, but your sidepod’s a little crooked."

"what?!" esteban turned, eyes wide. he immediately started fidgeting with the sidepod, mumbling in frustration. "this can’t be happening. it’s not my fault, the instructions are all wrong!"

you raised a hand, feigning innocence. "hey, if you need help, i'm here."

he sighed dramatically, but then grinned. "fine, fine. maybe you know a thing or two."

as you both worked, the car slowly began to look like a proper haas—sleek, powerful, and ready to tackle whatever challenge came its way. esteban placed the tiny driver figure in the seat and leaned back, admiring the finished product.

"not bad for a couple of rookies," he said with a smirk.

"rookies?" you teased, nudging him. "last time i checked, you're a veteran."

"don’t remind me," he muttered, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. "i’ll take the veteran status when it’s time to win, not when i’m dealing with legos."

you both sat back, taking in your creation.

"so," you asked, "who’s gonna take pole position in the lego world?"

esteban raised a brow, clearly enjoying the playful challenge. "obviously, me."

you grinned. "we’ll see about that. next time, we do a real race."

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୨ৎ ollie bearman

ollie was leaning over his nearly finished lego haas car, squinting at the tiny details. he’d been quietly focusing, but his attention seemed to shift as he spotted something. with a grin, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plush bear—one that was probably about as big as the driver figure in the car.

"hold on," ollie said, eyes glinting with mischief. "i’ve got the perfect touch to make this car legendary."

you raised an eyebrow as ollie carefully placed the tiny bear in the driver’s seat of the lego car, next to the little plastic figure. “seriously? you’re putting a bear in your f1 car?”

“yep,” ollie said proudly, smoothing down the bear’s little paws as he adjusted it. “this is my secret weapon. a lucky bear.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “so, you think your haas is gonna be faster because of a bear?”

ollie leaned back, admiring his work. “exactly. you’d be surprised how much extra speed a bear brings to the table.”

“uh-huh,” you said, chuckling. “and how do you know this?”

he gave you a wink. “let’s just say the bear’s been with me through some wild races. and, well, we’re a package deal now.”

you stared at the bear sitting there in the lego car, grinning. “you’re actually serious about this?”

ollie nodded with mock seriousness. “mate, you’ve got to believe in the power of the bear. it’s the most powerful underdog move I’ve got.”

"alright, well," you said, leaning back and crossing your arms, "i guess that makes your car the bear necessities of the lego world."

ollie cracked up at the pun, clearly proud of your pun game. "i see what you did there. clever."

he took a step back to admire the car, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to have a plush bear in a race car. "now that’s what i’m talking about. this car is gonna win the lego world championship."

you raised an eyebrow. "we'll see if your bear can handle the speed."

ollie gave the little bear a quick pat on the head, then turned to you with a playful grin. “don’t underestimate it. next time, we’re racing. and when my haas wins, you’ll have to acknowledge the bear’s power.”

“fine, fine,” you laughed. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you when my car blows past yours.”

ollie gave you a mock salute, already too invested in his plush-powered vehicle. “we’ll see, mate. just remember, you’ve got no chance when the bear’s behind the wheel.”

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୨ৎ lance stroll

lance was crouched on the floor, his hands moving with surprising precision as he snapped pieces together on his lego aston martin car. the intense focus in his eyes was almost the same as when he was in the car during a race—every move calculated, every piece placed with care. it was clear that this was going to be the perfect lego build.

"you know," he said, not looking up from his work, "this might actually be harder than driving a real f1 car."

you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “you’ve got to be kidding. you’re building legos, not doing a race.”

lance glanced up, his expression serious, but you could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. “hey, it’s all about precision, okay? every piece has to be in the right place, or it’s like losing a few tenths on track. just doesn’t work.”

you chuckled, watching him intently as he worked. “you’re really taking this seriously, huh?”

he gave you a playful, almost smug grin. “someone’s gotta bring the winning attitude to the table. i’m just making sure this thing’s perfect. no shortcuts.”

“no shortcuts?” you teased, leaning over to inspect his work. “you sure about that? i think you’ve missed a piece back there.”

lance immediately straightened up, frowning as he checked the spot you pointed to. "what? no way…" he muttered under his breath, and sure enough, a piece was slightly out of place. he let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "great, can’t even build a lego car without messing it up. might as well be qualifying for a race right now, huh?"

you grinned. "it’s all part of the process, babe"

he flashed you a look as he fixed the mistake. “process or not, this thing’s gonna be perfect. mark my words."

“perfect, huh?” you said, rolling your eyes. “we’ll see when we race these lego cars. i’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“oh, i don’t doubt it,” lance said, giving you a knowing smile as he clicked another piece into place. “but trust me, my aston martin’s gonna blow yours away.”

you crossed your arms, feigning seriousness. “i’m not so sure about that. mine’s got better aerodynamics.”

“pfft,” lance scoffed, not missing a beat. “aerodynamics? babe, this is a lego car, not an actual f1 car. it’s all about the driver’s focus.”

you laughed. “oh, i see. it’s all about the driver now, huh?”

“of course,” he said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself. “i can’t be having my lego car losing to yours, can i?”

you leaned back, arms folded. “we’ll see about that when it’s time for the race.”

lance finished up the final details on his lego car, smoothing out a few edges. he gave it a quick once-over and nodded in satisfaction.

“there,” he said proudly, sitting back to admire his work. “done. now that’s what i call a winning build.”

you took a quick glance at your own lego car, still in progress. “you sure about that?”

“positive,” lance said, leaning over to check yours out. “looks good, but i’m confident mine’s faster.”

you raised an eyebrow, your competitive side kicking in. “you want to put that to the test?”

“oh, i thought you’d never ask,” he replied with a smirk. “bring it on. my aston martin is ready for the track.”

you both leaned in, preparing for the “race,” with lance already planning his victory speech. the playful tension was thick in the air as you positioned the cars on either end of the table.

“ready to lose?” lance asked, his tone light, but with that familiar competitive spark.

“we’ll see who’s really the one losing, stroll,” you shot back, and with that, the lego race was on.

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୨ৎ fernando alonso

fernando sat on the floor, a serious look on his face as he examined the lego pieces laid out in front of him. his brow furrowed slightly as he picked up the pieces, inspecting each one with the kind of focus you'd expect from a veteran driver gearing up for a race. there was no casual attitude here—he was all in.

“this is more complicated than i thought,” fernando muttered to himself, snapping a piece into place.

you leaned over, watching as he worked, clearly in his element. “i thought you were used to high pressure situations.”

“this is different,” fernando replied without looking up. “f1 cars don’t have tiny pieces like these to put together.”

you grinned, a bit amused by how seriously he was taking it. “it’s just legos, fernando. relax a little.”

he looked up at you, his gaze cool but playful. “you think i can relax when there’s a lego car in front of me? it needs precision, just like an f1 car. one wrong move and it could all fall apart.”

“yeah, and i’m sure a little bit of pressure will make you build the best lego car ever,” you teased.

he smirked, snapping a piece into place with the speed and precision you’d expect from someone who’s mastered the art of fast decisions. “that’s the plan.”

as fernando continued to build, you noticed how quickly he was getting into the zone. it was almost like he was back in the cockpit of a car, moving seamlessly from one step to the next. you couldn’t help but watch in awe.

“impressive,” you said after a few moments of silence. “you’ve got this down.”

“i’ve done this before,” fernando said, his voice smooth and confident. “except it wasn’t lego. but the idea is the same—each piece counts.”

you raised an eyebrow, half-joking. “are you sure you’re not overthinking this? it’s just legos.”

“there’s no such thing as ‘just legos’ when you’re trying to create perfection,” he said, clearly not backing down from his approach. “every detail matters.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was about the whole thing. “you’re really taking this as seriously as a race.”

he met your gaze, eyes glinting. “why shouldn’t I? if you’re going to do something, do it right. if not, what’s the point?”

you gave him a playful side-eye. “so no shortcuts, huh?”

“no shortcuts,” he confirmed, a grin spreading across his face as he placed the final piece on his car. he straightened up and surveyed his work, nodding to himself. “done.”

you leaned in to take a look at his completed lego car. it was sleek and solid, just like you expected. “not bad, fernando. looks like your focus paid off.”

“of course,” he said, leaning back and stretching. “this is what happens when you treat legos with the same respect as a race car.”

you smiled. “alright, alright. but can your lego car actually race?”

fernando raised an eyebrow. “it’s built for speed. trust me, this is going to beat whatever you’ve got.”

you grinned, shaking your head. “we’ll see about that. i’m not going easy on you.”

he chuckled, his competitive edge still sharp. “i wouldn’t expect anything less.”

as you both prepared for the final “race” between your cars, fernando gave you one last look, his eyes sharp and full of that familiar fire. “ready to lose?”

“we’ll see,” you said with a smile, lining up your cars for what was about to be an epic lego showdown.

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୨ৎ liam lawson

liam sat on the floor, a lego instruction manual spread out in front of him and pieces scattered everywhere. his brows furrowed in concentration as he snapped together small parts, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. the vibe was pretty relaxed—after all, he was a guy who knew how to handle intense moments, whether it was on track or with legos.

“this doesn’t seem right,” liam muttered, inspecting a piece of his lego car with suspicion.

you leaned over, glancing at his progress. “you’re sure you’re following the instructions? seems like it’s a bit… off.”

he glanced up, his face breaking into a grin. “instructions? pfft, i’m just free-styling here. it’s all about the feel.”

“free-styling, huh?” you laughed. “well, that explains why the car’s looking a little… creative.”

liam raised an eyebrow. “hey, no one said a lego f1 car had to look perfect. i’m building with personality.”

you smirked and leaned back. “personality? i think you’ve got a bit too much personality going on there.”

he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “alright, alright. maybe i missed a piece. but hey, i’ve got this. vcarb is all about resilience, right?”

“vcarb, huh?” you teased. “starting to sound like you're trying to work some team spirit into this lego build.”

liam shrugged, snapping another piece into place. “well, you know, after joining up with isack, i figured i could at least carry the spirit of the team wherever i go. even if it’s just legos.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’ve only been with vcarb for a minute. are you sure you’re ready to bring the team spirit into a lego race?”

“hey, i’ve had enough experience with chaos and speed to know how to pull it all together,” liam said, grinning. “besides, i’m building a car that’s meant to win.”

you looked over at the lego car he was putting together. it was definitely taking shape, even if it was a little… unique in its approach. “that’s what you keep telling me. but can it actually race?”

liam’s eyes sparkled with confidence. “you’d better believe it. when it’s time to race, this thing’s going straight to the front. just like vcarb.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re a bit too confident about your lego skills.”

“nah,” liam said, snapping the final piece into place. “this is pure genius. i’m a natural at this.”

he sat back to admire his work, a look of satisfaction on his face as he surveyed the completed car. it looked like it could survive a crash, but you weren’t entirely sure it was the fastest lego car in the world.

“there we go,” he said with a grin. “that’s what i’m talking about. vcarb speed.”

you leaned over, inspecting his finished product. “well, it definitely has… character.”

“exactly,” liam said, flashing a cheeky smile. “you can’t have a fast car without a bit of flair.”

“flair, huh?” you raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see if that helps you win.”

“oh, it’ll help,” he said confidently. “just wait until we race these things. i’m gonna show you how vcarb handles speed.”

you smiled. “we’ll see about that. just don’t be too disappointed when my car blows past yours.”

liam shot you a playful look. “we’ll see, but i have a feeling your car’s not gonna stand a chance against this.”

“don’t get too cocky, liam,” you said with a grin. “the race is still on.”

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୨ৎ isack hadjar

isack sat across from you, focused on the spread of lego pieces in front of him. the young driver’s eyes were intense, as though he was analyzing the parts the way he would a racing setup, trying to figure out how everything fit together for the fastest result. he was definitely the type who liked to get things just right.

“you know, this is harder than it looks,” he muttered, squinting at the instructions as he carefully clicked a piece into place.

you raised an eyebrow, leaning over to check his progress. “you’re really treating this like an actual race, huh?”

isack glanced at you and shrugged, his face calm but his eyes sharp with focus. “when you’re in vcarb, everything’s about precision. even building a lego car.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle. “i’m sure liam’s not treating his lego car with the same intensity. he’s probably got a plush bear in his.”

“liam’s got his own style,” isack said with a small smirk. “but for me, it’s about getting it right.”

you watched him carefully place each piece, his methodical approach almost like watching a pit crew during a race, making sure every part was aligned perfectly. “it’s like you’re building a f1 car in miniature.”

he glanced up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “if only it was that easy. but hey, a lego car can still teach you a lot about patience.”

you leaned back in your chair, smirking. “patience, huh? i thought you were more about speed.”

“you can’t have speed without precision,” he replied, his voice calm but firm as he clicked another piece into place. “rushing doesn’t work in racing. and it doesn’t work with legos either.”

you shook your head with a grin. “you’re seriously going full-on race mode with this.”

isack shot you a playful look. “i’m always in race mode.”

you raised an eyebrow. “we’ll see how that works out when we race these cars. you’ve got all that precision, but does it actually make your car faster?”

“don’t doubt it,” he said confidently, pausing for a second to glance at his almost-finished lego car. “this thing’s going to be fast.”

you leaned in closer, inspecting the lego car carefully. it was sleek, clean, and well-constructed—definitely built with care. "looks like it might actually give mine a run for its money."

isack didn’t even look up, his hands still working quickly but steadily. “it’s not about just looking good. it’s about performance.”

"so, you're telling me your lego car is going to perform?" you teased, giving him a sideways glance.

“exactly,” he said with a soft grin. “a well-built car will always outperform one that’s just thrown together.”

you laughed, appreciating the effort he was putting into this. “alright, you’re on. but don’t be too shocked when my car beats yours.”

isack shot you a confident look. “we’ll see about that. when it comes to racing, vcarb doesn’t lose.”

he clicked the last piece into place and sat back, admiring the finished product with satisfaction. “there we go. now that’s what i call a masterpiece.”

you took a moment to check out the finished lego car. it was clearly designed for speed. "not bad, Hadjar. you might just have a future in lego racing."

he gave you a small nod, his competitive edge still sharp. “it’s all about balance. precision, patience, and speed.”

“right,” you said with a grin, “just don’t get too cocky when i beat you in the race.”

“oh, trust me,” he said, his voice calm and confident. “i won’t.”

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୨ৎ pierre gasly

pierre sat cross-legged on the floor, the lego pieces scattered in front of him, a look of quiet focus on his face. the competitive energy was there, but it wasn’t the high-octane, race-ready kind—it was more of a calm, methodical kind of determination. he clicked a piece into place, leaned back, and surveyed his work.

“you know, i’m pretty sure my lego car is already ahead of yours,” pierre said, glancing over at you with that playful, confident grin of his.

you shot him a look, trying to suppress a smile. “is that so? i think you might be getting ahead of yourself there.”

pierre raised an eyebrow, still working on his car but never losing that casual, self-assured vibe. “it’s all about precision. i don’t build things just to watch them fall apart.”

he snapped another piece into place, his fingers moving quickly and efficiently. “unlike some people,” he added, giving you a teasing glance.

“excuse me? i’m just taking my time. rushing doesn’t always work out, you know?” you said, shooting him a grin. “maybe you should slow down a bit.”

pierre chuckled. “rushing? no. i’m just working with a bit of confidence here. there’s a difference.”

“uh-huh, confidence,” you teased, leaning closer to see what he was doing. “is that what you call it? it looks like you’re just really into this whole thing.”

he flashed you a quick, sly smile. “well, if you want your lego car to look like it was built by someone who actually knows what they’re doing, you’ve come to the right person.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing. “i think you’re taking this a bit too seriously, but fine. i’ll let you think you’ve got the advantage. for now.”

pierre paused for a moment to look over at your progress, smirking. “not bad, not bad. but if you want to beat me, you’ll need to step it up.”

“you really think you’re going to win this thing?” you challenged, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

“of course,” pierre said, leaning back and looking at his near-finished car. “just like on the track, i’m always going for the win.”

his fingers moved deftly as he put the final pieces together, clicking them in place with ease. “done,” he said with a satisfied grin, looking at you. “what do you think?”

you inspected his lego car, which looked sleek and well-constructed—just like he said, it had that careful precision. “i’ll give it to you, it looks pretty good. but don’t get too cocky, i’m not done yet.”

pierre leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with a half-smile. “you’ve got a bit of catching up to do, but i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“i’ll show you,” you said, putting your focus back on your own lego car. “you might have finished first, but this is far from over.”

pierre chuckled, clearly enjoying the playful banter. “we’ll see who wins when it’s race time.”

you both lined up your cars, a playful tension in the air. pierre gave you one last teasing look before the race began. "prepare to lose."

you smirked. "we’ll see about that, gasly."

and just like that, the lego race was on.

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୨ৎ jack doohan

jack sat on the floor, a lego instruction manual in one hand and a pile of pieces scattered in front of him. his focus was intense, but there was a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he worked, clearly enjoying the challenge more than he was letting on.

“this thing’s gonna be perfect,” jack said, snapping another piece into place with a satisfying click. “i’ve got it all figured out.”

you glanced over at his progress and raised an eyebrow. “is that so? it looks a little… lopsided to me.”

he shot you a playful glare, but didn’t miss a beat as he continued assembling the lego car. “it’s called ‘character,’” he said, his voice light and teasing. “you wouldn’t understand.”

“‘character,’ huh?” you laughed. “or is it just that you’re rushing to finish first?”

jack smirked, not looking up from his work. “hey, there’s no rushing when you know what you’re doing. it’s all about precision. just wait, this thing’s gonna be a masterpiece.”

you watched him carefully add another piece to his lego car. “sure, sure. but don’t be too surprised when my car beats yours.”

“oh, i’m not worried,” jack said, still grinning. “you might have a head start, but i’ve got the advantage. i’ve got the doohan touch, you know?”

you raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “the ‘doohan touch,’ huh? is that what you’re calling it?”

“yep,” he said confidently, placing the final piece into place. “it’s all about balance and precision, mate. just like a race car.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at how seriously he was taking it. “well, i guess we’ll see how well that ‘doohan touch’ works in a lego race.”

jack leaned back, admiring his finished lego car. “pretty proud of that one. you’ll see, it’s got speed written all over it.”

you shook your head, teasing him. “speed, huh? let’s just see if it can actually stay together long enough to race.”

jack shot you a playful wink. “don’t worry, mate. i’m confident in my work.”

you took a glance at your own car, still a work in progress. “alright, alright. we’ll see who comes out on top when it’s race time.”

“oh, we will,” jack said, leaning back with a grin that told you he was ready to win. “prepare to lose, though.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “we’ll see about that, jack. we’ll see.”

you both lined up your lego cars, ready for the ultimate showdown. jack gave you one last cheeky grin before you both prepared for the race. the tension was light, fun, and full of that competitive spark.

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୨ৎ nico hülkenberg

nico hülkenberg sat across from you, his expression focused but relaxed. he had a pile of lego pieces in front of him and an instruction manual open. there was no rush in his movements, just a steady, methodical pace, each piece carefully chosen and snapped into place with precision.

“you know, it’s all about patience,” nico said, glancing over at you as he placed another piece on his lego car. “you can’t rush something like this. you’ve got to get it right.”

you leaned back and crossed your arms, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “i’m pretty sure you’re taking this way too seriously, nico.”

he smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth turning up just enough to show he wasn’t offended by the teasing. “not too seriously. just enough to build a car that actually looks good.”

you glanced down at your own lego car, which was… well, definitely not looking as neat as his. “you’re not worried about the competition, then?”

nico chuckled, a low, smooth sound. “i don’t really get worried. just confident in my skills.”

“confident, huh?” you shot him a sly grin. “we’ll see how that works out when it’s race time.”

“oh, i’m not concerned,” he said with that same calm smile, moving his hands skillfully as he added another piece to his car. “i’ve done this before. racing’s all about consistency, right? well, legos aren’t so different.”

you were about to retort, but then you paused. nico had a point—he was approaching the lego build with the same level of focus and consistency that he brought to racing.

“fair enough,” you said after a moment, feeling a little impressed despite yourself. “you really do bring your race mentality into everything, don’t you?”

“it’s a mindset,” he replied with a shrug, his eyes never leaving the pieces in front of him. “whether it’s racing or building legos, it’s about paying attention to the small details and getting the right outcome.”

you leaned in to inspect his progress. the lego car looked sleek and clean, every piece perfectly placed. “not bad, hülkenberg. i’ll give you that.”

“thanks,” he said, looking up at you with a hint of pride. “but i’m just getting started. wait until you see the final result.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “i’m not sure your lego car will be able to beat mine.”

nico raised an eyebrow, his smile widening just a little. “oh? you’re sure about that?”

“absolutely,” you said, fully confident despite the perfection of his build. “i’m just getting warmed up.”

nico shook his head, still smiling. “well, we’ll see about that. i’m all about the details, but you can’t forget about speed.”

you looked at your lego car again, already planning your next move. “you’re right about that. but don’t get too cocky.”

“don’t worry,” nico said smoothly, clicking the last piece into place with a final, satisfying snap. “i’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

you looked at his completed lego car—sleek, precise, and definitely built for success. “alright, well, let’s see how that car performs when the race starts.”

nico leaned back, arms crossed, his usual calm but confident demeanor in full force. “i think you’ll be surprised.”

you both lined up your lego cars, the playful rivalry clear in the air. nico’s calm confidence was palpable, and you couldn’t wait to see how it would translate when the race began.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

୨ৎ gabriel bortoleto

gabriel sat across from you, legs crossed, and a pile of lego pieces neatly spread in front of him. his eyes were focused on the instructions in his hands, each movement deliberate as he began to piece the car together. there was a quiet concentration about him, a level of calmness that made it clear this wasn’t his first time doing something like this.

“you know,” gabriel said without looking up, “i’m pretty sure this car is going to be the cleanest build out of all of us.”

you gave him a sideways glance, smirking. “that so? you’re already talking like it’s a done deal.”

he finally looked up, offering a small smile. “it’s not about talking, it’s about getting things done the right way.”

you leaned back and crossed your arms, intrigued. “and how’s that going for you?”

gabriel’s fingers moved swiftly as he snapped another piece into place. “it’s going well,” he replied calmly. “just focusing on one step at a time. no rush.”

you chuckled. “looks like you’re taking this way more seriously than i thought.”

he shrugged lightly. “i don’t do things half-heartedly. if i’m gonna build a lego car, it’s going to be good.”

you took a look at his progress. the car was coming together quickly, each piece fitting perfectly. it was starting to look sleek, just like his racing style—clean and efficient.

“not bad, bortoleto,” you admitted, giving him a nod of approval. “but don’t get too cocky. my car’s going to be faster.”

gabriel raised an eyebrow, a hint of a playful smirk appearing. “faster, huh? we’ll see about that.”

“yep,” you said, leaning forward and studying your own lego car. “just wait until mine’s done.”

gabriel clicked another piece into place, his hands moving quickly and with purpose. “i’m not in a hurry. i’m just building it the right way.”

you tilted your head, genuinely curious. “what makes you so confident?”

he paused for a moment, looking over at you with a slight smile. “i know how to focus on the details. when it’s time to race, it’s the little things that matter.”

you laughed softly. “alright, alright. i see what you mean. but let’s see how that focus works when it comes to beating me.”

gabriel’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of determination crossing his face. “i don’t underestimate anyone, but i’m confident in how this is going to turn out.”

you watched him for a moment, noticing how calm and controlled he was as he continued working. there was no stress in his movements—just the quiet confidence of someone who knew what they were doing. “well, we’ll see who wins when it’s race time,” you said with a grin.

gabriel finished another section of his car, stepping back to admire it. “it’s all about the details. the perfect combination of speed and precision.”

you laughed. “guess i’ll just have to be faster than you at the finish line.”

gabriel looked at you, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “we’ll see about that.”

the two of you lined up your cars, the playful tension between you now palpable. gabriel’s calm confidence stood in stark contrast to your competitive energy, and you both knew the race was about to be more than just a lego challenge.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

[buckleydiaz]

“I’m not gonna disappear, you know,” Eddie says, lowering his mug to meet Buck’s eyes.

“W-what?” Buck stammers, blinking away like he got caught doing something wrong.

“You keep staring,” Eddie says, carefully, “like I'm gonna vanish. Or go back to Texas without telling you or something. I'm not.”

It’s been hours since Buck met him at the airport, drove him home, made him tea. And Eddie’s felt the weight of his gaze the entire time. Buck hasn’t said much, which Eddie isn’t surprised by, honestly. He’s not really in the mood to talk himself. But there’s something quietly devastating about the way Buck is looking at him. Eddie’s not sure what to do with that.

“Sorry,” Buck says.

Eddie sighs. “Don't apologize, it’s not…I don't mind that you’re looking. Just—you know you can talk to me, right?“

“I know,” Buck says. He’s trying to sound casual but his voice comes out just a little unsteady. Enough for Eddie to catch it.

“It’s, uh, it’s not that,” Buck adds, after a beat.

“What?”

“I don't—I don't think you’re gonna vanish. It's just… you look different.”

“You mean this?” Eddie rubs at his chin self consciously.

Buck’s eyes flicker momentarily to Eddie’s face before his gaze drops again. He nods.

After Eddie got the call, he couldn’t help but blame himself. He should have been there. Maybe if he was, Bobby would still be here—with his team, with his family. Not for the first time, Eddie felt like he couldn’t bear the sight of his own reflection. He felt small, useless. He thought maybe it would get easier with time. It didn’t. And with each day, as the guilt grew, so did the stubble on his face—thicker, darker. An awful reminder of the time that passed since Bobby—

Eddie sets the mug down, afraid it’s gonna shatter in his grip.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, and the words taste like ash in his mouth.

“No it, uh, it looks good. You always look good. It’s just—god, it’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Eddie bumps Buck’s foot under the table, keeps it there. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not stupid.”

“I’m…” Buck exhales, “I’m not sure if you’re real.”

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it.

Buck shrugs. “Told you it’s stupid.”

“No! No, um, I—what do you mean I’m not real?”

There’s a moment where Buck doesn’t say anything, just stares at his own hands on the table, fidgets with his fingers. Eddie waits. Doesn’t push.

Eventually Buck speaks.

“After the lightning strikes, after the uh—“ Buck clears his throat, “the coma. I had this thing I used to do every morning. A-a checklist. To make sure I wasn’t dreaming. That I was still me.” Buck’s eyes stay locked on his hands, and Eddie desperately wishes he’d look at him again. “Ever since he—“ Buck stops, swallows, sniffs. “I wake up and I pray for this to be a dream. An awful, terrible nightmare. I pray, Eddie. And it’s—“

Buck’s hands are shaking. Eddie reaches out, takes them in his own.

Buck finally looks up. His eyes are impossibly sad and impossibly blue, and Eddie is struck by how beautiful he is. It’s a weird thought to have at that moment, but it’s true nonetheless.

“Sorry, this is so embarrassing,” Buck says, a little wetly.

“Hey, it’s not embarrassing, okay? You’re dealing with it. We all are.”

“Look, I know you’re real. I know that. But also just—everything is so different, you know? Nothing makes sense anymore and you look different. And it’s like—like, how do I know I’m not dreaming?” Buck says. “Does that make sense?”

It doesn’t. But Eddie gets it anyway.

He wraps a hand around Buck’s wrist, lifts his hand up to his face.

“You feel that?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, just looks at him.

Eddie closes his eyes, presses his face into Buck’s hand a little more.

“I’m here, Buck.”

Buck’s hand starts moving on his face, careful fingers trace his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. Eddie’s breath catches when a thumb ghosts over his bottom lip.

“You’re here,” Buck says, voice barely a whisper.

Eddie nods.

“He’s really—“ Buck's voice cracks. “He's really gone.”

“I know,” Eddie says, because what else is there to say?

Eddie’s eyes sting. He lets go of Buck’s wrist and places his hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb gently grazing the base of his neck. He wishes he could press his lips to his temple, like he does with Christopher. He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls him in, presses their foreheads together.

They stay like that, breathing together, until their eyes are red and their cheeks are wet. Eventually Buck pulls away, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“Thanks,” Buck says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For—for being here, I guess.”

Eddie wants to tell him that he’s always going to be here. But that’s not true. He's leaving in a few days. He’s always leaving.

“Hey, you have a razor here somewhere, right?” is what he says instead.

“Come on, you don’t have to do that,” Buck protests, and Eddie is pretty sure he catches a small hint of a smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. ”I think I do.”

[joshujin]

smile, s.coups

you take a photo with rapper s.coups at the met gala.

1.5k words • masterlist • submit a request pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader cw: none

the met gala isn't something you particularly enjoy attending, but every year, without fail, you're told you're invited and yes, you are going and no, as reigning "princess of the met," we cannot debate this. it's the trade-off for doing what you love and being who you are: no longer having a say and simply going where you're told to go, doing what you're told to do.

you honestly blame this on kwon soonyoung. he's been styling you since your popularity really started taking off, and when you got invited to your first met, it was his art that made you a viral topic for weeks on end. your name was everywhere. you couldn't give an interview without someone mentioning your met gala appearance. your third album released a few weeks later and thanks to the attention already on you, it nabbed you your first grammy nomination—and win.

and from there, for the last six years now, you haven't been able to escape this godforsaken party. and all because stupid soonyoung was just a tad bit too good at his job.

you don't want to sound ungrateful; you know being the topic of conversation at an event as big as this one year after year has opened a lot of doors for you—opportunities served to you on a platinum platter. but being at the met gala felt dystopian to you sometimes.

the blinding flashes, the demanding, almost primal screams of your name, the hundreds of thousands of dollars spent to throw the event, then the hundreds more spent on the fashion to attend.

it's a lot and it's not something you ever thought would be a priority when you first started creating music. but here you are, in line to walk the carpet with countless celebrities you still can't believe you are looped in with annually.

the nerves always make you near-despondent in the hours leading up to the event. you hardly talk to the staff that accompanies you—your assistant, manager, and soonyoung—you try not to make eye contact with anyone because you don't want to socialize until you're away from the carpet and away from the photographers, and you try to breathe slowly and deeply in a pathetically weak attempt to calm your heart down.

you fidget for the millionth time, and soonyoung adjusts whatever you fidgeted out of place for the millionth time.

"this is your sixth year," he murmurs gently as his eyes slowly and deliberately sweep up and down your body. you'd accuse him of checking you out if you didn't know that he was just admiring his own work. "this isn't anything you haven't already conquered. you're going to be great."

you give him the tiniest nod and he smiles, resting his hand on your arm briefly before stepping away. it's almost your turn. you raise your eyes and find yourself staring at grey hair. there's something familiar about his stature as the stranger steps forward, immediately welcomed with a wall of roars. it's as disorienting as it always is, but you catch his name early on.

"s.coups!" the name continuously echoes across the carpet.

"s.coups? the rapper?" you ask, looking over at your team, waiting for any one of them to answer. it's your assistant who does.

"yes, he's the ambassador for boss and it's his first time at the met," she steps up and recites it like it's memorized information.

no one ever asks her to, but she studies everyone on the guest list every year like she's in the devil wears prada. however ridiculous, you have to admit it is useful.

"huh," you say more to yourself than anyone.

you were familiar with the rapper and his work. you had even played around with the thought of reaching out to get him on a song, but the idea just never came to fruition. you've been too busy to do much of anything, let alone follow his career, but if the screams are any indication, the man's popularity has substantially grown since you first discovered his music.

it's a cacophony of his name, requests to turn, questions about his outfit, demands for a certain pose. your ear drums rattle at the noise. you're overstimulated. more than anything, you're impressed.

he moves forward to the next spot he's directed to, and you know that means it's your turn.

soonyoung hurriedly prepares your dress to fall the way he wants it to fall, to float where he wants it to float, to stun the world the way he always does. then, staff is waving you to your marker, and you comply, stepping forward.

the crowd gets impossibly louder, and you do your best not to flinch. you see s.coups freeze a little at the sudden increase in noise, and as you walk up to the marker, he turns around, eyebrows raised in curiosity at who could inspire this reaction. when his eyes land on you, it's clear he knows exactly who you are. his eyebrows settle as his lips curve into a warm and knowing smile that reaches up into his eyes.

for the first time in six years, everything is quiet on the carpet. for the first time, you're thankful for the flashes because it allows you to better see s.coups's face. his eyes. his insanely cherry red lips. for the first time, you're not thinking about how much you hate this part of your job or how badly you want to go back to your hotel room or if you'll make a fool of yourself trying to socialize inside.

all your brain can process is the rapper standing in front of you.

it all comes barreling back—the screams, the demands, the nervousness—when you feel soonyoung gently shove the small of your back with a tiny: "what the hell are you doing?"

"oh, sorry," you breathe as you take the last few steps to the tape on the floor.

you make sure you're standing where you need to be and when you look back up, his eyes are still on you, so you return his smile with a small one of yours. his becomes even wider. he turns back to the crowd of photographers, and you both pose for a few moments before the staff is ushering him to the next marker, and you to his current spot.

before he walks to where he's being asked to go, he grins at the photographers and shouts, "i know what you all are really waiting for!" and he makes a show of bowing away from the spot as you walk forward.

you can't help the amused giggle that escapes you, and even with all the sound, he seems to hear it because he looks up and smiles sweetly. you think he's done, but he suddenly offers his hand. and when you take it, not sure of where this is going, he escorts you to the space he was just standing in.

you kind of hope he'll kiss your hand too. that maybe it will leave remnants of his gloss on your skin and you can convince yourself he's real. but he doesn't, simply bowing his head infinitesimally before letting go and following the staff to his next spot.

but the photographers don't let you two get away with that. only a second or so passes before they're screaming at you two to take a photo together. you both try to ignore them at first, but they shout nothing else at you other than: "together! together!"

you sneak a look at s.coups to see that he's doing the same to you, making you both laugh. he tilts his head in question, and without answering, you walk over to meet in the middle. you expect to take the photo side by side, arms politely around each other's shoulders. maybe even just posing together with an awkward distance between.

instead, s.coups has his hands on your waist and guides you to be just a small step in front of him. he lets his left hand rest on your waist, his right slipping into the pocket of his pants. you're thankful that soonyoung's look required an insane amount of blush around your temples and eyes because your face feels like it's on fire.

he looks down at you once you're both positioned and he smiles. "this okay?" he asks quietly.

you nod. "yeah." you're not even sure if he can hear you. you can't force yourself to speak any louder. "it's okay."

he smiles. "good. can't have the princess of the met covered by a nobody like me."

you scoff. "you're definitely not a nobody."

"oh?" he tilts his head again, bits of grey hair falling into his eyes when he does. "and what makes you say that?"

"if you were a nobody, how would the princess of the met know you well enough to know she wants you on a track with her?"

his lips fall open in quiet shock, and you smirk and pat the hand that's resting on your waist.

"smile for the cameras, s.coups."

you don’t bother to wait and see the expression on his face when you reveal you know his stage name. you feel a little more in your element, turning back to the flashes just as a photographer shouts: "OKAY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN YOU TWO PLEASE LOOK AT US NOW?!"

a/n: short and sweet. just felt like writing something while i was streaming this stupid event waiting for seungcheol hehe. it ended up being for nothing bc i completely missed him (or the vogue stream didn't show him, i still don't know). edit: the vogue stream didn’t show him. RAGGEDY BITCH BEHAVIOR!!!! anyway, they definitely bang in some isolated bathroom in the museum far away from the party, but i didn't feel like torturing my single brain cell to produce smut today lmao

[rafesangelita]

♡ when frat!rafe is embarrassed to ask bitchy!kook!reader to choke him, but she does it for him anyways..

warnings: sub!rafe, choking, degradation, unprotected sex, asphyxiation, handjob, overstimulation, slight humor

“why do you keep putting my hand around your neck?” you laughed, your hips coming to a stop as rafe gazed up at you with pleading eyes. you were currently seated on top of him, his cock buried balls deep inside your cunt as you rode him like he didn’t have icky friends who could hear everything in the next room. you watched rafe’s cheeks turn red, his jaw ticking as he continued pressing your hand to his throat. arching a brow, you gave his throat a squeeze, a look of relief washing over his face as you tightened your grip. you could’ve sworn you felt him twitch inside of you, a teasing smile gracing your lips as you shook your head.

“oh, so this is what you wanted?” you scoffed, “who would’ve thought that the misogynistic, cocky frat boy liked to be choked? i’d be embarrassed too if i were you..” rafe groaned, your degrading words only turning him on even more. leaning all your weight on the hand you had propped up on his chest, you started bouncing on him once again, this time making sure your nails dug into his skin as he let out a string of curses.

“you’re so fucking pathetic,” you half moaned, “i bet you feel like a real tough guy, huh? you go around bullying your new pledges and making them feel like they’re beneath you, but really you’re the lowest of them all. i wonder what they’d think of you then if they saw you like this, just being used for your cock. that’s all you’re really good for, anyways.” rafe gripped your hips, his eyes screwing shut as he took the blows of your insults to his ego. he had never been talked down on like this, and as sick and embarrassing as it was, you were becoming his newest obsession with every word you spoke against him.

“ah, fuck— please! please let me cum inside you!” he blurted out, his vision growing fuzzy as you pressed down on his windpipe. sliding off of him, rafe hissed as you scooted down and kneeled between his legs, his eyebrows knitting together as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch you. “sorry, i don’t let losers cum inside me.” rafe let out a shaky breath when you took him in your fist, a protest sitting on the tip of his tongue as you started stroking him. “no, please, i’m begging you.” he whimpered, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he started feeling the pounding thumps in his head from the lack of oxygen.

“shut the fuck up,” you stroked him faster, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips bucked, “you should be grateful i’m letting you cum at all.” rafe felt like he was on the verge of passing out, his chest caving in as he felt the coil deep in stomach snap, a groan leaving his lips as you finally let go of his neck. rafe was convinced he wasn’t here anymore, his body convulsing as the force of his high wracked through his limbs, his cum decorating his torso as you made no effort to slow down your movements. “f-fuck! wait—” he gasped, black dots spotting his vision as he shook under your touch, “i can’t no more!” he shouted through gritted teeth, his abs constricting as overstimulation set in.

letting go, you left him to go through the aftershocks of his orgasm as you got dressed, slipping your heels back on before throwing your purse over your shoulder and checking your hair in the mirror. rafe turned around, his eyebrows raising as he watched you walk towards his bedroom door. “wait where are you going?!” he shot up, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to put some shorts on, “you didn’t— you know.. finish..” he whispered the last part, his face just centimeters away from your own. pecking his cheek, you opened the door halfway, “yikes, i must not be the first girl you’ve said that to.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[trashytracktales]

teammate!lando x reader where they had a bet and she loses…so he makes her crawl to her, hump the pillow, rub her bare clit against his clothed crotch ALL WHILE HE RECORDS HER (with consent ofc)

Lights, Camera, Action! | LN⁴

🔹️ summary ──── It was supposed to be a joke, then it became everything.

🔹️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x fem teammate!reader

🔹️ rating ──── explicit

🔹️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, nerdy!Lando, soft!dom Lando, recording (consensual), cushion humping, manhandling, orgasm from external stimulation, swearing, unprotected sex, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, playful teasing, camera kink??

🔹️ word count ──── 6.3k

🔹️ date ──── May 6, 2025

🔹️ a/n ──── How tf do I set my intention to go for PURE SMUT NO PLOT, yet still manage to write over 6k 😀 I don’t even know what’s this, nothing makes sense and we are living on a floating rock.

Hear me out, I usually only link the song, but then I remembered about this music video and I almost had an aneurysm because of how well it fits. I recommend watching it after reading though. Anyway, ENJOY!!

THE LAST RACE before the break fucked them both. Pretty hard. What was supposed to end with another 1-2 finish for the team turned into a disaster of strategy, pace, and pure bad luck.

Since getting back to Monaco, the fallout hasn’t left them alone. It’s pretty hard when everyone is talking about it; it can get lonely, too. Luckily for them, they’ve been texting back and forth for days, laced with sarcasm, blame, and just enough flirtation to keep the tension at its peak. However, neither of them said what they really wanted to say. But it was always there, between the lines as usual, and in the way her name popped up on his screen, making his stomach flip.

Every single time.

The bar is loud enough to blur that tension and even Lando, with his no-alcohol rule, is loose and laughing. They dance and talk about anything but racing, and for a while it feels like neither of them are carrying the weight of disappointment.

Friends come and go through their circle, a few fans spot them and ask for pictures — which they take, grinning too wide and standing too close for their own good. Somewhere between the fourth round of mocktails, a familiar song starts pulsing through the speakers, and that’s when she brings up the bet, half-laughing, stepping in front of him like she did back in the garage when she dared him.

“If I finish behind you, I owe you a private dance,” she said, confidence dripping from every word. She’d qualified ahead of Lando, and was so confident she can finish ahead of him, too. But since every race is unpredictable and full of unknowns, she ended up taking the checkered flag after him.

It was a joke, anyway. But she can’t say with all her heart that she hasn’t thought about it at least a few couple of times. Besides, it’s Lando who’s been constantly reminding her throughout the past few days and, even if it was in jest, the curiosity made her spend hours staring at the ceiling of her room, imagining different scenarios.

Now, it’s late when the door to his apartment clicks shut behind them with a clean, satisfying noise. Lando tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl on the console with more force than necessary, and while the keys clatter, one nearly skids off the edge, forcing him to reach for it instinctively. She doesn’t say anything, although she can’t help but finding amusing that the inanimate objects always decide to act up only when her teammate’s patience seems so fragile.

The sudden movement makes Lando whine in exasperation as she watches him kick off his shoes and drag a hand through his curls.

The place is quiet, as if reflecting their inner agitation, silently burning within. He’s not bothering turning on more than a lamp, but it’s enough to bathe the whole living room in a pale silver glow, making everything seem even more intimate than it should be.

As they step further into the apartment, the same silence hits them both, because it’s not just the sudden absence of noise, but the weight of it. They’ve never been this quiet around each other before. Usually, they’re the chaos in the garage, either laughing too loud or teasing mid-debriefs, always bringing the kind of energy that makes their engineers roll their eyes but secretly love it. Now though, it’s the first time neither of them knows what to say. Or how to act.

“Cute place,” she says, partly to break the silence, but mostly because it really is. Spacious, stylish, not super tidy, but very Lando in that sense.

“You know you don’t have to make small talk, right?” he laughs. “It was a stupid bet to begin with, since I was always going to finish ahead of you anyway.”

Her jaw drops slightly at the cockiness in his tone. This is the Lando she knows and, in other circumstances, she would find his confidence hot, but right now it only makes her want to knock that look off his face. Or sit on it just to shut him up. Either works.

“Always eager to finish first? Got it,” the playful jab lands right where she intended without too much effort; it’s a split-second flicker in his expression, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his arms tense.

That’s the spot, she thinks. That’s where it bruises his ego, not because it’s crude, but because it’s enough to sting. Which only makes her want to push harder.

Lando’s grin flattens a bit. “Well, someone’s gotta lead the way,” he replies casually, even though he caught her double meaning phrase.

“Right. Leading the way because you can’t pace yourself,” she fires back.

He chuckles. “Sounds like an excuse from someone who couldn’t keep up.”

They’re toe-to-toe now, all bite and smirk and so much tension. She’s half a second from throwing a cushion at him just to knock that pretty smile off when she glances past his shoulder and, without another word, she steps forward, fingers brushing lightly against Lando’s arm as she urges him to move out of her way, wandering farther into his apartment like she owns the place.

“Interesting,” she mumbles. “I saw you with the camera before,” the girl continues as Lando turns to follow her silhouette. “How about you film me while I dance? Give you some new material for land0.mov?”

Lando’s expression twitches barely, but she’s still able to notice it. That small flash of disbelief, quickly masked by a half-laugh, like he’s not sure if she’s joking or just testing him.

“No way, mate,” says Lando, but it’s already too late.

She nods slowly, letting the weight of her intention settle in the air they share. His boyish smirk fades into curiosity in an instant. It’s like watching him put a helmet on: composed, dialed in, serious in a way most people rarely get to see.

To give him more space to process, she veers toward the low shelf by his TV, crouching slightly. “Let’s see. Which one’s your favorite?” she asks nonchalantly, running her fingers along the row of cameras lined up like little trophies; old film bodies, modern DSLRs, and a few point-and-shoots with scratched lenses.

Lando stares at her like she suddenly grew two more heads in the meantime. “You play too much, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Which one?” she repeats.

He blinks, opening his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. After he rubs the bridge of his nose, Lando exhales slowly. “The, uh… the Leica. Second from the left. Black one,” he instructs. “I rarely use it, which makes it special, I guess.”

She lifts it delicately, turning it over in her hands. It’s heavier than she expected, sleek and cool against her skin. “Nice,” she grins. “Bet it makes everything look expensive.”

Lando hums in agreement, “Only shoots what’s directly in front of it. Look,” he says, getting so close to her that he’s now towering over her frame, while pointing at the camera. “Fixed lens, see? No lazy zooming, but the resolution is insane. The tricky part is that you have to move it yourself to get the shot you want,” he continues.

She looks up at him, noticing a slight shy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. And, just when she thought Lando couldn’t get any nerdier, she hears his voice again.

“It’s a twenty-eight millimeter lens. That’s not crazy wide,” he informs her. “If you stay in the middle, the background’s gonna fall off all soft and blurry. Makes it feel…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Personal. It’s not even about perfect framing or whatever,” he rushes to add. “It just catches whatever’s there, no hiding.”

“Did you use it before?” she asks, curiosity pulling the words out of her mouth without having the time to think them through.

“I did,” he replies with a grin, giving her enough time to come up with her own scenarios before adding, “On my cars.”

She smiles, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room. “So. If I move, you have to follow, hm?”

Lando nods.

She sets the camera down gently, then leans against the wall beside the shelf with her arms crossed. She’s aware that what she’s suggesting it’s pure insanity, especially after what’s been happening between them lately.

“Okay,” she finally says, holding her hand toward him, palm open. “Can I see your phone for a sec?”

Lando frowns, trying to hide a curious smile. “Why?” he asks, sliding the phone from his pocket and unlocks it, handing it over with suspicion in his voice.

She only flashes him a smile back, thumbing through his apps until she finds the little Spotify icon. A few seconds later, the speakers come alive with a sultry bassline that wraps the room in a charged ambiance.

The teasing in her voice is easy to catch next time she asks, “You seriously have a sex playlist called sex playlist? Men are so predictable.”

He chuckles, “Yeah? What’s yours called?”

“I’ll send you the link,” she winks at him jokingly, but that still has an unexpected effect on Lando. Maybe because he’s starting to understand that his teammate is hardly ever joking, actually.

For a second that feels like a week, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches her, every muscle in his body taut like he’s holding himself back from something that’s about to come out anyway. It has to. Because everything has a limit, and theirs was crossed from the moment she entered his apartment.

With a quiet exhale, she presses herself lightly against the wall, then pushes off and crosses the living room in steady, cat-like steps, taking his hand in hers, fingers threading through his. Her touch is warm and somehow reassuring, her palm so small and silky against his. She guides Lando toward the couch with intent as if this isn’t his own home, nudging him gently until he sits.

She breaks away then, walks back across the room, and returns with the Leica in hand. “Turn it on,” she says simply, with enough clarity behind her words.

Lando stares at her, dumbfounded for a beat, before the corner of his mouth twitches upward in disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I trust you to capture the best in me,” she admits.

He lets out a heavy breath, something between a laugh and a groan, and flips the switch at her insistence. The familiar click of the camera waking up is giving Lando chills, but when he glances up again, his hands still adjusting the ISO, she’s already pulling the shirt over her head, revealing a black bra and her toned shoulders dusted in the dim light.

She tilts her head. “Just make sure I look good, Lando.”

With that, she starts moving as slow as possible, every inch of revealed skin feeling like it’s offered, not given.

Lando’s hands are steady on the camera, but for some reason, breathing doesn’t feel automatic anymore, and he’s currently aware of every shaky breath he takes. His fingers work on instinct, dialing the aperture wider, letting in the glow of the cool lighting. His pulse is racing, heavy in his throat, because he can see everything through the lens, but is still not ready to look at her in the flesh.

For her, it’s easy to notice how focused he is, so she glances straight into the camera on purpose, with a spark of mischief in her gaze, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. To him. As a result, Lando’s knee starts bouncing, restless, his breathing too shallow to be subtle. He can’t remember the last time he felt so tightly wound, but it doesn’t even matter because what happens now will stay with him for a long time, and this is all he needs to remember from now on.

And then, it gets worse.

He stares at her while she’s arching slightly as she undoes her bra clasp, letting it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor without breaking eye contact with the camera. At that, Lando looks away out of instinct — out of that last shred of decency clawing at him. But the camera stays trained on her, and when he lifts his gaze again, it’s like a dam breaks inside him. Violently. The hunger that flashes across his face is instant, and impossible to hide. He doesn’t even try, because what fool could ever take his eyes off her?

Lando adjusts himself without thinking, moving in sync with her teasing gestures as she peels her panties down her legs from under her skirt. He tells himself to stay focused and capture the sensuality of her body with the last fragment of professionalism that he possesses. But that’s a losing game when his own body is burning with need, and every subtle curve and line of her turns into a map that he’s desperate to explore as soon as possible.

His focus lingers on the swell of her breasts, her nipples tightening in the open air. It forces him to swallow hard, a deep ache growing both inside him and his pants, knowing how badly he wants to lean forward and suck them into his mouth, to feel the heat of her skin against his tongue.

The camera dips lower as she dances to the hypnotic rhythm of his music, and Lando keeps working with her, baring the elegant slope of her waist and the strong lines of her thighs. The way she stands there, so natural and confident, feels like a direct hit to his chest that he welcomes without hesitation or any intention of dodging. She’s pure femininity, and that throws him into a black hole made only of her, where the gravity is so strong that there’s no escape.

He’s so focused on her that he almost stops breathing in order to make sure he gets the perfect shot, every shot. That makes Lando’s hand tighten around the camera, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. But his body has a mind on its own, apparently, and his thighs flex like he’s one wrong move away from standing. From closing the distance between them. Against his will, though, he sits there, shivering with the effort to stay still.

“Come on, Norris,” she says, and her voice wakes him up from the trance her shapes put him in. “I’ve seen you take tighter corners at Spa with less hesitation.”

Even though he tries to, he can’t stop the throaty laugh that comes out of him. Only for a moment, Lando lowers the camera again, and lets himself, finally, finally, see her. And this time, he doesn’t look away. He watches her shamelessly, while reaching behind him to take a cushion that he ends up tossing onto the floor near his feet, nodding toward it.

“Go on, then. Show me how desperate you are.”

There is something about the way he says it that sends a thrill straight through her. She heard that Lando is direct when it comes to his wants and needs, but to feel it on her skin hits different. Her pulse suddenly stutters with excitement as she lowers herself in front of him, straddling the cushion, her body already anticipating the liberating feeling.

The moment her hips roll forward and her mouth falls open in surprise at the faint pleasure, Lando is right there, capturing every gasp, every twitch, and every sweet reaction like it’s the only thing that matters. His mind runs wild with all the places he aches to touch — his hand curled around her throat, palms squeezing her breasts, fingers digging into her hips to hold her still while he teases her until she begs.

The temptation claws at him, full throttle. But he forces himself to handle the camera like a pro, because more than anything, he wants her to see what he sees: how devastatingly beautiful she is like this, undone and bold. Through his own lens, she’s a vision, and giving her that full picture keeps him going.

From her perspective, noticing Lando’s determination sends a fresh wave of heat throughout her body, making her rock her hips a little harder, and that puts a tension in his shoulders. A type of need he didn’t feel before.

To stop herself from making more embarrassing sounds, she meets his gaze over the camera, mouth slightly open. “Is this good?” she asks, voice breathy and half-mocking, although there’s something real underneath. A dare. A plea.

Lando looks at her again, revealing a flushed face and his blown wide pupils. “Yeah, don’t stop,” he replies hoarsely.

Her thighs squeeze around the cushion from the moment she hears the first note in voice, the soft fabric teasing against her clit with every slow roll of her hips, pulling breathy sounds from her. Behind the camera, Lando tails closely as she grinds back and forth, his jaw clenching at the small sounds slipping past her lips.

“Shit, that’s hot. Are you always this needy?” he asks out of pure curiosity, but the question is mostly rhetorical; of course she is. Judging by the way her chest heaves and how she leans forward slightly to catch as much friction as possible, the answer is obvious.

She wants to push back against the power shift, but she’s too lost in the rhythmic movement of her body. And it’s not as if Lando’s wrong. Every gentle brush gets increasingly out of control, each desperate grind into the cushion sending small waves of pleasure straight to her nerves, making her fingers curl into the couch for balance. For the control she’s rapidly losing.

Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, mouth constantly parting as the pleasure spirals inside her like a coil wound too tight.

Lando’s fingers flex over the shutter release, but he’s barely present anymore. He’s completely absorbed by what is happening on the other side of his lens, and it’s her moan that pulls him out of it, just as the pressure builds. So he reaches out, his hand entering the frame like an unexpected guest. With ease, his fingers grab the edge of the cushion beneath her, and she pauses, blinking up at him, flushed and dazed, breathing heavily like she just stepped out of the car after a last-lap push. With one strong pull, he slides it out from under her, making her gasp in surprise, her body jolting at the sudden loss.

“Lando,” she exhales irritated.

She gets her hands onto his knees to steady herself, thighs still wobbly, but he’s not looking at her anymore. He’s too busy staring at the soaked fabric instead, darkened with heat and want and everything she didn’t say out loud.

“That good?” he asks, but the arrogance in his voice diminished, giving way to his sincere curiosity.

She shakes her head, looking up at him again. “Not faking it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The fact that she is as sincere in her statement, encourages Lando to take things to the next level, just to see how much he can push before it’s too much. He throws the cushion aside with a thud, his eyes lit up with need.

“Come here,” he orders in a gentle tone, patting his lap.

She’s stunned at his words initially, and the way they leave no room for teasing. But then she catches the way his tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, leaving it wet and shining, and something inside her pushes her to get up. She realizes that there’s nothing she wouldn’t do if he asked.

With calculated steps, she climbs him patiently, her thighs spreading over him. They’ve been in each other’s personal space in the past, when they had to do silly challenges for McLaren to entertain the fans. Still, even though there’s a camera between them just like before, the air feels different, charged with desire, unknown, and heavy lust. Because this time, it’s just them.

When her body sinks onto his, the scabrous fabric of his jeans meets the soaked warmth between her legs, the weight making Lando groan silently, his little sound hitting her low in her stomach. His reaction encourages her to continue, shifting on top of him in order to find the best position, enough to grind against his bulge. It’s thick and hard beneath her, and the simple contact is already maddening. Yet not nearly enough, and the realization that he’s just as affected by this makes the coil in her stomach tighten further.

“Keep going,” he speaks again as he lifts her skirt up to her waist, going back to the camera and angling it to capture the way she moves against him, right where her skin meets the fabric of his pants.

Her palm comes around his bicep for suport, letting the instincts guide her further. The pressure she chased a moment ago is still there, but it’s different this time around. More intense.

Lando grunts, his free hand gripping her hip to show her the pattern to follow. She whimpers while that sweet ache comes back, her body trembling with need. In no time, she can move on her own, and because she’s such a fast learner, Lando points the camera closer, eager to capture the wetness soaking through.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he says. “You’re making such a mess,” he exhales, bringing his hand between her legs to feel it before he could even process his own action. His thumb finds her clit, rubbing it gently, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time, craving to catch every reaction.

She moans, one hand squeezing his arm harder as her body rocks forward, chasing the release that she hopes it’s not that far into the future, especially if his hips continue to twitch beneath her the way they do, so impatient and reliant on her.

Unfortunately, the time almost stops the moment their faces get close enough to kiss. She can feel the heat of his breath and the pull between them, and she’s sure he can feel it too. Her eyes flick to his mouth, and Lando’s eyes stay on her, but no one dares to close the small gap. Because somehow, that would be more intimate than all of this. Kissing would mean acknowledging what’s been burning between them for a while now. It would mean admitting this is real, and admitting will complicate everything in both their personal and professional lives.

And neither of them are ready to take that chance yet.

With that in mind, she doesn’t lean in. She just closes her eyes and grinds harder, her hips rolling against his hand and the hard line of his cock beneath her. The sensation amplifies fast, and Lando never stops working her with his thumb. Soon enough, her breath comes out in spasms and her thighs start to shake. Her pace intensifies, chasing the high that’s been teasing at the edges of her patience, feeling the mess she’s made slick against Lando’s pants with every desperate press on it. Still, his hand stays steady, rubbing perfectly against her clit, matching the rhythm of her hips like he knows exactly all the ways she wants — and craves — to be touched.

With Lando’s help, it doesn’t take long until her body finally seizes, hips jerking forward uncontrollably as pleasure crashes over her. He moves with her, a silent apology for stopping her earlier written into every precise touch, making sure this time she falls apart completely. Because of him.

Luckily, the camera captures everything: his hand on her, the wet spot she’s left on his pants, the way her skin flushes and seems to crave more with each passing second, and the way her thighs shake when the aftershocks hit. It catches the way she starts trembling, too, body overwhelmed, aching for something deeper, something only he can give her right now.

Only he gives her time to ride it out instead, feeling all the ways her walls flutter, hungry and empty, and the sound that tears from his throat is nothing but a helpless moan. The sensation alone, even without him inside her, is enough to make his head spin. It wrecks him completely, makes him ache with the violent need to know how it would feel to be buried deep inside her, to have her tight, needy pussy squeezing around him while she comes undone all over again. Because of him.

The girl barely registers the camera being placed in her hands until Lando nudges her chin. “Here. See for yourself.”

Except, she doesn’t want it. Not yet. By her own choice, she takes it gently from his hand, presses RECORD again and turns it around, placing it on the padded arm of the couch. Facing them. Remembering Lando’s voice earlier, casual and offhand when he said that the camera only captures what’s in front of it.

Her fingers move impatiently, drifting to the hem of his shirt, bunching it in her hands. “Since you let me finish first,” she rushes to explain.

With that, she pulls the shirt up, and he lifts his arms to help her, muscles tightening under skin slick with the faintest sheen of sweat. Once it’s off, she tosses it to the side, her eyes drinking him in. Lando is warm under her palms, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, and she senses the same tension in him that’s barely holding him together.

She studies his face while her hand drifts lower, trailing down the center of his stomach, pausing at the waistband of his jeans. Carefully, she slips her hand inside, where she finds him hot and so painfully hard that it makes her mouth water. Without any instructions, her fingers curl around his soft skin, and the sight alone makes his stomach flip. She starts to stroke him teasing, but before she can go quicker, Lando grabs her wrist, groaning low in his throat.

“Just a sec,” he pants, voice cracking slightly. His hands are already moving, guiding her hips back over his lap with a need that borders on desperation.

This time, there’s no fabric between them, and her soaked heat presses directly against his length, making them both shuddering at the contact; skin on skin and no more barriers, just the unfiltered reality of what they both want. His hands find home on her hips, big and heavy, his control hanging by a thread.

Agonizingly slow, her clit slides along his hardness, slick and warm, sending sharp jolts of pleasure from one body to another. He can barely contain himself at the way she finds it so easy to rock against him, faster when she feels how thirsty Lando gets in a matter of seconds. He’s leaking already, the head of his cock glistening, smearing against her folds as she moves.

Completely flushed and utterly drunk with pleasure, he shifts beneath her, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, pulling her closer, even though there’s no physical space left between them. But it’s useless. No matter how close they are, there is only one way that would truly satisfy his urge.

“Please,” he whispers next to the shell of her ear, desperate and breathless. “Can I slide in?”

She’s a lost cause by now, and her reply is reduced to a broken hum, while she sits up just enough to guide the thick head of his cock to her entrance. Lando’s patience snaps at her quick response, and he thrusts his hips up in one motion, his hands holding her hips and pulling her down onto him at the same time. The stretch is overwhelming and takes her by surprise, knocking the wind out of her and making her vision blur at the edges as she tries to take all of him.

They moan together, helpless, her hands landing on his chest as she laughs shakily. “You trying to break me in half or?”

“Didn’t think you’d be so tight,” he groans in a strained voice.

Lando tries his best to take it slow, but the way she welcomes him, so warm and perfect, nearly undoes him the moment he’s all in. A shudder runs down his spine as he grips her hips with more force, thinking maybe if he doesn’t hold her right, the world will actually end.

And it may, based on how her hands are sliding up, clawing at his shoulders with her nails digging in to anchor herself. Her breath shudders out in short bursts as she does, her body struggling to adjust, to take everything he has to offer. All of him.

To test the waters, she starts circling her hips, hoping she’ll find the angle that makes her breath hitch, and when she does, it’s like lightning strikes between them. He’s impossibly deep, touching places inside her she didn’t even know could feel this good. Her pussy hugs him so tightly that Lando has to grit his teeth to shut himself up. Then she tilts her hips forward just slightly with every grind, rocking her clit perfectly against his pelvis while he’s buried inside her.

The effect she was looking for is instant, and she hears Lando choking on another moan, finally, “Fuck, yeah. Right there,” his fingers dig into her skin, hunger battling in his wide eyes. “Do that again, it feels so fucking good.”

“Shit, Lando,” she breaths out. “So deep, I can feel you everywhere.”

She pulls him in again and again, until he is practically whining beneath her. Seeing Lando so lost inside her makes her losing the rhythm, her breathing turning ragged, thighs ready to give up as exhaustion and pleasure blur into one. It’s messy and greedy on both sides, and when she finally collapses against his chest, she sobs out a cry, her voice cracking with it.

“Need you,” she exhales. “I can’t hold it anymore.”

Lando doesn’t waste a breath. One sharp, hungry movement and he’s planting his feet against the floor for leverage, thrusting up into her with everything he’s got. She gasps at the same time he groans deep in his chest, the sound vibrating between them as he finally takes her the way they’ve both needed.

Her mouth goes dry.

His jaw tightens.

Their breath grows heavier, shared in the tight, sweaty space. Her body tenses, then squeezes around him with such perfect pressure it leaves him breathless. A high-pitched moan spills from her, unexpected and honest, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, biting at it in order to shut herself up.

Gently, Lando catches her wrist, holding it firm. “If you’re gonna bite something,” he tilts his head, offering his shoulder, “Be a good girl and bite me instead.”

Her breathing is too fast and her mind runs at the speed of an F1 car. She can’t think straight and, for a moment, she just stays there, her forehead brushing the curve of his shoulder as she tries to catch herself from falling in too deep. Then slowly, like she’s giving in to something bigger than her, she places a kiss on his skin. Her lips press gently on it, trailing along the line of his neck to the dip of his collarbone. It’s the closest thing she’ll ever give him. The closest thing to letting herself feel for him.

He’s still warm, salty with sweat, and soft under her lips. And he smells so good, like skin and heat and something clean that clings to her nose and settles in her chest like smoke.

It drugs her.

The way his scent mixes with the feel of his breath against her temple, the way his pulse flutters beneath her lips — she has to stop. It’s too much, too close, too real.

“Think we should bet every race weekend, what do you say?” asks Lando, his pace quickening, hands guiding her up and down his cock like it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. “Would die to have you like this all the time, hm?”

“Mhm,” she grinds down until his name is all she can say. “Fuck. I’m so close.”

“Yeah, baby. I feel you.”

Her voice breaks off into a moan right when she’s about to speak again, to tell him not to go there and call her that. But Lando rolls his hips, pushing deeper, filling her inch by inch until there’s no space left, which shuts her up in an instant. They fuck in a rhythm that shouldn’t work, all sweat-slicked skin and shaky breaths. The air fills up with obscene sounds of them, their bodies colliding with enough force to make her whimper and moan his name all over again, each time he thrusts.

To help himself, he spreads her wider, holding her open for him, watching the way he disappears inside her, utterly wrecked by the sight. “Taking me so fucking well,” he says between thrusts, dragging his mouth over her jaw. “Look.”

She whines while looking down at where they’re joined. Lando moves his gaze on her expression with a grin on his face, so proud when he feels every spasm in her body; it’s a total mess. Her slick is all over him, coating his cock, his thighs, soaking through the waistband of his jeans that are still shoved only halfway down his hips. Each time they meet, there’s a wet sound echoing between them, sticky and warm, ricocheting against the walls in Lando’s living room like a drumbeat pulling them closer to the edge.

“You like how wrecked you’ve got me?”

She nods frantically, squeezing him so tight it makes Lando see stars. At that, he reaches up, brushing the strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ears with his long fingers. His hand stays there a moment, continuing to slide lower, fingertips skimming her jaw, then wrapping gently around her throat, enough to feel her pulse. To hold her in place.

In a matter of seconds, their eyes lock again. Her chest heaves and her eyes shine, but not just from pleasure. It’s because she wants to tell him that this isn’t what she expected. It’s much, much more, and it will leave a deep mark, no matter which path they’ll choose to take tomorrow morning.

His hands move hungrily, down from her neck to her chest, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. He holds them carefully, wanting to memorize the shape, the weight, and the way they fill his palms, to make sure he won’t forget a single detail about her body.

“Lan,” she warns.

Lando hums, “Mhm. Right there with you, beautiful,” he assures her.

Her breathing is jagged, the rhythm of their hips desperate, chasing the edge that’s been teasing them since the moment she sank down onto him. Every motion drives him deeper, sends wave after wave crashing through her, because she’s right there for quite a while now.

“Hi there,” Lando’s voice brings her back. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, gently pulling her to see her face. “Look at me, I want to see you. Let me see you.”

Her body tenses, and just for a split second the frantic rhythm stutters, then finds its pace again as the orgasm rips through her with a blinding force. She keeps her eyes on his the whole time, riding it out with her hands burried in the curls at the back of his head. His hips jerk beneath her as he throbs inside her, overwhelmed by the way she fights to keep him in. It drives him crazy, and he moans loudly, trying to pull out, but her thighs close tighter around him.

“Inside,” she rushes to say, unable to form sentences longer than one word.

Lando’s jaw clenches so hard he feels like his teeth might snap from the force, every muscle in his body pulled tight and shivering. He holds on by a thread for half a second longer, but then her body flutters around him again, and with a loud, guttural gasp, he lets go, spilling inside her in thick pulses that only make her hold him tighter. His hands shake where they clutch at her hips, trying to pull her down even harder, like he can’t bear even a sliver of distance between them right in this moment.

None of them knows how much time passes like that, but neither of them moves again. She’s stays slumped against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck, while his arms stay locked around her waist, as if letting go might break whatever just happened between them.

Lando presses his cheek on the top of her head, his heart hammering so hard he’s sure she can feel it. But it’s fine, because he can feel hers, too.

His hands drift up and down her back in aimless strokes and, while she starts to come back to herself, she notices the music still playing softly around them, the same sultry beat from earlier floating through the air.

Her brows pinch together in confusion before realization hits. “How the fuck did you time your playlist so perfectly?”

Lando lets out a breathless laugh, “Talent.”

She snorts, dropping her head back onto his shoulder with a groan. “Goodness gracious, it is so hard tolerate you.”

“Liar,” he says, “You wanna kiss me so bad.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but the way her cheeks heat up gives her away immediately. Lando laughs under his breath again, cocky and so annoyingly right. She opens her mouth to fire back, to tell him that no, she definitely doesn’t want to kiss his smug ass, but then her eyes catch the little red light blinking from across the couch.

The camera. Still recording.

She nudges him softly, grinning against the flush in her cheeks, and points at it. “Smile and wave, Norris,” she whispers, and Lando immediately flashes the most ridiculous smirk at the lens, making her laugh for real this time.

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

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[writingwithcolor]

how to convey arabic language in a specific dialect is being spoken without lengthy descriptions of how words/specific letters are pronounced?

Anonymous asks:

I believe my question revolves around linguistics, but please correct me if there’s something I didn’t take into account. I’m an Egyptian girl who speaks Arabic (the Egyptian dialect specifically), and I am currently writing an urban fantasy set in modern day Egypt. Naturally, the characters would be speaking Egyptian arabic (i even have a scene where my character converses with a tourist and struggles to speak to them ‘in english’)  But as the story is written in english, I found this is really hard to convey, especially with the entirely different alphabet, and the words that simply cannot be transcribed (sometimes in definition, and sometimes in letters that don’t have an equivalent). What would be a good way to send the message that these characters are by no means speaking English (unless stated) without having to hold the reader's hand through lengthy descriptions of how a word is pronounced at every corner?

Hi Anon! This is a tough spot. I’m no expert, just a mod and fellow writer trying to support your fantastic ask. Any bilingual readers, especially other Arabic speakers, feel free to chime in.

1- Disclose they’re speaking Arabic, even though you’re writing in English:

Example A: “Hey, Noor! Wait up,” he said in Arabic. 

Example B: “Habibti, I haven’t seen you in a while,” she reminded me. It was true - I had missed the lilt of her Darija-Moroccan dialect-so different from the Mesri, the Egyptian twang, that rolled off my tongue.

2- Consider using Arabic semantic structure or phrases and idioms used mostly in Arabic.

Example A: She reddened with embarrassment. // They whitened at the sight of it. ((English would probably say she ‘turned red’ rather than reddened, or ‘paled’ rather than whitened. Since Arabic has this natural and fun ability to let color be a verb, which English can but doesn't have naturally - make use of it! It will read differently in English because it’s an Arabic construct. Use other examples like this that you’d know better than me.))

Example B: Consider using “May the Gods smite her house!,” instead of the classic English ‘Fuck You.’ Or use “On my eyes” rather than ‘min ayooni’ or its English translation of ‘of course.’ Since Arabic language is beautifully expressive, you could lean into that when you can rather than using common English alternatives.

 Example C: Consider interspersing Arabic transliterations of common words/phrases like; habibti/habibi; yani; mashallah casually through the story.  

3- When speaking with English speakers, consider using informal text/chat speak (Arabizi?) to communicate the Arabic, since it’s already transliterated to the Roman alphabet. [disclaimer - I am atrocious at this, and will be surprised if anyone can read it… but for science!]: 

Example A: Instead of (انت طالب بالجامعة) or “are you a student?” it becomes; 

“Ente 6albeh bel jam3a?” I asked, staring at the textbook in his arms. 

He looked at me confused. “I don't understand,” he said. “I can’t speak Arabic.” 

“Wain 3m tedrus? Where do you… y3ni… where do you study?” I tried again in slow, awkward English.

These examples may or may not work for you. It’s important to remember that there’s no single "right" way to do this, but it’s mostly about finding a balance that reads well, and feels good to you. Subtle cues like sentence structure, idioms, the occasional untranslated word, and natural context can help to show the language shift. Good luck and happy writing!

~ Melanie 🌻  

P.S. Mod Meir suggests checking out the book When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb, which handles this issue well. There's a lot of "He said in English" or "He repeated it in Yiddish for the old woman's benefit" or "It took him a moment to realize he had spoken in English" (( Thanks Sacha! @kuttithvangu ))

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Show a Character Who Believes They’re the Villain in Everyone Else’s Story

╰ Behavioral Red Flags

They assume the worst intentions in themselves, even when they act out of love. They brought you coffee? Probably just guilt. They helped you move? Must be manipulating you so you "owe" them later. (They just care. But they can't believe that's true.)

They over-apologize for existing. You bump into them and somehow they’re the ones apologizing, looking like they've personally inconvenienced your entire bloodline.

They self-monitor everything. Every joke they make. Every word they say. Every look they give. Constant little glances at people's faces, desperate for signs that they’ve messed up again.

They let people treat them badly because they think they deserve it. Rudeness? Sure. Being overlooked? Of course. Public humiliation? Absolutely par for the course. Standing up for themselves feels wrong, like a thief demanding a refund.

They preemptively distance themselves when things get good. Got a close friendship brewing? Time to pull away before they find out I'm terrible. New romance? Better end it now before they hate me.

They assume jokes about "bad people" are secretly about them. "You know those selfish jerks who never change?" someone says. Their inner monologue: That’s me. They mean me.

They play up their flaws. Self-deprecating humor, but not cute self-roasting, deep, almost aggressive, like they’re trying to hand you the knife before you even think about stabbing.

They struggle to accept forgiveness. Apologizing feels natural. Being forgiven feels alien. Like wearing shoes on the wrong feet.

╰ Thought Patterns That Wreck Them

"Even when I try to do the right thing, I mess it up." Trying doesn't absolve them. Trying just delays the inevitable hurt they’ll cause someone else."People are nice to me because they don't know who I really am." Kindness isn't acceptance to them — it's a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode when the "truth" comes out.

"If someone is angry at me, they must be right." They don't even question it. Anger directed at them must be justified. They deserve it.

"If I succeed, it's by accident. If I fail, it's because I suck." Zero credit for wins. Full credit for losses. The math of their self-esteem is so rigged it should be illegal.

"If I ask for help, I'm manipulating people." Needing something feels like emotional blackmail in their mind. Better to suffer in silence than risk "forcing" someone to care.

╰ The Tiny Physical Tells

Laughing after their own serious statements, as if to soften the blow of speaking honestly.

Keeping their hands visible when talking (subconscious "I'm not a threat" behavior).

Flinching when someone raises their voice, even if it’s not directed at them.

Making themselves physically smaller—shoulders hunched, arms crossed, shrinking into themselves like they can disappear if they just try hard enough.

Dropping eye contact when complimented.

Holding their breath without realizing it when waiting for someone's reaction.

╰The Relationships They Gravitate Toward (And Why):

Fixer-Upper Friendships: They think they have to earn affection by being useful, by helping, by being "the strong one."

Unbalanced Dynamics: They let people use them because "at least I'm being helpful, even if they don't actually care about me."

Romantic Partners Who Validate Their Worst Fears: They often fall for people who treat them like they’re a burden—because it matches the script in their head.

Or... Relationships That Terrify Them: Because if someone genuinely loves them, they’re always waiting for the moment that person "wakes up" and sees the "monster" they believe themselves to be.

╰ How They Might Heal (If They’re Lucky)

(And if the author isn’t an emotional sadist. 👀)

A relationship where mistakes are allowed, not punished.

Someone calling them out, not for being bad, but for being unkind to themselves.

Tiny acts of trust that stick over time, slowly poisoning the idea that they’re inherently toxic.

Learning that being flawed and being villainous are not the same damn thing.

Being told, over and over, "You don't have to earn love by being perfect."

[smuttysabina]

The Office Problem

(Male Reader x Kiss of Life's Natty, 3.6k words) Tags: Office sex, Office gangbangs, Office relationships, More HR violations than your office handbook has room for, Vaginal sex, Creampies, Oral sex, Natty earns herself a fat juicy promotion, Also wow does she look really hot, Protected sex, Office politics, And a distinct lack of morals

Being a manager could be such a pain. When you were not busy fending off absurd requests from Corporate about the latest techo-babble, you were dealing with enough banal office drama to put a high school to shame. It was frankly surprising the amount of hijinks an office of a hundred workers could get up to, and if the company wasn't paying you so goddamn much you would have resigned years ago rather than deal with it every day. But alas, you always managed to stop yourself from hitting send on your two-week notice by glancing at your check, before sighing and carrying on. This past month had been especially grueling, with the arrival of a new hire named Natty, who had taken over as a clerk from Brenda in HR (who had retired and was now living it up in the Bahamas, and getting gangbanged by her "amigos" every night); and had turned out to be quite the slut...

The morning so far had been relatively tame, with only a handful of tongue lashings and praise to distribute. Frank from Operations had once more been reminded to stop pissing all over the floor, and Betsy from Sales had been firmly rejoined for harassing old mister Shultz about his supposedly monster dong (you had it on good authority that the man was in fact packing, provided you shove several viagra down his throat first). The accountants had been congratulated for somehow conspiring to pay everyone on time, presumably on accident, and the lead janitor consulted regarding the onset of stains appearing all over the office. You therefore had time in your schedule to ask your secretary to call in the newest problem child to grace your loveless little nest, and you idly mute the Teams meeting with the C-suite you were in and jot down some notes while you wait. Five minutes later and the Office Problem flounces in, all silken curves and bubbly youthful energy crammed into an outfit that would have gotten her sent to HR had she not been HR. She was also wearing knee-high heeled boots for some bizarre reason.

One Ms. Natty (nobody bothered to use her last name) languidly slides into the proffered chair in front of your desk, preening at your attention and wiggling her body to better present her assets for your inspection. No doubt her young mind was stuffed full of erotic delusions about what was going to happen in your cozy corner office, but you were quite simply going to fire her skanky ass. It had barely been a month and already it was an open secret that Natty was the office bicycle, which you ordinarily wouldn't have minded, free-use sluts kept morale up, except for the fact that she was unable to control her passions in the workplace. You had walked in on her engaging in sexual activity no less than nine separate times, with different partners during each occurrence no less! And the janitors were, in a word, growing more than a touch annoyed about having to clean up spilled sexual fluids as if they were working at a whorehouse or the like.

The first time, you had found Natty squatting down in the break room, stroking an employee with either hand while sucking them off with an enthusiasm that was dearly lacking in her workflow. Then you had spotted one of the Sales ladies munching on her cunt like she was starving, and the third time you had caught her next to the supply closet getting her shelves rearranged. Natty had also been responsible for the traffic jam around the bathroom last Tuesday, where apparently most of the male office staff had lined up to plow her nubile holes, and next you had eyed her grinding rather proactively on Mr. Shultz's lap (who coincidentally had no pants on for some odd reason). Things had only gone downhill from there, as you had observed her getting spit-roasted no less than twice in a row, before watching her getting made airtight near the printers by the interns, who's youthful gusto had resulted in a truly appalling mess on the floor. Finally, just yesterday you had found Natty elbow-deep in the head of Accounting, who was busy hosing the carpet down with streams of truly noxious squirt. Naturally, she was the most popular employee in the office, and had single-handedly caused a 28% drop in work efficiency.

So, leaning forward in your chair across the wide expanse of your desk, you stare Ms. Natty straight in the eyes, and calmly inform her that you were letting her go. Her reaction was, predictable. The girl starts babbling and bawling, her perfect makeup (god knew how she kept it up while getting fucked all day) smearing as tears run down her face, and she blubbers out a question, "But. But WHY, sir? It's only been a month!" to which you sigh and explain that her distracting the entire office was the issue, and also that her work was also noticeably subpar. Further tears follow, "Is-Is it because you've, um, caught me at work?" Natty sobs in realization, and you are forced to inform her that her promiscuity was not the problem, rather the sheer scale of it; nobody was getting any work done because they were too busy trying to fuck her! You recline back in your chair as your words bounce around her skull, Natty visibly pondering what you said before insight flashes behind her eyes and she gives you a sultry smirk, "Or is it because... I haven't given you any yet?" she beams as a slight flush rises on your face, "Oh, I'm so sorry, of course the boss should have priority! Let me..." Natty smoothly rises out of the chair and starts to saunter around your desk, her wide hips swaying from side to side. Sigh.

Natty perches herself on the edge of your desk, plumping out her bare thighs as she dangles one foot dangerously near your crotch, "So tell me, sir, is there anything I can do to keep my job?" She coos, seductively fluttering her eyelashes over her rose-tinted glasses, "I mean," she runs a hand down her chest to the clench of fabric obscuring her crotch, "You've seen what I can do, so," Natty licks her pouty lips, "What will it be, sir?" Nine times out of ten you would have simply laughed her out the door and told the little slut to collect her things on the way out, but you were feeling particularly... bored. It had been a year or so since you had gotten drained at the office, and you were curious to see if this common cumdump could match the costly escort you had brought in last time. So you roll your chair back a bit, and tersely tell her to try her best, and you will consider keeping her around. Natty's face lights up and she lets out a squeal before composing herself and hopping off the desk and sultrily kneeling before you, "Please, relax sir, I'll do all the work for you. You are the boss after all!" she giggles somewhat nervously before running her hands up your legs and slowly unzipping your pants, slipping a delicate hand inside to pull out your manhood.

With tender grace, Natty leans forward and kisses your cock, gently smooching every inch of it until she unlimbers your balls and gives them the same treatment as well. She looks eagerly up at your stony face for your approval, and when she doesn't find it she hurries along to the messy work of getting you erect. With your member barely stiffening under her demure endearments, she promptly pops your meat into her mouth and starts sucking on it like her life depended on it; which in a sense, it did. Natty's cheeks hollow as she strains to engorge your penis, her tongue lapping desperately at it as it slowly fills her mouth. Just as her head starts to bob though, your secretary knocks on the door and you hurriedly push your chair forward, forcing the young clerk to scamper backwards under your desk, where she retains enough of her wits to continue doing her job. Your secretary pops her head in, glancing around as she looks for Natty before raising her eyebrows in confusion. You maintain your calm as you ease your hips upwards, pining Natty's head against the underside of the desk as you force your length into her throat, causing her to gag as quietly as possible. You roll your eyes at your secretary, waving irritably at the closed door to your private bathroom and informing her that Natty was busy cleaning herself up inside after a substantial bawling. Your secretary snorts in amusement, as the girl in question snorts spittle onto your crotch as she struggles to breathe, tapping plaintively at your leg for you to relent, before telling you to call her when Natty needed to be escorted out and closing the door once more.

Natty was starting to use her teeth to communicate her distress, and so you relax, allowing her to pull up enough to gasp for air as she drools all over your genitals. After several moments mercy, you press upwards again, thoroughly testing her gag reflex as you lazily pump away at her face until her frantic coughing had subsided somewhat. When you finally roll your chair back, Natty stumbles out from under your desk, hacking up reams of spittle as before looking blearily up at you, "I-I-Was that good enough, sir? I-I'm better at using my mouth than deepthroating, so can I...?" You flick her concerns away by telling her that it had been satisfactory, but that she needed to make you finish if she wanted to remain employed at this (laughably) prestigious company. Nodding frantically, Natty returns to sucking your cock, and was indeed better at using her tongue than tripping her gag reflex, until she abruptly stops and surges to her feet. She sways unsteadily before unbuttoning her short shorts and pulling them down to her knees revealing tantalizing hints of her dark vulva, "Um," she blushes, "You can use this hole as well, sir. But," she glances around, "Do you have protection? I'm not on birth control so..." You direct her to the proper drawer, and soon cool latex sheaths your erection before she kicks her shorts off and awkwardly attempts to join you in your armchair.

You refuse her however, telling her to clean herself out first, no matter what she claimed, you would rather not be fucking your inferiors semen out of her slutty hole, and she blushes as she leans back against the desk and complies. Shyly, she starts to rub at her clit, absentmindedly groping herself before remembering she still had her shirt on and pulling that off as well to reveal a lacy pushup bra that soon joins the rest of her clothes on your desk. Natty's body was classically curved, with much of her flesh going to her shapely thighs and ample ass, though her perky breasts were not unimpressive as well; even if she did constantly push them up to exaggerate their size. The girl pleasures herself in front of you, and once she has moistened herself up she puts her fingers to good use sloshing expertly into her slit. Judging by the sticky mess coating her fingers, Natty had indeed been truthful when she said that she always used a rubber, and soon she was gazing lustfully at your cock, "Mmmmph," she moans, "Can I sir? Please let me sit on it, I promise I won't disappoint you this time..." And when you nod in permission she hurries forward to straddle you, unbuckling and pulling down your pants as she reaches down and strokes some blood back into your diminished dick until it was erect once more. Then with a sultry groan, Natty sits on it.

Sordid heat douses your cock as it slips into the warmth of Natty's belly, her pussy devouring every inch of you until her vulva kisses your root. Her soft breasts press against your face as she wraps her arms around your neck, she looks breathlessly down at you, "Oh sir! You are so... big! You're filling me up!" Her body shudders as she slowly rises before sliding back down it again, her wet folds dragging along your rubbered shaft as she squeezes you tightly, "Please," she gasps, "Cum in me whenever you want, I'll ride you-Oh! Until you finish!" Natty bounces enthusiastically on your manhood, your crotch soon becoming soaked as her pussy drools down onto it, her hips plying the air as she does her best to work your load out. While her head might have been mediocre, Natty's pussy was snug and wet, and before you can stop yourself your hands move to grasp her cheeks, clenching her ass tightly as she rides you. She gasps at this sign of approval, "Oh, sir! Yes! Use me! You can fuck me every day I promise!" Then she cums on your cock, her whole body quivering as yet more cream splatters onto your skin, and with her face bright red, she leans down and kisses you hungrily. You were not entirely too enthused about it, but Natty certainly was, her tongue shoving its way into your mouth as she grinds needily on your dick.

Seemingly surprised that your cock remained unconquered, the young slut leans dangerously backwards, grasping your chair's arms tightly as she searches for the right angle to finish you off. Sweat shimmers on her tanned skin as Natty pushes herself in desperation, her stomach clenching as it grips your shaft for all that it was worth, "Just. Fucking. Cum already!" she hisses in frustration, before remembering her place and begging, "Please cum in me sir! I'm trying my best here!" And to be fair, her best was starting to work on you, your hands squeezing her butt tightly as your balls laboriously start to rise; until with a grunt you haul her back onto you and fully down upon your cock. Natty gasps in relief and pleasure as you finally give in and empty yourself into her, slamming her nubile body against you as you fill the condom with your load. You stifle a groan as her cunt tries to crush your manhood, squeezing it like a vice as it works out every drop of cum in your shaft. When you are finished, she collapses against your chest, breathing heavily as she recovers, her face nestled against your neck. Once she has recuperated enough, you slap her ass to signal for her to unmount you.

Natty scrambles off you, looking worried, but before you could rise she returns to her knees and starts pulling the condom off for you. She waves the swaying sack in front of her face before giving you a sleazy smile and emptying it into her mouth, swallowing every last drop. Natty grimaces slightly, before leaning forward and cleaning your crotch up with her mouth, her tongue lapping up her own juices, "Did-Did I satisfy you, sir? Please?" Her demureness returns as she looks meekly up at you, pausing in her washing as she awaits your answer. You muse upon it, while she had hardly been the best partner you had been with, it had been reasonably entertaining so... You nod, and grandly inform her that her position was secure, and Natty beams with relief, "Oh! Thank you, sir! Thank you!" and to show proper appreciation, she starts sucking you off again. Your dick was still sensitive from orgasm, so it was not long before the stimulation from her eager slurping has you rigid once more. You sigh in enjoyment, and make the sort of decision that you were paid six figures for. You idly inquire that having saved her job, what would Natty say about a promotion? At which the whore stops, and stares up at you in wonder before a grin breaks through her chaste expression.

Natty smoothly stands and bends over your desk, reaching both hands backwards to spread her cheeks to reveal her flushed slit along with her dusky asshole, "I would say," she purrs, "Pick a hole, sir. I'll be your fuck-slut any day of the week!" Fired by a lust that had been often diminished of late, you rise as well, shuffling closer and slapping your member against her sodden labia, causing her to moan eagerly. You grasp her waist to hold her steady, and shove your cock into her pussy until your balls kiss her clit. Natty groans, "Oh fuck, sir! I can feel you... wait!" She glances back in horror, "You forgot to put the condom on!" Whereupon you smack her rear, and cheerfully inform her that as your personal assistant, she would be yours to use exclusively, and so you would not need to worry about contamination from other employees. Natty's eyes widen as she processes this, before giving in and smirking, "Oh, so I'll be getting promoted from the office cumdump to the boss's personal cumdump?" she shudders, her folds moistening noticeably, "Cum in me raw then, sir. Use me however you want!"

And so you do. The clapping of her cheeks was thunderous, and it was a damn good thing your door was soundproofed for security reasons, otherwise the whole floor would have heard it. Natty moans loudly as you plow her from behind, her walls gripping you all the tighter now that you were fucking her unprotected. If anything, the risk of impregnation excites the slut, and you hear her muttering excitedly under her breath about getting knocked up on her boss's desk. Natty's pussy had been wet before, but now it was downright soaking, her juices running down your thighs as her lips slobber all over your shaft. With the added stimulation of her bare skin upon yours, it was not long before your balls are twitching upwards once more. Natty notices your thrusts deepening, and she eagerly urges you on, "Oh fuck, are you going to cum in me, sir? Please, do it! Make me your slut! Oh fuck I'm going to get pregnant!" she screams as you pound away at her curvaceous rear until with a groan, you empty yourself into her. This time your seed spurts directly into Natty's fertile pussy, slowly filling it with your semen as she shakes in the throes of an orgasm.

When you finally leave the warmth of her body, you stagger backward and collapse into your chair, thoroughly exhausted by your exertions. Natty looks winded as well, but she still dutifully plops between your legs and starts sucking her creamy leavings off of your cock, while your own gift to her drips out onto the carpet. Once she had done a reasonable job cleaning off the worst of the mess, she gingerly rises to her feet, grabbing her clothes from your desk and slowly pulling them on, "So...um," she coughs awkwardly, "I am getting that promotion, right?" You wave in acknowledgement, and Natty smiles smugly, "Also, were you serious about the exclusive thing? Because uh, I am kinda popular..." You consider this, the impact on morale would be significant if the office were to suddenly lose access to Natty's free-use holes, so... You compromise, she could sleep with as many women as she liked, but she could only use her mouth to pleasure men. Natty thinks about it, before shrugging, "Sure why not? Okay so, will you be needing me again today or...?" You dismiss her with some warmth, and once she has finished struggling into her tight outfit (her panties were no doubt soon inundated), she waves in goodbye and saunters out of the door as if she had not just been bent over and plowed like a cheap whore by her manager. Your secretary peeks inside thoughtfully, and when your eyes meet, you can tell she has inferred exactly what happened, and she winks knowingly, wiggling her tongue between two fingers to indicate your shared bond. Was there anyone Natty hadn't fucked?

With a tired sigh you roll your chair forward once more, and start mentally thinking about what excuse you could use to fit another HR manager into the budget, when you realize that while the executive meeting had been muted, you certainly had not been, and your camera had been on the entire time. Utterly mortified, you frantically unmute the call's audio as a dozen somber faces stare back at you from the virtual meeting room. But before you could muster any excuses they break into laughter and raucous cheers, congratulating you on your excellent performance! The C-Suite howl and pound at their desks in approbation, causing more than a few heads to quizzically pop up in front of them before being pushed back down again. You are shocked and more than a little relieved to hear that the executive team had extremely impressed, and were adding you to the fast track for promotions, they needed a man like you who could fuck on the team! After all, nothing was more tedious than having some prissy loser who wouldn't join in the weekly executive orgies! With that stunning information bouncing between your ears, the meeting ends, and you consider just what a morning it had been.

It seems like it would become even easier to resist hitting send on you resignation, mostly due to it being difficult to reach for your mouse while you were busy pumping Natty's nubile pussy full of cum.

[marvelslut16]

Robby's Biological Clock

Pairing: Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x resident!reader

Synopsis: Robby opens up to the reader that he realizes that he wants a child after finding out that he almost had one.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: Mentions of abortion. Standing a little to close to the edge of a roof. My poor writing, felt cute might delete later.

A/N: The writing bug has bitten me yet again. And I have another Langdon one half done already. Wrote this over the course of 2 days and I didn't proof read it, so I really hope it makes sense!

You keep your eyes trained on Robby after he passes his caseload off to Abbot, you’ve kept an eye on him for the last few hours really. Something shifted in him a few hours ago, and he went from his stern but friendly self to closed off and distant. With everybody. You’ve been watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to snap completely. Or have a breakdown.

You watch as Robby slips out a side door into the stairwell, and you know right away where he’s going. You’d never seen it with your own eyes, but it was a poorly kept secret in the ED that after a long grueling shift either Abbot or Robby would go up to the roof and the other would talk them down. Everyone who knew, knew they wouldn’t actually jump, it was just a release for them. 

This time you can’t ignore Robby’s obvious distress, watching Abbot get dragged into South eight by one of his residents for a consult, you make up your mind to follow Robby. Up and up and up the stairs you go, until the wind is rushing past your face. Taking a deep breath, you let the cooler air wash over you after a long shift, and a part of you understands why your two favorite attendings come up here. 

“I don’t want to talk tonight, Jack,” Robby’s voice floats to you with the wind at the sound of the door shutting, never bothering to turn around.

“It’s a good thing I’m not Jack then,” you walk over to the railing, looking at the sunset, not at your attending. 

“(Y/L/N), what are you doing up here?” Robby turns around at your voice, and you reach out your hand a little for him to grab if he needs to be steadied.

“Thought you could use someone to talk to, you’ve been off the past few hours,” he sighs at your words, and turns back to the sunset. “Can you at least come back on this side of the railing? Please?”

“I’m fine,” he ignores your plea, and your offer to listen to him, leaning back against the railing.You stand in silence with him for two minutes- you counted- before deciding to do something you have absolutely no interest in and, frankly, scares the shit out of you. Hiking one leg up, you swing it over the railing and slip to the other side beside Robby.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he whips his arm out in front of you to keep you from slipping or stepping too close to the edge. 

“The same thing you are,” you sass at him against your better judgement. 

“So if I jumped off a bridge you’d do it too?” he matches your sass, sounding just like your mom when she would talk about the dangers of peer pressure.  

“No, I’d be waiting at the bottom for your dumb ass so I could save you,” your voice is harsh, wanting to nip any conversation where he could possibly die in the bud. “So…”

“So?” he mimics your voice causing you to roll your eyes at him.

“Are you going to tell me what's wrong?” you shift slightly to face Robby, back to the pink hues of the sunset.

“I found something out today,” he pauses, sighs, and rubs his forehead. “My world got turned upside down.”

“You aren’t dying, are you?” you tried, and failed to keep your voice neutral, fear lacing every word.

No,” he leans forward, and you clutch onto his arm desperately to make sure he doesn’t go tumbling if there’s a strong gust of wind. “Nothing like that.”

“Do you have a secret kid, or something?” you tease, and by the way his lips pull down into a frown, you know you’ve struck a little too close to home. “I’m sorry, I was just joking.”

“It’s fine,” his voice is gruff, but his soulful brown eyes give away that he is in fact, not fine. “Today a woman I used to date admitted that while we were together she became pregnant, and made the decision to terminate the pregnancy.”

“Robby-” he stops you before you can start pitying him.

“It really is fine. I understand. It was her decision and I support that, I would have supported her decision in the moment, too. But now I can’t stop imagining what my life would be like if I had a child,” he glances at your face, before looking back over your shoulder at the descending sun. “I love Jake like he’s my own, but any day now he could decide he wants nothing to do with me, and never talk to me again. For years I put off the idea of having kids, I didn’t want the burden while I was still in medical school, then I was focused on advancing my career, then I met Janey and she had Jake, and with Jake I felt like I didn’t need my own children.”

“But now you feel like you do?” you ask cautiously, surprised that by talking he’ll remember you’re here and clam up.

“I have to have a child soon if I want to see them grow up and see them off to college, my biological clock is ticking,” he tries to ease the tension with a stupid joke. “Since I found out this afternoon, all I’ve been thinking about is how I’d have a toddler now, I’d be taking my child for their first day of kindergarten, I could be signing them up for dance class or little league. I would actually take days off to take them on vacations, and go to waterparks, and fairs.”

“Well when you’re ready and announce to the world that the great Michael Robinavitch is ready to have children, there will be a line of women at least two blocks long offering up their ovaries for you. I’ll have to fight them off and keep them out of the ED so we can still treat patients.”

“You’re more confident than I am,” he locks eyes with you, finally. 

“Oh please, you’re kind, caring, funny when you want to be, and you have fantastic genetics!” you don’t know what you’re thinking, you aren’t thinking really, and reach out to brush your fingers lightly through his salt and pepper hair. “You still have a good head of hair, and gorgeous brown eyes that would look so adorable passed down to a baby. You’re going to be a fantastic dad someday soon, Michael.”

The door to the stairwell creaks open, both you and Robby jolt out of the little moment you’re having. You wobble a little and Robby practically throws himself at you to catch you and keep you upright. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, face closer to his than it’s ever been before. You could just lean in two more inches and your lips would be on his. But you can’t do that, you can’t take advantage of him and his vulnerability he’s shown you tonight on the roof, and especially not when someone else has joined you two. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Jack barks out a laugh from the doorway. 

“Nope,” your voice cracks, and you carefully step away from Robby this time.

“Just trying to keep (Y/L/N) from falling,” Michael answers at the same time.

You thought the stairwell door opening was jarring, but nothing matches the cold feeling of reality washing over you at the use of your last name. It’s not like you expected him to fall to his knees and beg you to give him a child, but you at least thought after bearing his soul to you Robby could call you by your first name in front of other people, especially his best friend.

“Well I won’t take up anymore of your boyfriend's time,” you try to cut the tension, but it’s so thick you can’t even hack away at it.

“Myrna calls us the same thing,” Dr. Abbot shakes his head and offers you his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile at your second favorite attending as he helps you climb back over the railing. 

~

Everyone you worked with in the Pitt knew that you were having a tough time deciding if you wanted to be an ED attending or go into pediatrics once you graduate. You’ve always had a soft spot for kids, and they seem to always be attached to you, no matter how shy they were when they walked or were rolled through the doors. And that’s why Dana always makes sure you take the cases involving children. Today for instance, there’s a two year old back in the ER for the third time in just as many months because her fevers keep spiking and causing her to have seizures. 

Robby watches you with the girl, Eliana, you recognized her right away from her last few visits. He watches the way you crouch down to her height when she wants to ask you a question, making sure that you’re eye level with her. Watches the way you pull a dumdum out of your scrub pocket, you always have some in there in case a little comes in. The way you effortlessly scoop her into your arms to get her to stay still long enough to check to see if she bit her tongue or cheek too hard. 

Today you’ve promised Eliana that you’ll stay after your shift and sit with her until her parents arrive, both were at work when Eliana had her seizure at daycare. When Robby looks back over at you, you're curled up on a chair that he brought into the bay just for you, and Eliana is sitting daintily on your lap, both of you engrossed in the picture book Cassie’s son left in the break room a few years ago. If he strains his ears just enough, he can hear the different voices you give each character.

“Dude, you’re obviously in love with her,” Jack appears out of nowhere, waiting for Robby to hand off his cases.  Michael scoffs in denial, but his words are cut off, “even Gloria is betting on you guys.”

“Probably so she can send me to HR and fire me for dating a subordinate,” Robby pushes his readers back up, going back to the chart he was pretending to update while he stared at you.

“She won’t be a student anymore in one month man, I hate to break it to you, no one cares that you're her attending. Just you,” Jack sighs at his friend's stupidity. “So stop trying to come up with excuses for why you can’t go for it. I saw you two on the roof, the tension was palpable.”

“What are you, some kind of walking romance novel?” Robby puts his tablet down, the guise of updating a patient's chart long forgotten. 

“I’m just saying, if I had a woman as caring and as gorgeous as her offering to carry my babies, I would jump at the opportunity,” Jack throws his hands up in surrender at the glare Michael is sending his way. 

“How long were you out there?” 

An hour later you can finally leave, Eliana’s parents arrive with apologies, their eternal gratitude, and promises of them stopping by with donuts in the morning for the whole crew. Slowly, you trudge to your locker, doing mental math to figure how much longer it’ll be until you can slip into bed after a nice, long, steaming, shower. 

“Do you want kids?” Dr. Robby corners you by your locker, you thought he had left over an hour ago when his shift ended. 

“I’d have one in nine months if I found the right guy,” you refrain from swearing at his sudden appearance. “Why? Do you know a guy?” 

“I do,” Robby nods, backing you up into said locker. “With your nose and his gorgeous brown eyes, you two would have the cutest baby around.”

“You think?” your body relaxes into his when he rests hand on your hip, thumb sliding under your scrub top. 

“Most definitely,” he whispers, breath skimming across lips.

“Well Dr. Robby, your biological clock is ticking, we should probably get started now,” you laugh as he fumbles to open your locker, having given him the code over a year ago so he could grab you your cardigan when he grabbed his sweatshirt. He rips your purse out of the locker, grabs your hand and drags you out of the hospital. 

[tiramissyoucake]

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Continued from this (Mark begs reader in the rain), felt appropriate♡ tried to keep it gender neutral, no proof reading, Mark wants that cookie so fucking bad, penetrative, barely any prep, pronebone, headlock, good boy usage but like only once, no one cums this is a cliffhanger ending. I hate this but I hope u like it I'm gonna go pass out

You had no idea what possessed you, what forced your hand to open your doors to him, how he managed to even land his lips on yours again and more importantly; why it made your heart flutter and your stomach erupt with butterflies.

Mark Grayson had the ability to appeal to your libido for his own gain, you learned that the hard way during your previous relationship, and from the feel of his hand slipping into your shorts as he suffocated your mouth, he retained that ability somehow— you were convinced he was some incubus in disguise of a half human half viltrumite loser.

"Don't you miss me?" He mumbled as he ushered your back to the armrest on the couch, his knee keeping your legs parted as he climbed over you. "I missed you, fuck- I missed you so much..." his hand moved back and forth in your shorts— he shouldn't be touching you like this, you should stop him.

You should shove him off, open your eyes and stop leaning your head back as he toyed with you however he pleased, flesh rubbing against flesh almost purring under the sound of rustling and squelching fabric; your shorts and his wet sleeve from the rain.

"We can't." You gasped, your hand weakly wrapped around his wrist. "Mark- we shouldn't-"

"Why not?" He almost whined, lips grazing yours. "You want me." His hand almost jolted against you, like he was too happy to touch you again. "As much as I want you."

You didn't answer. Deep down, you knew he was right, as pathetic as he seemed, you were just as pathetic for letting him in. Your eyelids finally let you look at him as his hand withdrew, Mark tugged the wet sweater off him— peeling it off his skin as the water glistened off of him, now he really looked like some fantasy hottie only a demon could conjure.

The shirt landed on the ground, his hands immediately invading your body, feeling you as he hissed. "Take it off," he muttered. "All of it." Your hands complied.

For a moment, Mark's hands finally retracted from you to watch you strip— a hazy look in his eye that you couldn't discern. The moment your shirt was off, his lips were on yours again. His hands gripped your wrists, guiding them around his body as a silent way to ask for you to reciprocate, he couldn't exactly ask you to while stuffing his tongue into your mouth.

You shut your eyes to kiss him and when you opened them at the feeling of air whip around you for a moment, he let you down on your bed. "... how'd you..?"

"We've been together for a while," he smiled for the first time tonight. "I know your place like the back of my hand." And he was on you again, you could feel his hands harshly wrestle off your clothes as if silently asking you to help— you got to removing the remainder of your clothes and he moaned into your mouth as his own focused on tearing off his pants.

You heard a 'fwip', cloth thrown aside too quickly and Mark sat up on his knees to push you back onto your mattress. "Jeez, Mark—"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I just miss you so fucking much." He didn't sound apologetic, his hand coming down to spread the beading pre-cum over his tip. "You have no idea how bad these past few months have been..."

The sight was unfair; he looked at you from above with hearts in his eyes, like you were both his spouse and his favourite pornstar. his hand furiously fisting his cock as his chest rose and fell, his skin flushed pretty pink that matched the tip of his dick, his lips were glossy with a mix of your and his spit. They parted so he could ask you;

"C-can I try something...?" It was adorable how he was still hesitant when it came to sex. "I sorta... learned it for you.."

You raised one eyebrow, intrigued. "Okay.. what?"

"Can you lay on your stomach for me?"

You had an idea of where this was going, following his instructions you heard him suck in a gust of air.

"Yes, just like that... lift your hips a little.." he continued, moving over you and aiming his tip to your inviting hole, you could feel him nudge.

"This is what you had in mind..?" His arms caged around you as he lowered himself. "Yeah... figured you'd be into it.."

You wanted to let out a patronising laugh just to poke fun to that pathetic pup, it quickly turned into a shocked cross between a yelp and an exclamation as his cock slipped its head through. "F-Fuck..! Sorry- just.. gimme a sec.."

You thought he'd pull out, not inch the rest in, Mark grit his teeth, groaning as he felt that familiar warmth- the one he dreamed of enveloping him again instead of the palm of his hand. Your hands clung to the sheets beneath you as he moved until his hips were against yours, skin to skin.

"Y-you're... the worst..." You managed to pant, the length of his dick managing to sap away your intelligence. He laughed and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "I am, I know..." he whimpered, his hips jerking impulsively.

Mark let out a moan at the first proper thrust, then another at the second, the third, until his hips started plapping against yours softly with his breath mixing with groans. "I'm the worst, god- I'm fucking horrible.."

"Mark, oh..! Fuck- Mark!" Your mouth only knew cusses and his name, the impact of his hips causing you to rock back and forth, his arm hooking around your neck to stabilise you. "I'm the worst for ever letting you go... I love you, god, I love you so much."

You said nothing, what could you say? Your throat was constricted by his arm as he held you in a stable but not painful headlock, his cock hammering into you, the skin slapping steadily getting louder with his moans. "I love you baby," he announced, proneboning you until your body was jelly. "You love me too, right?"

Your moans and grunts were your only response. He hummed and kissed your cheek, disgustingly sweet. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything, your body's responding just. Fine!" His hips bucked hard against you as he annunciated his words. Your tightening was driving him insane.

Legs shaking, you hold onto his arm with one hand as the other clutches the sheets. "Mark..! Mark!!" The tip of his cock hit all the right places, you couldn't think, noise filled your head; the sheets rustling, skin slapping, Mark moaning and announcing his love in your ear, arms shuffling against your ears and the storm booming outside.

"I'm never leaving you," he declared with a gasp, tugging you close as his nose buried against your skin. "Shit— can you let me stay the night..? Please— aren't I being a good boy? Aren't you feeling so good right now?" His hips snapped against you once more, eliciting a yelp from you. "Say yes. Please. Mmf, I know you want to. Just say yes- please say yes. Say yes."

You were in for a long night.

[sarahs-secrets2]

safety net ˋ♡ˊ

dr jack abbot x reader

reader scared to admit feelings but jack is reassuring, super sweet, fluff, all the good stuff!!! (not my gif <3)

wc: 2.1k!

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

“So what do you have planned for your day off?” Dr. Shen asks, leaning against the nurse’s station as he swirls what's left of his very melted, old Dunkin ‘iced’ coffee. 

“Uh, I’m not sure.” You lie. Your eyes flick up from the computer and find Dr. Jack Abbot checking a chart as he leaves an exam room. Trying not to stare, you quickly shift your attention back down. 

“See if it were my day off-” Shen is about to go into grand detail about his perfect day off, before a voice cuts him off. 

“C’mon, brother,” Dr. Abbot laughs, his hand falling to John’s shoulder, giving him a light shake. “Got something for you.” As Jack pulls Dr. Shen away, his eyes meet yours, giving you a side smile and quick wink before heading towards a fresh trauma.  

“Hey, you have tomorrow off too,” the voice is far away, but you know it’s Shen. Your eyes glance off to the side, seeing Abbot shake his head with a small laugh while snapping on a fresh pair of gloves before entering the trauma room. 

It was no coincidence that the two of you shared a day off. It had been something quietly in the works for a while. Jack asked you to go to a new restaurant that opened a few blocks from the hospital. It wasn't a fancy spot, very casual, a perfect place for a summer evening and some drinks. The restaurant was no longer new by the time you were both able to get the same night off, most of the hospital staff had already been with their family or friends, or spouses. Except you and Jack, who both promised not to go until you could go together. 

You two were just really good friends, at least that’s what you told yourself. It was easier to compartmentalize it that way than dive into feelings that you were far from ready to unpack. It was a silly little crush, nothing serious. 

Now you’re lying to yourself. 

Dr. Abbot was attractive. There was no denying that, but he was also patient, thoughtful, thorough, you could go on and on. Every move he made was precise and thought out, he exuded quiet confidence that pulled you directly into his orbit. Abbot was also extremely good at his job, which just made it all the more impossible to deny any sort of attraction to him. On top of it all, his no bullshit demeanor made him intimidating in the best way. It had come from his military background, which he told you about briefly. The stories were told away from work, mornings in the park, or a rare night off at the local dive bar, always a few beers in, the two of you being the last ones left. 

Maybe he figured the stories of his past would scare you away, put some distance between growing feelings you both hid from each other. Wrong. It only made the two of you want to be closer.

While you were trying to deny your feelings, Jack was adamant about his. The tension is always palpable between the two of you. Stolen glances, hands brushing in passing, slow walks home, Abbot made it a habit to always be there for you. He picked up on your fears of falling in love without you having to verbalize them. It was easy for him to notice you, you mirrored him and the fears he once carried. Jack knew what it was like to lose love, he had mourned, and had put the work in to heal. It’s not a linear journey, he knew that, but he knew himself enough to know that he was ready to let himself love again when he saw you. It was cliche, but it was a feeling he hadn't come across in a long time, and he didn’t want to regret letting it go. 

The rest of the shift is a blur.

It’s busy in a way that doesn't allow your mind to wander. It’s perfect. The sun is rising, and like clockwork, the day shift filters in, cases are handed off, and you are bag in hand and out the doors. 

“Hey,” Jack’s voice stops you before you can cross the street to start your walk home. 

“Hey,” you turn to see him with tired eyes, and his military bag slung over one shoulder. 

“Better not be trying to come up with an excuse to get out of our date,” he offers a side smile, eyes crinkling. There was that word date, the very thing you were trying to convince yourself it wasn't. 

“Don’t give me any ideas now, Abbot.” 

He gives a genuine but exhausted laugh. “Can I pick you up around…7?”

“7 is good,” you smile, “I’ll see you then.” You start to cross the street when you hear him again.

“You sure I can’t walk you home?” He makes it a habit to offer every time he sees you start your walk. Most of the time, you turn him down, not wanting to burden him. There is the rare occasion where you say yes, and you two walk together, mostly in silence. It’s a cherished moment, one you allow yourself only so often. It’s hard not to get attached to a man who makes himself available in the ways Jack Abbot does. 

“I’ll be okay,” you nod and give him an honest smile.

He smiles back, walking backwards, giving a wave. “7,” he tugs the strap of his backpack up onto his shoulder. “Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t.” You drag it out laughing and giving a small wave back as you walk away. 

Jack steals a glance, looking back and watching you walk through the park. Part of him wished you had said yes today. Anytime spent with you was time well spent. It wasn't like he had anything else going on, he planned to sleep and then see you, and walking you back to your apartment would have made the time in between seeing you bearable. 

The second you get home, you’re showered and in bed in record time. 

Sleep comes easily after shifts like the one tonight. Before you know it, the alarm on your phone is beeping, waking you up and reminding you of the date (that you keep trying to tell yourself is not a date) with the guy you work with, and who you’ve only had a crush on for the longest time. Time dwindles, and after distracting yourself with cleaning, reorganizing, and other mundane tasks to take your mind off later, you finally start to get ready. It helps tremendously that the restaurant is casual, so it’s easy to dress for. Despite giving yourself plenty of time to get ready, you feel anxiety building up as the clock ticks closer to 7 pm. Knowing Jack as well, he would be sure to be early, but not early enough that he would show up before you were all set.  

6:53 pm, there’s a knock at the door. 

The knock is soft, gentle, it’s thought out. It’s almost a peek into how nervous Jack truly is, which doesn't happen very often. Opening the door, you see Dr. Jack Abbot standing with his hands in the pockets of his dark wash jeans. The button-down polo he's wearing has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, freckled forearms on display. It’s rare to see him in anything but scrubs, and damn does he look good. The dinner wasn't fancy, but you could tell he still wanted to put effort into how he looked.  

“You clean up well, Doctor Abbot.” You smile brightly at him, catching a whiff of his cologne wafting in the air: teakwood, eucalyptus, and worn leather. It’s intoxicating. 

“So do you, Doctor.” His eyes flick up and down your body. “You ready?”

Nodding, you step out and lock the door behind you. Jack’s hand grazes your lower back, letting you lead the way. 

“You don't mind walking, do you?” 

“Of course not,” you bump your shoulder into his softly, earning a light laugh from Jack. 

The two of you walk in a comfortable silence for a while before Jack speaks up.

“You know, Robby was trying to get me to go to this place for at least two weeks straight before he took a hint.”

“Really? You could’ve gone, you know.” You steal a glance.

“As badly as I want to go on a date with Robby, I wanted to save my first time for tonight, with you.” He shrugs, meeting your eyes.

You can spot the restaurant from a mile away, with glowing string lights illuminating an outdoor patio, lively music playing, and other patrons chatting away with drinks in hand. Jack’s hand returns to your lower back, guiding you through the busy restaurant and to the host stand. 

You two are led back outside, the table located in a corner, making it more private than the others. Drinks and appetizers are ordered, and the anxiety hanging over your head seems to vanish. Jack and you slip into conversation, and it flows through dinner. Swapping stories of the past, and some of the present, and sharing glimpses of what you both want in your futures, you see more into Jack than you ever have before. The voice in the back of your head warns you of what happened last time you got close to someone like this, but you push it down, turning all your focus to the man in front of you. 

Time seems to fly by, and Jack, being the gentleman he is, pays the tab despite your protest to split it. 

The sun has fully set, the stars are out, and a light breeze blows through the night air as the two of you walk slowly back. Shoulders bumping occasionally, fingertips just barely touching each other as the two of you walk closely together, trying to preserve the night, neither of you ready for it to end.

Back at your apartment, you linger at the door, not reaching for your key just yet. Leaning against the door slightly, you smile at Jack.

“Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” even though it’s dark, the small glow from the porch light illuminates his smile.

The moment hangs in the air, his eyes never leaving yours. Jack steps closer, closing the already small distance. Taking a deep breath, you get another rush of his cologne, making your head spin. Your hand reaches back, grasping the door handle, trying to steady yourself.

You wish Jack Abbot wasn't so in tune with your emotions, he cuts through your exterior and sees you for what you are in a way no one else could. You can see it on his face how he is reading you, he feels your hesitation, building a wall between the two of you.

“You don’t have to run away from this, you know.” His head tilts slightly as he speaks, eyes never leaving yours. 

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you do.” 

“Jack,” it comes out softer than you expected. It’s vulnerable. It’s a plea. This is uncharted territory. You could turn away and run right now, literally. He would let you, he wouldn't push you if you weren't ready. Jack Abbot was patient, he had already waited months to take you to dinner. He would wait till you were ready. 

“I know.” He echoes your words back to you. He understands what this would mean for both of you, at work, with each other, a permanent crossing of a long-standing boundary. On the other hand, it was a boundary both of you ached to cross. The idea of doing so weighed more in theory than had crossed your mind. 

Jack’s hand reaches for yours, he half expects you to pull away. Instead, you reach out, meeting him in the middle. He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. He’s put the power back in your hands, he doesn’t want to rush you. 

Your head is reeling, trying to compose yourself, trying to make sense of what you should do. The part of you holding yourself back seems to vanish the longer you look at Jack Abbot in front of you. 

A switch flips, and you listen to Jack’s words and stop running. With a simple nod, he knows exactly what you mean, no words needed. His hands move to cradle your face, holding you close. Jack’s lips crash into yours, the tension between the two of you finally snapping. Your hands paw at his chest, trying to get him closer.

Everything else is quiet, and for once, it all makes sense now that you’re kissing Jack Abbot. 

You’re not sure how long you two are like this, only stopping to catch some air. 

“Been waiting for that for a while,” Jack smirks, his hands wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You bury your head into his chest, attempting to hide your smile, "Me too."

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

hope you all enjoyed :) (bear with me if there's typos, its 4am loll i will fix!!)

[lowrisemiller]

3, 2, 1, ACTION . ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

based on this ask | masterlist | 2.8k words | 📹 | having sex and recording it, kissing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv sex, switch povs, m!masturbating, edging | i had sm fun w/ this tysm for requesting! |

summary: you found an old but working camera while out on patrol. instead of thinking about take pictures and creating memories something else completely took over your mind…

You found it buried in the snow just past the perimeter—half-dead, lens cracked on one side, but the battery still blinked when you thumbed it on. A camera. God knows who dropped it, or when, or what it had seen before it landed in your hands. It didn’t matter.

You carried it home like it meant something. Like it had a purpose.

Joel sat on the couch in his flannel and jeans, working a knot out of his boot lace, fingers slow, tired. You watched him from the doorway a second too long, camera heavy in your jacket pocket. He looked up.

“What?” he asked, soft but suspicious.

You swallowed your nerves. “I brought us somethin’.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Unless it’s dinner, I ain’t in the mood.”

You walked over, pulled it out like it was a damn wedding ring. Set it gently on the coffee table between you. “It’s a camera.”

Joel glanced at it, uninterested. “Yeah. And?”

“And it works.”

He blinked. “Okay.”

You sat next to him, thigh brushing his thigh. “I was thinkin’… maybe we could use it.”

A pause.

He turned slowly to face you. “Use it how?”

You hesitated, cheeks burning. You hadn’t meant to say it so soon, but the way he was looking at you—all stern and unreadable—made you want to push. Made you want to crawl in his lap and ask for things you shouldn’t.

“I wanna record us,” you said. Quiet. Honest. “Just once.”

His jaw tensed. “What do you mean—us?”

“You know what I mean.”

Joel stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “Sweetheart…”

You got to your knees in front of him before he could keep talking. Looked up at him, palms splayed on his thighs.

“I just wanna see it,” you said, desperate now. “Wanna see how you touch me. How you—fuck, Joel, how you look when you’re inside me.”

His hands hovered like he didn’t know where to put them. “That’s not—baby, that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You really want somethin’ like that lyin’ around? It could be dangerous.”

“I’ll keep it safe. No one’ll ever see it but me.” Your fingers curled around his belt. “Please, Joel. Just once. For me.”

He exhaled hard. Looked down at you, torn and twitchy and so close to giving in. His hand finally dropped, touching your cheek.

“You don’t need a camera,” he said, voice low. “You got me right here.”

You leaned into his hand. “But I wanna keep you forever.”

That did it. You felt it in the way his thighs shifted under your palms. In the soft groan he tried to swallow. In the way his thumb dragged across your lips like he was already picturing it.

He closed his eyes.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Once. But you stay close. You do exactly what I say.”

Your smile was slow. “Always do.”

Joel cursed under his breath.

And when you got up, went to set the camera just right on the nightstand, you didn’t miss the way his hands were already undoing his belt.

You can hear the soft, static click of the record button, and that’s it. No beeping. No countdown. Just that tiny blink of red in the corner of the room, steady and quiet like it’s watching you breathe.

Joel’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread, shirt already off, that strong, tired body on full display—his chest dusted with gray hair, thighs flexing as he watches you set up the frame. His jeans are undone, waistband tugged low, the bulge in his boxers thick and heavy, straining.

He’s already half-hard.

“You’re sure?” he asks again, voice low and rough.

You nod, stepping toward him slowly. You crawl between his legs and place your hands on his thighs, the denim warm under your palms. “It’s already recording.”

Joel drags a hand down his face like he’s regretting every decision he’s ever made—but when you kiss the inside of his knee and trail your mouth up the inseam, you feel him twitch under the fabric.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

“You don’t even have to look at it,” you whisper, lifting your eyes to his brown ones. “Just look at me.”

And when you lean up to kiss him, he grabs your face with both hands and kisses you back so hard your breath catches in your throat. The kind of kiss that makes your knees weak. Tongue slow, patient, possessive. Like he’s trying to brand the shape of you into his mouth.

By the time he pulls away, you’re gasping.

“Clothes off,” he says hoarsely. “C’mon. Let me see you.”

You undress for him—slow, tugging your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra, slipping your pants down one leg at a time. He watches every second. Not the camera. You.

When you’re bare in front of him, he lets out a low breath. His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs tracing the skin just above your knees.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re already wet.”

You nod, dizzy. “Joel—please.”

“Lay back.”

You do. Back hitting the mattress, legs spreading for him automatically. He crawls over you, bigger than the bed, arms braced on either side of your head. His mouth brushes your ear.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at the fuckin’ camera. I want you to feel this.”

He kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His tongue drags slowly and heavy over one nipple, then the other, before he kisses down your belly and sinks between your thighs like he belongs there.

And when his mouth finds you—warm, wet, perfect—you arch with a soft cry. His tongue is patient. Flat, dragging circles over your clit, then flicking faster, lips sucking it until you’re whimpering, twitching, trying not to close your eyes.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let it show.”

You’re already shaking when he finally rises to his knees and strokes himself—slow and hard, leaking at the tip. You watch the way he fists it, how red and thick it looks in his hand, and you whimper.

“I want it,” you breathe. “Inside.”

Joel groans low in his throat. He lines up, runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, and just barely pushes in.

The stretch burns—thick, aching, perfect—and your mouth falls open on a gasp.

“Oh my God— Joel—”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Let the camera hear how good I fuck you.”

He thrusts deeper, watching your face twist, jaw slack, your breath catching. He moves slow—so slow—until he’s buried to the base, hips flush against yours.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he grits. “Always so good for me.”

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes in again, groaning as your cunt clenches around him. One hand slips under your thigh and hooks it higher around his waist, opening you more, making room.

Each thrust drags the air from your lungs.

He keeps it steady, rhythm deep and deliberate, hips rocking into yours as your body trembles. Your moans are high and desperate, choked off by the sheer pressure of him inside you.

You try to speak. Try to say his name. But it just comes out as noise.

Joel chuckles darkly, voice fucked-out. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted to see how I ruin you?”

You nod helplessly, eyes wet.

“Look at how easy you come apart,” he mutters, fucking into you a little harder now. “You’ll watch this back with your hand between your thighs, won’t you? Pretending' it’s me.”

You moan louder, body jolting.

“Say it.”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer. “I—fuck, Joel—I will.”

And then it happens—

He changes.

The moment your voice breaks, something flickers in him. His hips snap harder. His breath hitches. His hand grips your jaw tight enough to keep you still as he fucks you like he’s gone feral.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “Every fuckin’ inch of you. Look at how you take me. Like you were made for it.”

The camera is forgotten.

Now it’s just skin and sweat and the wet sound of you taking him again and again, your cunt sucking him in so greedily it makes him groan every time he bottoms out.

He lifts your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half. Fucking deeper. Harder.

“Gonna come all over this cock,” he mutters, voice hot against your neck. “Wanna show you what you do to me. Look at me, baby. Eyes on me.”

“I— I’m close— Joel— I—”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know.”

His hand flies to your clit, thumb rubbing tight and fast, and your whole body clenches, legs trembling as your orgasm hits like a wave.

You cry out, loud and wrecked, and Joel’s hips stutter.

“Fuuuuck—that’s it,” he groans. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He comes inside you with a long, broken sound, cock twitching deep, filling you until it spills out slow and warm between your thighs.

And when he finally collapses over you, your legs still draped over his shoulders, you both lay there for a long, breathless moment.

The red light blinks once.

Still recording.

Joel’s voice is a rasp against your skin.

“You really gonna keep that forever?”

You smile, dazed. “Every second of it.”

It’s late.

The house creaks now and then with the wind, but nothing stirs. Not even the fire—burnt down to its glowing bones.

And Joel? Joel’s sitting still in that damn chair like something’s wound tight in his chest and won’t let go. You’ve been gone since morning—long patrol east, won’t be back until tomorrow—and the silence left behind has teeth.

He’s already two buttons down, belt unbuckled, pants shoved low on his hips.

In front of him, the old camcorder sits steady on the wooden table. The one you found on patrol, grinning and breathless when you handed it to him. Said it was still functional—still had some battery left, even. He’d grunted at the time, tossed it on the dresser like it didn’t mean anything.

It means something now.

The little screen flips open with a soft click, a flicker of blue light humming to life, and then—

There you are.

The video’s grainy, but Joel doesn’t care. He can see you just fine. Better than fine. You’re spread out on his bed, legs open, body moving beneath him, a haze of sweat glowing on your skin. His body, rough and broad, takes up half the frame. The camera had been set on the nightstand, just a little off-center, so it catches everything.

You had begged him for this.

On your knees, mouth swollen, voice wrecked: “Just once. I wanna see it. I wanna keep it with me forever.”

He hadn’t said yes right away. He never did. But the way you’d looked at him—wanting, soft and wicked at once—he’d given in. You always got what you wanted from him when you looked like that.

And now he gets this.

Joel strokes himself once, slow, thick fingers dragging from base to tip. His cock twitches, already wet at the head, leaking for you like a goddamn teenager. It’s not even shameful—he’s too far gone for shame.

On the screen, your back arches. His hand wraps around your throat. Your moan crackles through the built-in speaker, quiet and sweet and soaked in pleasure.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasps, mouth parting.

He strokes again, slow, tight around the base. Watches as his on-screen self pushes into you—deep, hips flexing as he buries himself to the hilt. You take him like you were made for it. The wet drag of his cock inside you, the sound of your cunt clenching down on him, all of it plays through the camcorder’s tiny speaker like a prayer.

Joel swallows hard. His hand leaves his cock, resting against his thigh. He’s not ready to come. Not yet.

He watches you pant, watches your fingers grip the sheets. Onscreen, he grabs your leg and pushes it up—opens you even wider. The camera shakes slightly as the bed rocks beneath you. The sound of your moan—high, breathless, needy—makes Joel groan in real time.

He presses a hand to his belly. His cock twitches against it, hot and heavy and needy.

Then he hears it—his voice, low and rough: “That’s it, baby. Take all of it.”

His own voice ruins him.

He fists his cock again and strokes, just once. Once. The sensation is almost too much already.

He breathes through his nose, sharp and shallow. The tape keeps going. He watches himself roll his hips into you slowly, watches your eyes flutter shut, your thighs shaking. Then, you say it—his favorite part—whimpering, desperate: “Joel, I can feel you in my stomach—oh my god—”

“Shit,” he mutters aloud, hand tightening. His hips jerk up into his fist involuntarily, needing more pressure, more friction, but he slows himself. He won’t come. Not yet.

He shifts, wide legs bracing him in the chair, the tension winding him up like a coil. The camcorder’s screen catches the moment he presses your legs up and leans in, burying his face in your neck as he pounds into you. Your body bounces from the force of it, your tits moving with every thrust, mouth open in a silent scream.

He hears himself on the recording again, low and cocky now: “Fuckin’ made for me, huh? Look how good you take it.”

Joel groans, stroking himself harder now. His hand glides slick with spit and precum. He’s dripping everywhere—his belly, his fist, the arm of the chair. He wants to finish, but he needs to draw it out.

The tape plays on. He watches you start to come, sees the exact second it hits you—your mouth drops open, legs shaking around his waist, that tight clench that he knows so well rippling through your body. You’re crying out for him. His name—“Joel, Joel, Joel—” Like a goddamn melody.

And he’s right there on-screen, watching himself fuck you through it, muttering filth in your ear. He feels that phantom tightness, the way your cunt always pulses when you come, and he has to stop again, squeezing the base of his cock to hold it off.

“God damn,” he grits out. “You feel so good. I fuckin’ ruin you every time, huh?”

He doesn’t even realize he’s talking aloud. The camcorder repeats the moment of his own orgasm—hips stuttering, body locking up, face buried in your shoulder as he spills inside you. It’s raw. It’s real. No performance. Just pleasure.

Joel can see the aftermath, too—his cum dripping down your thigh, your body boneless and twitching beneath him, both of you panting like you’ve just survived a bloater in the woods. The way you pull him close, even when it’s over. The way he kisses your hair. The way he worships you even when he doesn’t say it out loud.

He strokes again, slower now. More reverent.

The screen goes dark for a second as the footage loops.

Then it starts over.

You again. Lying back. Welcoming him in. Your voice: “Please, Joel—want you so bad—”

Joel clenches his jaw.

He edges himself through the whole damn tape again, sweat slicking his chest and temples, cum threatening to boil over. But he holds it. Every time. Over and over.

By the time he finally lets himself finish, he’s groaning so loud he has to shove his fist in his mouth to muffle it. His thighs shake. His hips jerk up off the seat. His release is hot and heavy, spilling over his knuckles in thick ropes, coating his hand, his belly, his shirt.

“Fuck,” he chokes, spent and trembling.

The camcorder plays on. Your voice is soft now. Laughing. Telling him you love how wrecked he looks after.

Joel leans forward, presses the pause button with a shaking finger. The screen freezes on your smiling face, sweat-slick and beautiful.

He sits back.

Breathless. Heart pounding. Cock twitching even after he’s come.

He doesn’t rewind it. Doesn’t delete it.

He just closes the screen with a soft click, tucks it away, and wipes his hand on the hem of his shirt.

He’ll watch it again tomorrow.

Maybe the day after that.

And if you’re gone too long, maybe he’ll hit record again the next time he fucks you—just to remember how good you feel.

tags: @zevrra @xodilfluvr

[mallory524]

a bunch of teenagers

bob x reader

(she/her)

pictures from pinterest

summary- Bob has really started to like you, but he assumes you don’t feel the same way about him. You do though, and everyone seems to know that except Bob… and apparently also Walker, who really thought he had a chance

warnings- thunderbolts* spoilers kinda, thunderbolts being roomies and hanging out yayy, pining, slight jealousy, bob not feeling very confident :( small mention of void stuff, slightly suggestive mention, john walker likes you and of course that goes absolutely nowhere, bucky is getting too old for this foolishness, hand holding, fluff

word count- 1443

notes- i will write for any of the thunderbolts, you guys, the obsession has reallyyy set in

The view of the sunset from the Watchtower is a beautiful backdrop for an already nice evening with the group. You’re all sitting around, waiting for Bucky to come back with food for everyone. Alexei is telling some awfully embarrassing childhood story about Yelena, who keeps trying to cut him off mid-story. "No listen, I was a small child-"

Bob is listening and occasionally laughing, but he’s focusing on you more than he’s focusing on the story. You’re sitting right next to Alexei and trying really hard not to laugh at his story (for Yelena’s sake) but occasionally you cover your face as your whole body shakes with laughter. Bob loves it. He loves seeing you smile. He feels like he’s being weird so he looks away, but he quickly notices that he’s not the only one looking at you.

Walker, who’s sitting right across from him, keeps glancing your way, too. Bob’s never considered before that Walker would like you, but it's not surprising. Of course he would. You’re so funny and smart and you’re tough, but you can also be so kind and, of course, you’re absolutely beautiful... Walker would have to be so dumb to not to see all of that, but it doesn’t mean that Bob approves of this at all.

He doesn’t think Walker is right for you, and he's never considered that you might see Walker that way, but now the idea is in his head and he hates it.

Walker can be a real jerk, (and of course he’s got some rage issues), but he is good looking, and he’s actually able to help on missions. Bob has to stay back most of the time. Plus, sometimes Walker can be pleasant. Sometimes.

Walker also doesn’t risk showing you your most awful traumatic memories every time you touch. Bob’s mostly got it under control now, but it doesn’t matter because now he’s got the mental image of you and Walker touching and that makes him feel nauseous. The idea of you and Walker-

He doesn’t realize he’s been intensely staring down Walker until he looks up at Bob with the most confused look on his face and mouths “what??”.

Even the mere idea of something happening between you and Walker is bothering him, and he can't get it out of his head. I don't know why I'm upset. It's not like I ever had a chance.

After dinner, everyone starts to split up and do their own thing around the tower for the rest of the night. Of course, no one bothered to clean up after themselves, so you take it upon yourself. Bob walks over and hands you another dirty plate. “Sorry”, he says with a shy little laugh.

“Aww dang", you say with a chuckle, "Thanks for actually handing me your dishes, though. Ava left hers on the floor”, and the two of you quietly snicker.

Bob awkwardly fiddles with random things on the counter, as if one of them will give him another excuse to stay there and keep talking to you. You suspect that's what he's doing, but you never know exactly what's going on in his head. Whatever he's doing, it's endearing. Although, you find everything about him endearing: his smile, his little laugh he does every time he's nervous, his messy curls that are starting to fall over his eyes...

You realize neither of you have said anything in a while. "Hey, how are you feeling tonight? You've been extra quiet", you tell him with a sweet smile.

Bob panics, "No, what? I'm fine. Um. I'm just tired, that's what it is", and he smiles at you, but then the direct eye contact is a little too much for him and he redirects his smile to the tile floor.

"Okay, just checking", You aren't sure if you believe him, but you're not going to push it. "Hey, did you see that video where-", and you start talking about something else.

Yelena walks back into the room to grab her phone, and she smiles and rolls her eyes when she sees you happily talking and laughing together.

At some point, Walker strolls in and soo casually leans against the counter, (he thinks he's being really cool), and thanks you for cleaning up, completely ignoring Bob, who is standing right there and helping clean up, too. Bob glances at you, trying to see if you act any different when Walker's around.

As Walker steps back into the hallway to go to bed, he stops walking for a second and glances back at you from afar, until a voice totally pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Don’t even think about it”

“Geez Bucky, don’t sneak up on me like that”, Walker says before turning back to look at you and Bob again. “But seriously, do you think I should go for it?”

“No”, Bucky says with no hesitation.

“Well don’t think too hard about it.” Walker responds sarcastically and crosses his arms defensively.

“I’m not just saying this to be disagreeable. Everyone knows she kind of…” Bucky starts to say before trailing off.

“What? What is it?”

Bucky hesitates and then decides Walker isn’t going to let it go. He leans in and quietly says, “Everyone around here kinda thinks she likes Bob.”

He’s dumbfounded. “Bob?? You cannot be serious. There’s no way that-”

“Watch it, John”

“No, you know I love Bob! But come on, don’t you think if I put the idea out there that maybe she’d at least consider it?”

Bucky groans dramatically, “Ughh I do not want to be involved in all this. I’m just letting you know I think you’d be... unsuccessful”, and as Walker rolls his eyes and walks back to his room for the night, Bucky notices that Bob’s down the hall, and has apparently been listening to the entire thing.

Bob quickly walks up to Bucky. “Do you think that’s true? Actually?”, he says in a hushed tone, with what can only be described as big hopeful puppy dog eyes.

Bucky mutters something under his breath about his new team being “a bunch of teenagers” and then turns to face Bob again. “I mean, she hasn’t said anything to me, but it’s pretty clear. Yelena and Ava were talking about this earlier and they think so, too.”

Bob can’t believe this. There’s no way. He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but if 4 of his friends think so, then maybe it really is true?

Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ask her to get lunch with you or something tomorrow. You can decide for yourself.”

Bob starts to frantically shake his head, “No, no I can’t do that, it would be so embarrassing if she didn’t want to.”

“Come on, man. She’ll want to. You should probably do this soon before Walker beats you to it”, Bucky says with a little laugh.

That was enough to convince him.

The next afternoon, you’ve been training for a bit, and now you’re going over some random important documents the group was sent. You see Bob over at the counter, so you decide to walk over and pour yourself some tea, too.

“Hey, Bob”, you say cheerfully, and he turns to look at you.

“Hi”, and he pours the tea into your mug without you having to ask.

You thank him and then look in his eyes. He’s clearly thinking about something. “Bob?”

“Would you like to go get lunch with me today?”, he says out of nowhere. He says it like he thinks that if he didn’t ask you now, he never would. Which is probably true. Any more time to think about it and he might've convinced himself it was the worst idea ever.

You smile warmly at him. “Yeah I’d love to. What time were you thinking?”

Bob is so caught off guard by your positive response that he almost doesn’t answer. “Uhh, we could go in half an hour. If that works for you, of course.”

“Yeah that works. Thanks Bob!”, you say, and then you gently pat him on the shoulder and leave the room to shower and get changed. Bob stands there for a second, hoping he didn't just imagine all of that.

When the two of you are ready, you slowly take his hand, and he lightly squeezes your hand back and smiles at you.

Over on the couch, Ava smiles, and Bucky pats Walker on the back with no real sympathy. "Told ya".

Walker kind of scoffs, but he can't help but smile just a little as he watches Bob step into the elevator, happily holding your hand.

[h66nki]

just the tip ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ step!bro park sunghoon.

your stepbrother comes back from his tour after months and you let him fuck you, just with the tip. warnings; stepcest, unprotected sex, kinda angst?

sunghoon can't deny it... he knows he hasn't been present in your life at all these past few months, and even if he really wants to deny it, it wouldn't be right.

the brief, dry messages he sent you while he was away weren't enough, not even a little. he wasn't a good brother, he wasn't a good man to you, and he's so, so sorry that he doesn't know how to make it up to you.

"princess, look at me," he asks, his voice breaking.

sunghoon is nestled between your legs, caressing your face and collarbones, awaiting your reactions.

since he came home, you haven't even bothered to greet him with more than a chaste kiss on the cheek. you haven't chatted with him, you haven't run into his arms like you used to... you haven't even taken the time to look at the gifts he brought you.

material things weren't and never would be a consolation for you. you wanted him, his affection, his attention. you wanted him to love you like before, when he'd sneak into your room and fuck you until you were dumb and whining; when he would finally hold you and shower you with kisses and caresses.

you didn't want a damn gift. none of the expensive material things he brought would serve as consolation to erase how alone and abandoned you felt.

"baby, look at me..." he asks again, curling his lip in a small pout. he didn't like you being so distant. not when he missed you so much, not when he needed you so much.

you look at him, defeated.

"im really sorry, i mean it." you nod, not entirely convinced.

it's just work, you console yourself in your head. it's not that your stepbrother didn't love you anymore, he was just busy.

his eyes look at you with love, with longing. you can't hold your shell, your shield any longer. you collapse, and sunghoon puts you back together, as usual.

"we're okay," you sigh, finally hugging him. it's been so long since you last saw him that you can tell the muscles in his back have changed, grown.

"you can't imagine how much i missed you," he murmurs sincerely, pressing himself against you. "i was going crazy."

"it was the same for me," you confess.

your stepbrother pouts again, and your heart clenches. you don't like that he's sad, especially not for you. you tilt your head and kiss him softly, letting him know everything you can't express out loud.

the man kisses you, just as tenderly. his hands go to your waist, caressing you until you tremble on his lips.

"you look so beautiful," he emphasizes, sincere. your hair is longer, your features look more delicate.

he kisses you again, deeper this time. your legs open out of inertia, pressing your crotch against his. you rub against him because god, you've missed him so much.

he's no slouch either. his cock is hard and uncomfortable inside his pants and he uses the friction to ease some of his discomfort.

"god, baby. you're going to kill me." he murmurs against your lips. you make him feel dizzy, weak.

you need him, but still a small part of you is aching, hurting.

"let me fuck you," he begs, kissing your neck. his tongue runs down the length and his lips leave wet kisses there. he can't mark you, he can't leave you hickeys. if he did, your parents would know. they can't find out; he can't allow them to take his princess away from him. the bruises on your skin always have to be where no one but the two of you can see them. never on your neck.

you ignore his request, rubbing yourself even harder against him. your underwear feels uncomfortable, too wet and sticking to you.

"you don't deserve that."

your words hit him hard, waking him from his reverie. he pulls away from your neck, his lips swollen and red.

"i know... i know i don't deserve anything, but i really need it."

you moisten your lips and look up at him. he's going to have to work hard to reward you, you both know that.

"just the tip," he proposes, looking at you desperately. if he has to beg for it, he'll do it, without a doubt. "come on, baby, just the tip... nothing more. i promise i won't try anything. just my tip in your pussy."

you nod, giving him permission to remove your pants and panties. the fabric of your underwear is so sticky that sunghoon has to force himself not to kneel and eat your pussy out for fear of going too far and making you regret this.

he unbuttons his pants and pulls them down a bit, as well as his boxers. he's so hard that you feel sorry for him; you've rarely seen him as needy as he is now.

"open up for me..." he asks, his voice breaking. your legs part a little further, allowing him to enter.

his hands take his cock and he uses it to rub it against your folds, moistening it until it's full of your juices. sunghoon knows what drives you crazy; his dripping head hits your clit a few times, playing with you.

"don't tease," you say breathlessly.

your stepbrother laughs and finally aligns his head with your hole, barely penetrating you. "heavenly," he praises. "i missed being in this cunt. always so wet for me..."

sunghoon finds your lips and steals a messy kiss. his hips barely move, fucking you with just the tip, like he promised. "you're so tight," he murmurs. "you haven't let anyone fuck you, do you?"

"no..." you moan, feeling one of his fingers slip out to rub your clit. "since you left..." you try to put together a coherent sentence.

he understands, smiling at you.

"good princess," he praises you, placing a kiss on your nose, his hips still moving. "only i can fuck this hole... im the only allowed to, even if it's just with the tip."

m sorry if there are grammatical errors, i have to sleep NOW. tomorrow they will be corrected. xoxo :*

[ari-ana-bel-la]

hi honey, i absolutely love your fics, they've made me smile, laugh, cry and scream in cuteness. i was wondering if you could do this trend:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMB7Aupdp/

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMB7D47xE/

but with the drivers and their daughters/sons, like driver says 'im so hungry i could eat a child' and their kids reactions... if you dont want to, there's no problem at all. love 🩷🩷

Only Kidding

It was a slow Friday at the paddock—calm skies, mild temperatures, and everything running on time for once. Lando sat back in the team hospitality lounge, his race suit unzipped down to his waist and tied at his hips, a plain white T-shirt clinging slightly from the heat. But he didn’t care about that.

All his attention was on the small girl curled in his lap, playing with the braided bracelets on his wrist.

“Careful,” he said gently, watching her fingers tangle a little too tight. “That one’s from Monaco. I like that one.”

Yn looked up at him with the same big brown eyes that made people double take whenever they walked by. “I’m being careful, Daddy.”

“I know you are,” he said with a smile, brushing his hand over her curls.

She looked so much like him it was a little ridiculous sometimes. Same nose, same smile, same stubborn little pout. His heart squeezed just looking at her. Five years old and already the most important thing in his world—no contest.

Max walked into the lounge with a cold drink in one hand and a slightly mischievous grin. “Mate, she’s gonna braid those onto your face if you don’t stop her soon.”

“She can do whatever she wants,” Lando replied without hesitation. “She’s the boss.”

Yn beamed proudly and held up his arm. “I’m decorating!”

From the couch beside them, Ria laughed. “You’re doing a great job, love.”

Lando leaned his head back with a soft sigh. “God, I’m starving. I could eat a whole child.”

There was a pause.

A very small, very deliberate pause.

Yn froze. Her tiny fingers stopped playing with his bracelets. Slowly, she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“You could… what?” she asked, voice quiet and slightly horrified.

Max choked on his drink.

Lando blinked, confused by her sudden stillness. “What?”

Yn carefully slid off his lap, step by step, not breaking eye contact.

“Baby?” he said, raising a brow.

She didn’t answer.

She walked—no, tiptoed—straight to Ria and climbed into her lap without a word, still looking at Lando like he had grown fangs.

Ria burst out laughing the moment Yn clutched her like a safety blanket.

“Oh my god,” Max wheezed. “She thinks you’re gonna eat her!”

“I was kidding!” Lando said, now cracking up too. “Yn, baby, I swear—I was joking!”

Yn blinked slowly at him, her little hands fisted in Ria’s hoodie.

“Why would you say that?” she asked seriously, as if this was a courtroom and he was on trial.

“I was hungry! It’s just a joke people say sometimes!”

“You said you could eat a child,” she repeated, dramatically betrayed.

Ria was shaking with laughter now. “Honestly, I’d go hide too if my dad said that.”

Lando leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Come here, monkey. I promise I’m not gonna eat you. You’re my whole heart, remember?”

She hesitated, still snuggled against Ria.

“You said you were hungry.”

“I was. But I meant I could eat, like, a really big sandwich. Or a mountain of pasta. Not you.”

Max threw in, “Yeah, I don’t think you’d taste very good anyway.”

“Max!” Ria hissed, laughing harder.

Yn’s mouth twitched.

Lando noticed. “Uh oh. Is that a smile?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” She turned her face into Ria’s shoulder, giggling quietly.

“I got you,” Ria said softly, kissing her head. “We’ll protect you from the Big Bad Hungry Dad.”

“I’m not the Big Bad anything!” Lando insisted, dramatically affronted. “I’m your dad! I read you bedtime stories and make dinosaur-shaped pancakes!”

“You do,” Yn admitted shyly.

“And I sing terribly in the car just to make you laugh.”

She nodded again.

“So can I please have my snuggle-bug back?”

She finally looked at him properly, serious again. “You really won’t eat me?”

“Not even a nibble.”

“Not even a toe?”

“Not even a toe.”

Yn wriggled out of Ria’s lap and padded back over. Lando opened his arms wide, and she dove into them like a little rocket. He hugged her tight, lifting her slightly onto his lap again.

“You scared me,” she said into his chest.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful with my jokes, yeah?”

“Okay.”

From behind them, Max mumbled, “You know, if you just packed snacks like I told you—”

“Not the time, Max.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢