#i think it looks better like this than if i put them next to each other

[saphfix]

THE ART OF WINNING

01. WINNER’S MENTALITY

“WHEN YOU HEAR THE PHRASE WINNER’S MENTALITY, WHAT IS THE FIRST THING THAT COMES TO MIND?”

“Uh…” Anastasia nervously laughs, her mind shooting to one specific moment in her life. “Pretty much being told at sixteen years old that I wasn’t good enough, and never would be good enough.”

The interviewer nods, signaling for Anastasia to continue on. She shifts uncomfortably before clearing her throat to continue.

“Getting invited to USA Basketball was my dream come true. For a young basketball player—even for older basketball players—it feels like a rite of passage, a message to yourself that you’ve made it.”

Anastasia fiddles with her hands, the memory flooding back to her. “And that was the case for me, except, it didn’t take very long at all for it to end up becoming my worst nightmare instead.”

MAY 25TH, 2017

OLYMPIC TRAINING CENTER

COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO

The first day jitters were not wearing off. All day long they’ve seemed to have only gotten worse. It amazed Anastasia how people could connect with one another so easily.

One person in specific, Paige Bueckers, had everyone’s attention. The girl was already a well-known name, and was as close as a 15 year old could be to a professional.

But what really intrigued Anastasia about her was her charisma. How she managed to form friendships with some of the other girls who were also trying out in just a span of hours.

It took Anastasia years to connect with her highschool teammates back home, and she still isn’t nearly as close to any of them as they are with each other.

She watched on alone in the corner of the cafeteria, sliding her food around her plate in circles. Paige on the other hand, somehow had a full table of girls surrounding her, every single one of them laughing and reacting to whatever show she was currently putting on.

It was never that easy for Anastasia, and she fears it never will be.

When practice resumed, she instantly felt much better. That’s the beauty of a basketball court, when you’re on it everyone is the same, at least to a certain extent. It’s safe to say there are levels to it all, just like everything else in this world. Some people turn into an entirely different person when they step onto the laminated wood, but Anastasia doesn’t have that switch. It’s the thing that sets her apart from everyone else.

She’s static, always the same.

After returning to the bench for a group rotation, Anastasia was quick to notice the body language of the girl seated next to her. As soon as she sat down, the girl slightly turned away, as if Anastasia disgusted her or something.

Anastasia ignored it, wondering if she was thinking too much of it. That is until she realizes the girl seemed to be itching to tell her something.

“Do you have something to say—”

Almost immediately the girl cuts her off. “You’re too tense.” She says.

“Too tense?” Anastasia responds, taken aback. She screws the lid to her water bottle closed before setting it down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The girl never once looks in Anastasia’s direction, her eyes glued to the court. “When you’re bringing the ball up, you’re too tense, that’s why your shots not falling. You’re also not releasing them quick enough given your power is unbalanced throughout your whole body.”

Anastasia stares in disbelief. Her audacity is mind blowing.

“It should be effortless, a more fluid motion.” She continues on. “You should use more of the strength in your legs because right now, you look like you have a stick up your ass.”

“Excuse me?” Anastasia finally asks. It was almost scary how she was saying all of this with a straight face. She really meant every word leaving her lips, leaving Anastasia feeling more insecure than ever.

The whistle blows, meaning the next group was being rotated in. The girl stands to her feet, finally looking in Anastasia’s direction. “Just watch.”

And though Anastasia is still fuming with all the words she was ready to say looming around her mind, she watches. She watches as the large 223 painted across the brunettes practice jersey fades further away onto the court.

As soon as she gets ahold of the ball, she handles it like it’s not even there in her hands. She’s careless, almost too careless. You can tell by her stance, her gait, that confidence radiates off of her when she’s on the court.

She has the switch.

It almost feels like a slap in the face when she effortlessly pulls left and chucks up a 3 pointer at least five feet behind the arc, leaving her defender diving in an attempt to block. However, she comes up short, leaving Anastasia to watch in both awe and despair as it rattles in. The whistle blows faster than ever before, leaving some of the girls on the court and even some of the coaches jaw dropped.

She just ended a play in seconds without the ball ever entering anyone else’s hands.

Later that night, Anastasia found herself FaceTiming her parents, telling them about what she had seen earlier today. I mean, it was unforgettable.

In all honesty, it made her a little scared. These girls were all so good. She was starting to feel like maybe she was in over her head. That maybe making the team was just an unachievable and unrealistic dream.

“Honey, if you didn’t deserve to be there, you wouldn’t be.” Her dad comforts, the empathetic smile evident on his face.

He was always so understanding, so supportive. A far different approach from her mother, who always manages to crash the moment.

“You can’t just always live in fear.” Her mom routinely chirps up. Right on time. She always has something to counter what her father says. "Comparison kills." Her mother adds on.

“I don’t—" Anastasia begins, but sighs. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she knew her mom was right. She wasn't going to admit it out loud though. "It’s not living in fear or comparison to acknowledge the fact that some of these girls are better than me."

“And who says they’re better?” Her mom asks.

Anastasia chews on the inside of her cheek, staying silent. She has a point.

Her dad sighs before deciding to weigh in again. “You made it to next round with the rest of them meaning you’re just as good as they are, don’t forget that.”

Anastasia nods, her mind going back to the memory of what happened earlier. The way the girl’s eyes locked onto hers as she walked off the court, leaving Anastasia unsure if she was taunting her, or simply making sure she saw what she wanted her to see.

“Well, we love you Stas, You should get some rest." Her dad says.

“Yeah, I probably should. Love you guys too.” She says before hanging up.

MAY 26TH, 2017

58. Out of the 133 girls here yesterday, 58 remain. More than half of them were cut, leaving Anastasia feeling a little better about being invited back for day two.

Caitlin. Caitlin Clark was her name. Anastasia had finally figured it out after hearing it what felt like a million times today.

They’d been playing 5x5 all morning long, having gone through at least hundreds of different group combinations. During their break, Coach had conjured up a list of 12 assigned groups, each having what she felt was the best fit for all position combinations together.

Paige was assigned the PG for group one, Caitlin for group two, Anastasia for group three, and so on and so forth. Given there were 58 of them, each team needing five players, they were just barely short.

“We’re two short.” Coach informs everyone. “Groups 11 and 12 both need a shooting guard, any volunteers want to make this decision easy on your poor coach here?”

At first, no one says anything, everyone looking around at one another. The bystander effect was in full action.

“Don’t all jump at the opportunity at once.” Coach mumbles jokingly.

Anastasia studies both groups left, wondering if she should do it. Her mom’s words began echoing around her head. You can’t just always live in fear.

“I’ll do it.” Caitlin volunteers. Everyone now looks at Caitlin, some whispering picking up around the room.

“Shooting guard.” Coach reiterates. Caitlin shrugs, her face stoic as if she doesn’t care one bit about the minor difference in position. “Well alright.” Coach says, impressed.

“I’ll do it too.” Paige and Anastasia say at the same time. Anastasia looks over at her before stepping forward further. “I’ll do it.” She says again.

Paige throws her hands up concedingly. “Ight, you got it.”

Coach claps, satisfied at the resolved issue. “Perfect. Groups one and two are going first. Winners and losers bracket, you all should know the ropes.”

The groups dismantle, groups one and two staying on the court, the rest heading to the bleachers. Anastasia begins on her way after everyone else, before she notices footsteps following behind her.

“Why did you do that?” Caitlin asks.

“Why did I do what?” Anastasia asks continuing to walk towards the bleachers.

Caitlin grabs onto her arm, pulling her to face her. “Why did you volunteer?”

Anastasia looks down at Caitlin’s hand before snatching her arm away. “Someone had to.”

“Paige tried, you should’ve let her.”

“And why’s that?” Anastasia asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but just stay out of my way.” Caitlin threatens.

“Or what?” Anastasia asks without hesitation. Caitlin almost looks taken aback by the response. Almost. “Or what?” Anastasia repeats.

“Caitlin, come on!” Coach calls from the court.

Caitlin stares her down, before slowly turning away, lightly jogging back to the court.

What the fuck was her problem?

Anastasia finds a lone seat on the bleachers, making it her own personal mission to study every inch of Caitlin’s gameplay possible. More specifically, what she was best at, and what she was worst at.

It didn't take much time for Anastasia to pinpoint her fatal flaw. Defense. The girl couldn't play defense if her life depended on it. Actually, it wasn't that she couldn't, it was like she just didn't want to. She looked miserable whenever she didn't have the ball and it showed. Bingo.

Anastasia notes that to herself, while also making sure to study her shooting and passing patterns, which seems to be her strong suit. She will make sure she goes against Caitlin in the final match, whether it be in the winners bracket or the losers bracket. Hell, maybe even both.

Caitlin's group manages the win over Paige's group thanks to some lucky out of this world pass Caitlin managed to just barely get inside to her post player.

"Alright groups three and four next!" Coach yells out from the whiteboard while writing group one into the losers bracket and group two into the winners.

Anastasia stands up, walking her way down the bleachers. She comes into earshot of Caitlin and Paige's conversation as she walks by.

"Damn." Paige curses once they're off the court, Caitlin giving her a gentle pat to the shoulder.

"Better luck next time." Caitlin laughs. "I bet you'll kill 'em over in the losers bracket though."

Anastasia wonders what magic Paige is really working with to get into Caitlin's good graces.

Maybe Anastasia was the problem.

Anastasia meets up with her group, and they quickly go over a few potential game plans. She can still hear Caitlin and Paige's conversation continuing on behind her, their laughter and banter a little more distracting than she'd wish it to be.

Once her team decides that they've got down few good plays, they head towards the court.

"Hey, you!" Paige calls out. Anastasia contemplates turning around but doesn't, figuring there's no chance she was talking to her. "Number 120!" Paige yells out again, Anastasia freezing in her tracks. She double checks her jersey number before slowly turning around.

"You better win so you can avenge me." Paige smiles.

Caitlin shoves Paige halfheartedly, letting out a laugh. She doesn't say it very loud, but Anastasia is fairly good at reading lips, and she swears Caitlin says, "No chance."

"I got you." Anastasia yells back to Paige, Caitlin's smile immediately wiping off her face.

She was going to destroy Caitlin Clark.

“HUMILITY, CAITLIN, IT’S SOMETHING YOU FOUND HARD TO LEARN EARLY ON IN YOUR LIFE. WHAT IMPORTANCE DOES IT HOLD NOW, AND LOOKING BACK, DO YOU WISH YOU HAD MORE OF IT THEN?”

“I’ve always had humility.” Caitlin defends. “I was young, yeah. Naive, sure. A nuisance, possibly…but I was never not humble.”

“What about USA basketball, were you an asshole then?” The reporter asks.

Caitlin furrows her eyebrows, sitting up even straighter in her chair. “Asshole? What makes you ask that?”

“No reason at all, that’s just a very important staple to your story.” The reporter half lies. “Tell us about your experience there.”

“It was great.” Caitlin lies.

The reporter shakes her head, not satisfied with the answer. “The truth.”

Caitlin sighs. “It’s one of my most regretted experiences in my life, is that what you want to hear?”

MAY 26TH, 2017

Caitlin Clark felt murderous. Anastasia’s team had won, moving them further in the bracket as well. She couldn’t believe Anastasia thinks she can beat her. It was all Caitlin could think about as she watches Anastasia sit at the bottom of the bleachers all alone.

Why wasn’t she attempting to connect with anyone around her?

Paige smacks Caitlin’s shoulder. “Yo, stop staring.”

“I’m not staring.” Caitlin lies. She turns around to face Paige, who was sitting awfully close to another player, Azzi. “Do you think she’s good?” Caitlin asks.

“Well she’s here, isn’t she?” Azzi answers sarcastically.

Caitlin rolls her eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“Come on, ask what you really wanna ask.” Paige says.

“What?” Caitlin asks.

“You wanna know if we think she’s better than you.” Paige laughs.

“No.” Caitlin scoffs. “I know she’s not better than me.”

“Geez, cocky much?” Azzi asks.

“Whatever.” Caitlin’s eyes find Anastasia again, who was now stretching her arms over her head. “Why do you think she’s not talking to anyone?”

“If you wanna talk to her just say that.” Paige teases, kneeing Caitlin in the back. “Want me to call her over?”

“No—”

“What’s her name?” Paige asks Azzi, ignoring Caitlin’s pleads.

“Stop don’t—” Caitlin interjects, just to be ignored again.

Azzi smirks before cupping her hands over her mouth. “Anastasia!”

Anastasia turns around and Caitlin glares at Azzi. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Caitlin asks.

Azzi waves her over and Anastasia stands, slowly making her way over. “Because now you can talk to her!” Azzi smiles.

“I hate you.” Caitlin mutters.

“I hate you more.” Azzi replies.

“Yes?” Anastasia questions slowly once she finally reaches the three of them, a confused looks on her face.

“Sit with us!” Azzi pats the spot in front of her with her foot.

Anastasia looks at the spot, then looks at Caitlin who’s in the spot right next to it. Caitlin avoids her gaze, looking back at the court.

“Okay, I guess.” Anastasia agrees, brushing past Caitlin.

“Where you from?” Paige asks, sitting up to start the conversation.

“Michigan.”

“Oh shit no way!” Paige gawks. “Michigan is sick.”

“Have you ever even been to Michigan?” Azzi laughs.

“Man!” Paige sucks her teeth. “Now you know I live right next door to Michigan, of course I’ve been!”

“What about you guys?” Anastasia asks.

“Virginia.” Azzi answers.

“Minnesota.” Paige says with a fake midwestern accent.

Anastasia nods, letting out a small laugh. “Cool.” She glances over at Caitlin, who once again pretends she doesn’t notice. “What about you?”

“Iowa.” Caitlin deadpans.

“Iowa…that’s a first.” Anastasia says, getting a laugh out of Paige and Azzi.

“Yeah, I’m one of a kind.” Caitlin says.

“Cocky.” Azzi mutters under her breath.

“Corny.” Paige whispers at the same time. The whistle blows, and the four of them look back to the court simultaneously. “Damn group nine won?” Paige asks.

“That’s a shocker.” Azzi says.

“Not really.” Caitlin counters. “Great offense trumps anything.”

“Of course you think that.” Anastasia criticizes, standing to her feet.

“Damn Caitlin, you gon take that?” Paige instigates, receiving a smack to the shoulder from Azzi.

“Stop trying to start shit!”

Caitlin stands to her feet, sizing up Anastasia. “Nah, I’m not gonna take that, I’m just gonna let my work on the court do the talking.”

“Famous last words.” Anastasia says, pushing past Caitlin. “You’ve never come across good D like this.”

“Yo pause!” Paige laughs, receiving another smack from Azzi.

“Stop being a freak!”

“If you think you’re taking both of your teams past quarterfinals, you’re delusional.” Caitlin says from behind Anastasia.

“Do you always speak before you think?” Anastasia asks continuing on her way down the bleachers.

“I speak and think at the same time, it’s called multitasking.”

“Right.” Anastasia laughs. Once she reaches the bottom of the bleachers she turns to face Caitlin, who was still coming down. She blocks her from exiting the last step, offering her a smile. “No matter what happens out there, I want you to remember that you’re a great player.”

“What is this, reverse psychology?” Caitlin laughs, attempting to get around Anastasia.

Anastasia steps infront of her again, keeping her position. “No, it’s good sportsmanship, ever heard of it?”

“Move.” Caitlin demands.

“Good luck out there.” Anastasia says, offering Caitlin a hand. Caitlin looks down at it before pushing past her, continuing onto the court. “Hey!” Anastasia shouts up to Paige who looks down. “This is for you.”

‘THE ART OF WINNING’ MASTERLIST

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Straw Hats x Eri Reader- Grandparents Day

I missed it!! I was going to post something for Grandparents Day!! Well better late than never!

-You twirled, in awe of your new sundress Nami had surprised you with, looking at your reflection with a big smile on your face, “It’s so pretty!” Nami and Robin were both taking pictures, smiles on their faces, seeing you so happy.

-It was Grandparents Day, a holiday to celebrate grandparents, and you had written letters to all three of your grandpas, wanting to spend the day with them, wanting to have a picnic with them.

-They, of course, all answered, telling you they would be there, and you had been up early to help Sanji prepare the picnic, as you wanted to help, which Sanji adored.

-You were meeting on a small but beautiful spring island, perfect for a picnic and your crew arrived first and they all helped you set up the picnic on the island, while they were going to have one on the deck of the ship.

-Whitebeard and Garp both arrived at the same time, and while both crews were enemies, they had been told that they weren’t here for the pirates, they were here for their adorable little granddaughter Y/N.

-That didn’t stop Garp and Whitebeard however, as they docked on either side of the small island, away from each other to discourage fighting, but as soon as the two saw each other, they started to chest up on why the other was here.

-Whitebeard dealt a fatal blow to Garp, “I was her grandpa first- you second place old man!!” the two were fully ready to start throwing hands when you arrived with Robin and you beamed, “Grandpa!!”

-The two turned, their anger falling as they were both smiling brightly, bubbles surrounding them as they both kneeled as you ran to them, getting a group hug with them while Robin giggled, thinking it was cute, taking a photo.

-Robin gave you the picnic basket and pecked your forehead before she headed back to the ship before you turned to them with a bright smile, “I helped Sanji make a picnic for us! We just have to wait on the last grandpa to arrive.”

-Garp froze, hearing there was a third, while Whitebeard was a little less annoyed, as he knew who it was and as Garp grinned down at you while you put the basket down, anger marks on his cheeks, asking you who it was, a cheerful voice called out, “Grandpa’s here Y/N!”

-You turned, seeing your third grandpa and beamed, running over, “Grandpa!” Garp was beside himself, seeing Rayleigh there- realizing that you had two pirates for grandpas- he had to save you from this fate!!

-Once on the blanket you opened the picnic basket, revealing sandwiches and some pieces of paper that were folded, but you took those and hid them behind you, holding a finger to your lips, like how Usopp taught you, “That’s a secret for later!”

-Gawd you were so precious they were going to die from cuteness overdose.

-The sandwiches were delicious and you were glad you made a whole bunch, as you knew that grandpas needed to eat a lot as you sat on each of their laps, spending time with each of them as they told you what they had been up to lately and you told them what adventures you had been on as well.

-When the food was gone you handed each of them a handmade card, “These are for you- because you’re my favorite grandpas ever!”

-Whitebeard and Garp fell to the ground, clutching their chests while Rayleigh had a hand to his mouth as tears poured down his cheeks.

-Once they were all up, they opened their cards, which just had flowers on the front, finding a crayon drawing of the two of you and ‘I love you grandpa’ written above the figures.

-Franky was looking out, standing watch, “Looks like Y/N gave them their cards- all three of them are down.” Luffy was laughing loudly, finding it hysterical, as did Ace, seeing these three grown men, notorious pirates and marine, all so whipped by you.

-They helped you pack the picnic up and you made them all pinkie promise to do this with you next year, something they swore to do, and you started back towards the ship.

-Rayleigh grinned brightly, pocketing his card, “Well- as Y/N’s favorite grandpa- I’m heading out first.” Instantly the other two were glaring at them, arguing that they were your favorite.

-You turned, hearing the shouting before Zoro hopped down, picking you up as the three men got into an all-out brawl against one another, each one saying they were your favorite.

-Once back on the ship you looked up at Luffy and Ace, “Why are they fighting?” they just ruffled your hair, telling you that grandpas needed to exercise after eating, and fighting was a good way to exercise.

-You were happy that you got to see your grandpas and that they enjoyed themselves.

[starchbean]

Y'ALL

Scummies--c'mere. Closer. CLOSER

WHY ARE YOU HOLDING OUT ON MEEEEEEEEEEE?!?!

I just learned about the Cakeverse. We NEED to make SVSSS fic for this! There's like ONE FIC and it's in Italian and I have a cousin but I CANT READ ITALIAN PLEASE CHAT DO IT FOR MEEEEE

**to clarify, I don't mean read the Italian for me, I NEED YOU TO WRITE SVSSS CAKEVERSE

Of course I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't at least offer a little something of my own, so here's the bit:

Shen Qingqiu was a fork, and everyone knew it. The readers of Proud Immortal Demon Way knew it. The Peak Lords and disciples alike of Cang Qiong knew. Hell, even people from other sects had heard the rumors about the Qing Jing Peak Lord.

As for Shen Yuan, the first few months of experiencing it had been really demoralizing! And worse–the cute little white lotus protagonist himself had taken the initiative to cook his meals, and he wouldn’t even be able to taste them at all! How could he appreciate them properly?! Luo Binghe knew this, and STILL he put his whole effort into cooking his best meals for his teacher. Ah, truly there was no disciple more filial than Binghe! 

If nothing else, Binghe’s cooking had been pleasing to look at, and the hot steam that wafted up from it felt soothing on Shen Qingqiu’s face, so of course he would eat it. He wasn’t going to waste food, okay?! He knew he was immensely blessed to experience Binghe’s cooking on any level at all. Still, it would have been nice to not leave the flavors to his imagination.

Thankfully, today’s breakfast brought a breath of hope to the poor transmigrator that caused him to shed a tear of joy behind his fan. It seemed his old sense of taste was starting to come back to him after all! Perhaps the System just needed some time to adapt Shen Qingqiu’s body to better suit its new occupant. 

The flavor wasn’t much, just a hint of something in the dough, vaguely sweet like icing. Thinking about it, it made sense that the power of the Protagonist’s cooking was enough to pierce through even the Scum Villain’s taste buds! At this rate, maybe he could avoid the original Scum Villain’s fate as a human stick for almost devouring Binghe after accidentally tasting his blood at the Immortal Alliance Conference! 

.

Luo Binghe eagerly watched as Shizun ate his breakfast with an intense glint in his eye. He knew what he was, and what he had done to his beloved teacher’s food this morning. It wasn’t much. He had just pressed a little kiss to each of the buns before cooking, but the effect of his saliva was just enough. Shizun did taste it, Binghe could tell. Shizun wasn’t reacting aggressively and seemed not to suspect Binghe at all. Maybe he would add something a little more of himself next time. Something that would prickle all of Shizun’s senses. That sounded delightful indeed.

[bitethedevil]

How do you think Raphael would react to feeling loved (not even necessarily in a romantic way—it could also be him feeling appreciated and loved platonically)?

Raphael and Love

(As always, these are just my interpretations of him. It’s dark, but I trust that you have read my “ask”-section and knew it probably would be beforehand anyway. I feel like I’ve made a post about Raphael and love before, but I can’t find it anywhere, so I’m using your ask for it. Hope that’s alright <3)

He would love it. He’d bask in it. He would get addicted to it so fast and it would fascinate him. Not in any healthy or soft way though, far from it. Your love is a tool that is to be explored and exploited for his own pleasure and morbid curiosity, platonic or not.

Testing limits

Ah, so you say you love him: Are you sure about that? If you really do love him, how far are you willing to go? If you truly loved him, surely, he could do whatever he wanted with you, right? He would constantly test your adoration to him, and each little line that you let him cross only means that he will go even further the next time. I am not talking about just ‘making you jealous’ or something like that. I am talking truly abusive and horrible shit. He will literally not stop until he knows that you would literally suffer the worst torments, die, and kill for him.

Making up

What happens then when you snap? He is definitely the type to lovebomb someone and effectively winning them back with all he has got. It is him loosening and tightening the leash. He would give back all that love you craved in return for yours…Until he knows he has got you and then it is back to dissecting you for weaknesses again, like a child seeing how many limbs they can pull off an insect before it dies.

Jealousy and ownership

You are his property. He won’t accept anyone even looking or thinking about you. If possible, keeping you locked away from everything else is the ideal. Why would you need to see other people, if you allegedly loved him more than anyone else? Isolation, control, full attention on him…

It’s the same thing when it comes to affection and intimacy. It will be very dependent on what he wants and likes. I don’t believe it would be entirely one-sided though. He will still touch you and make you feel good, but more in the way that one explores a new and expensive toy to see how it works, and it will be transactional. He never does a thing in his life without wanting something in return.

Love

It’s complicated. He loves your love. He loves the attention and adoration. He craves it. But again, you are a tool for him to get that love. He has no problems molding and shaping you into what he wants, because it can always be better. Look at the House of Hope: everything he owns is shaped in his own image and for his specific needs, and you will be too. Unconditional love is not a part of his vocabulary.

Obsession and dogs and cars

Raphael is just like his daddy when it comes to obsession. It’s hyperfixation. He will get obsessed with someone who gives him the adoration he thinks he deserves, and he will want every bit of it that he can squeeze out of you. He will lose himself completely in it. But. He ‘likes when people put up a fight’ and he likes puzzles, like Korrilla says. You are a puzzle to him. Once you have endured all his excruciating tests with flying colors and he has molded, broken, and shaped you into what he wants, the puzzle is over and things start to get boring. You start to get boring, and Raphael is not a man who lets himself be bored. It is like a dog chasing a car.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

[itsnathateasy]

Armin Week | Day 5 | SFW Prompts | Highschool / College AU OR Dad Armin

word count: 1,1k warnings: none, just fluff, but armin & reader are 24+ author’s note: now I want kids with dad!armin too and it’s not fair AT ALL inspo! x x x

@armin-week-2024

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

dad!armin is not the type of guy to complain about taking care of the kids or running errands

you both work, so if you didn’t share the load, your life together would never have been possible he’s the most respectful person in the world

dad!armin is the type of person to kiss and stroke your belly while you’re still pregnant, he also gets super excited whenever the baby’s kicking

dad!armin thinks maternity looks amazing on you

dad!armin totally panics when your first born is still a small baby, he’s worried he’s doing everything wrong or that the kid hates him because he can’t console their crying

“they’re toothing armin, they hate everything right now”

dad!armin often wakes up instead of you to put the baby back to sleep, only to end up waking you up as well, because the kid fell asleep in his arms and now he’s too scared to put them back down, “you’re so much better at this than me” and kisses you softly on the temple as you slowly put the baby back into their bed

dad!armin is the best at playing with your kids, he’s so committed to the various roles your kids give him. you’re playing tea party? he’s wearing his pearls and hat. playing groceries shopping? he’s giving the kids a hard time by pretending to be the annoyed customer when they take long to pay at the cashiers. playing dinosaurs? he’s a real mf t-rex. it’s as if he’s having more fun than them because he secretly is

having grown up without his parents has defined him and is the reason why he’s trying so hard to make everything work and to keep everyone happy, your little family means the world to him and he makes sure you know

dad!armin wears the happiest smile on his face when the kids run to him, hug him, try to climb on him as they’re chattering around him non-stop, but when he’s eyes meet yours he mouths an “i love you” and gives you a sweet little smile before going back to paying attention to the kids you just KNOW life is good (it’s those tiny moments that matter the most)

dad!armin’s favourite part of the day is those extra 15 minutes you spend just the two of you before getting ready in the mornings. they don’t always have to be sexual okay sometimes they are though it’s just that you get to cuddle or make out before starting your day, sometimes you play music or watch a silly video together, but the whole point of those 15 minutes is that it’s just the two of you

dad!armin brushes his teeth right next to you while making faces to you in the mirror, but the kids quickly catch up to this habit and demand that he joins them when they brush their teeth as well they’re having so much fun i swear

dad!armin picks up the kids from school, then picks you up from work and treats you to milkshakes and burgers on friday afternoons

dad!armin always holds the kids’ hands when crossing the street because “as mummy says, holding hands is the best way to protect each other”

saturday mornings with dad!armin at the park are seriously the best days ever, especially when you make invisible snow angels (the kids were obsessed with snow angels during winter, so now you do it throughout the year)

dad!armin’s guilty pleasure is when “mummy and daddy have to work this weekend, so you’re staying with aunt mikasa and uncle eren” in order to spend the entire weekend alone with you

“but you’ll come back on sunday, yes?” your kids ask with big, sad eyes

“yes sweethearts, me and mummy are picking you up sunday morning and we’re having breakfast on the porch with your auntie and uncle”

dad!armin holds your hand as you’re leaving eren and mikasa’s place, his cheeks pink. “damn y/n, i always feel so naughty when we do that, it’s like sneaking under the school stairwell to make out!!”, then immediately pulls you closer to him and gently kisses you on the lips

dad!armin insists on cutting your kids’ fruit and veggies in all kinds of shapes if this means they’ll eat them, then sprawls himself on the couch with a bowl full of various scraps and pats the place between his legs for you to sit in. you make yourself comfortable before he hands you a piece of orange saying “this is the best piece of the lot, saved it for you”

“you know we can just cut some more fruit and veggies, right?”

“yeah, i’m bored and tired, so we’re eating the scraps for now”

dad!armin is always there for you when you’re frustrated with the load of it all. he’ll gently touch your shoulders and kiss your neck, in an attempt to calm you down. “hush baby, you’re doing an amazing job! i’d never make it through without you”

“you mean that armin?” you were basically on the verge of tears now, all the stress and fatigue of the day crashing onto you

“i’d be lost baby”

but dad!armin also faces some bad days too, especially when he’s too exhausted from work and has to miss a doctor’s appointment or a school show. he totally blames himself for not making it in time and for having you take care of everything, even though he was supposed to help. in those times, you have to remind him that you’re here for each other and that “when one of us needs help, the other one steps in, it’s okay to be upset, but we’re a team, right?” let’s not forget dad!armin is a massive goodnight kisses fan! nobody escapes and nobody wants to either! after you’ve put the kids to bed, you and armin read to them until they’re drowsy, then he places a kiss on their foreheads you get loads of forehead kisses as well but this is probably for another prompt!

i can't even get started on goodnight hugs cause this post will never end

i’m stating the obvious here but dad!armin is huge on helping with homework! he and the kids often get carried away though, because they had this question that was kind of related to the material but not quite, so they basically dropped everything and went into a rabbit hole of researching that question

“you guys, how is “shoes of the renaissance" related to the essay you have to write about your favourite historical figure?”

“it is mum, it really IS, you just don’t know this stuff!” and they just mischievously wink at armin????

dad!armin is so grateful to have this life with you. it’s often exhausting, a price that comes with parenthood, but he’d never trade it for the world

honestly just watching armin being a dad to your kids DAMN!!!! im so in love

needless to say that father’s day is his favourite holiday since becoming a parent

dad!armin is simply the best

[strawbie-doodle]

MOB'S EMOTIONS

a redraw of a piece i did back in 2019! happy end of season 3 :'] i hope this isn't the last we see of mob but either way... Sparkle On..

✦ 2019 piece under the read more :

for some reason i skipped a few emotions and all the ???% back then. i don't know why i did that lol. i want to make some side by side comparisons to the old drawing to the new one but im tired

[paimonial-rage]

I was thinking about this while helping my friend beta something yesterday like… I vaguely remember that at one time, I felt (punctuation) periods were too harsh. They had a sense of finality about them. They were too loud and vibrant. Commas were more comforting to use. They felt softer and not as exact. And then I look at my writing now and there's nothing I love more than a period. I love how sharp it is. I love its finality.

Like I can't understate enough how much a period makes a statement. Like that's what it's supposed to do, yes, but it's more than that. It tells the audience that what precedes is true. It's a fact. And when you yield a period properly, it emphasizes and highlights what is stated. It stands out. It's final. It has weight. It's such a powerful thing that it's addicting to use.

[gamebunny-advance]

Hm.

First impressions from the responses so far has been that the top choice is DJSS, which also lines up with the last time I asked y'all about keychains, where he also came in first.

I guess the DJ is just the kinda guy that demands your money~

[harrysfolklore]

little bitch - cs55

summary: yn piastri and carlos sainz absolutely hate each other. carlos thinks she’s immature, yn calls him a little bitch on social media. they also kiss every now and then. PART TWO

word count: over 10k + social media posts

folkie radio: guys this fic is my baby okay 🥲🥲 please take care of it i spent like two weeks writing it. FEEDBACK IS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED !!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

2023 SEASON

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ynpiastri that’s my optimistic little brother cry about it 😚 see y’all after the break

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username1 LAJSIA SO MESSY

username2 yn really said you will NAWT mess with my little brother

lilyzneimer Love you forever 😂

↳ ynpiastri ilysm

username3 the sainz - piastri drama just spiced this season up

mclaren That’s our boy 🧡

username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri fighting on the internet and oscar is just 🧍

username5 the fact that daniel ricciardo and pierre gasly liked yn’s tweet too 😭

landonorris Stop fighting people on the internet please

↳username1 HELP HIS BESTIES ARE FIGHTING

↳ ynpiastri never 😤

oscarpiastri When nobody got me I know my messy sister got me

↳ username2 I LOVE THEM SM

↳ yourinstagram HE SAID NO PICKLES !!

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

"You didn't have to tweet that," Oscar said, giving you a look from his seat.

You were currently traveling from Belgium to Monaco in McLaren's private jet after the race weekend, and the main topic of the day was your little message to Carlos Sainz after his statement about your brother.

"Osc, he's being a petty bitch," you shrugged, "He keeps blaming you for what happened on the track and we all know it was his fault."

"Lando, can you help me out please?" Oscar looked at his teammate, who was immersed on his phone as a way to avoid the conversation.

"Oh no, don't put me in the middle of this," Lando shook his head, "I have enough PR issues myself."

"We know you're siding with your bestie anyways," you said, making him roll his eyes.

This dynamic was nothing new. Lando and Carlos Sainz were best friends, and so were Lando and you. The issue? You couldn't stand Carlos at all, and Lando was always in the middle of your bickering.

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples as he glanced out of the window. "Look, I appreciate you standing up for me, but sometimes it's better to let things slide. Engaging with him on social media only adds fuel to the fire."

He had a point. Deep down you knew it, however, your were short tempered and protective towards your loved ones, so it was natural that you took the chance to come for Sainz's neck when he gave you a reason to.

"I get it, Osc. I just can't stand seeing him drag your name through the mud when you're not even at fault," you stressed, "You're my little brother, I'll always get protective, you know?"

"I know, and I appreciate you having my back," Oscar said, softening his tone. "But it's not worth it. Like you said, I'm not engaging with whatever he's saying so there's no point of starting stuff."

"He started it, I'm just finishing it," you shrugged, and Oscar gave you a pointed look, you were older than him, but he was definitely more mature than you. "Fine, I'll try to hold back next time," you sighed, leaning back in your seat.

Lando finally looked up from his phone, a smirk on his face. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it? Now, can we all be friends?"

"If that includes Sainz then no, we can't,"

You could never be friends with Carlos Sainz. That was literally impossible.

For starters, you were pretty sure he didn't even know your name, he was always too full of himself to even acknowledge those around him.

And lastly, he was a bitch to your brother on and off track.

"I just, I would really like for you two to get along," Lando said and you immediately rolled your eyes at his words, "You're both important to me, and it sucks being caught in the middle. Plus I don't even understand why do you dislike him so much."

You knew the real reason why you disliked him so much, you perfectly did. However, that was a subject that you decided to ignore every single time.

"Honestly? I find him arrogant. He always acts like he's the center of the universe. He never takes responsibility for his actions and always tries to shift the blame onto others. It's frustrating to watch."

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I get it, but you have to understand, Carlos is actually a good guy once you get to know him. He's passionate and competitive, sure, but he's also loyal and a great friend."

"I get that he's like your hero or something," you teased, "But it's not going to happen, Lando. I don't think I'll ever like Carlos, and I really wish you’d stop pushing the subject."

"Look, you don't have to be his best friend or something," Oscar intervened, "Just promise me you won't punch him when you see him in the paddock after the summer break."

"No promises."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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ynpiastri a weekend in monaco with some of my favorite people 🤍 back to race cars soooon (love being a nepo sister)

tagged: oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer, alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris

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username1 SLAAAY

username2 ahhhh lily x oscar content thank u yn

francisca.cgomes having major fomo rn, love you all babies 🥲

↳ ynpiastri get over hereeeee

username3 she has the dream life

charles_leclerc Stop stealing my girlfriend from me thank you

↳ ynpiastri never

↳ alexandrasaintmleux We’re like this 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

↳ charles_leclerc Don’t do this to me

lilyzneimer 🤍

oscarpiastri I think you just invented the term “nepo sister”

↳ ynpiastri and i’m too iconic for that

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Going to Jimmy'z the last day of the summer break was a tradition among the drivers at this point.

You looked forward to it, for you, nothing could beat a night of loud music, drinks and friends. You thought that was the reason you got along with Lando and quickly became best friends.

“Ready to tear up the dance floor?” Lando shouted over the music, giving you smirk

“Always!” you replied, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the center of the action, Oscar and Lily being their introvert selves decided to stay at the table with some of your friends.

After a few songs, you returned to the table to catch your breath and order another round of drinks.

Oscar looked up from his conversation with Lily and smiled as you approached.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you replied, taking a seat next to him. “You two should join us on the dance floor.”

Lily laughed softly. “Maybe later. Right now, we’re enjoying people-watching.”

“Suit yourselves,” you said, shrugging, "I'm going to the bar, does anyone want anything?"

Oscar shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"I'll have another gin and tonic," Lily said, giving you a warm smile.

"Got it," you replied, turning towards the bar.

As you made your way through the crowded club, you found an open spot at the bar and flagged down the bartender. As you waited for your drinks, you felt someone step up beside you. Glancing to your left, you saw the last person you wanted to run into tonight... or ever.

Carlos Sainz was standing there with what you called his "resting bitch face" and acting like he owned the place.

You knew chances of him being at Jimmy'z for the last day of the summer break were high and you had decided earlier that you were just going to ignore him for the night if you ever ran into him. After all, you were there to have fun, not to get into a confrontation. But you were known for being short-tempered, a stark contrast to your brother's laid-back demeanor.

When you heard Carlos order his drink without so much as a “please,” you couldn't help but call him out.

"Whiskey, neat," he ordered, his tone clipped and lacking any form of politeness, his Spanish accent that you found absolutely irritating coming through.

“A 'please' would be nice, you know,” you interjected.

Carlos turned to you, his brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you replied coolly. “It's not hard to be polite.”

"Do I know you?" Carlos stared at you for a moment before recognition dawned. “Oh you're Piastri's sister, aren't you?”

“That I am,” you confirmed, your tone equally cold.

“Figures," Carlos scoffed, shaking his head, "You’re the one who sent me that lovely message on Twitter.”

“You deserved every word,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“Did I now?” Carlos leaned closer, his expression hardening. “You don't even know the whole story. You just assume I'm the bad guy because of Oscar."

“I know enough,” you shot back. “I know you never take responsibility for your actions. You always blame someone else.”

“And what about you?," Carlos’s jaw tightened, "Hiding behind your keyboard, throwing insults. That's real mature.”

“Someone had to say it,” you replied, refusing to back down. “You can't just go around acting like you're untouchable.”

“And you can't go around thinking you're some kind of vigilante,” Carlos retorted. “Can't your little brother handle things himself?.”

“Maybe if you weren't such a jerk, people wouldn't have to call you out,” you snapped, feeling your temper flare.

Carlos sighed, clearly frustrated. “Look, I don't have time for this. Just stay out of my way, alright?”

“Gladly,” you replied, turning away from him.

When you rejoined your friends, they noticed your tense expression. Lando shot you a questioning look, but you just shook your head.

"Ask you bestie," you simply said and Lando threw his head back in frustration, once again, he was in the middle of his two best friends tension.

“I’ll talk to him," Lando said, sipping on his drink.

"Don't bother, he's a bitch."

Later that night, Lando found Carlos near the dancefloor chatting with some friends. He pulled him aside, needing to get to the bottom of the latest incident.

“What happened with YN now?” Lando asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Carlos shrugged before speaking, “I was minding my own business, ordering a drink, and she just came at me."

“And?” Lando raised an eyebrow.

“And she’s just so immature and arrogant,” Carlos continued, “She’s always ready to pick a fight over the smallest things. It’s embarrassing.”

Lando shook his head. “Look, Carlos, YN is protective of Oscar. She sees you two butting heads and she gets defensive. It’s not ideal, but it’s not like she’s completely unreasonable.”

“Well, she sure seems unreasonable to me," Carlos crossed his arms, "I don’t know how you deal with it.”

Lando sighed. “She’s my friend, and so are you. I wish you two could just get along, but I know that’s asking a lot. Just... try to give her a bit of slack, alright? She’s not a bad person.”

"She's insufferable."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

ynpiastri has added to their stories

carlossainz55 replied to your story

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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and 168,373 others

ynpiastri little bitches everywhere, always a pleasure monza

tagged: landonorris, charles_leclerc

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username1 HEEEELP

username2 she’s so messy we needed this 😭

lilyzneimer I can’t wait to hear this rant in person

↳ username1 LET ME INNNNN

username3 IS THIS CARLOS SHADEEEE

username4 not her adding the radio message

landonorris I would like to be excluded from this narrative

↳ ynpiastri scared of your boyfriend??

↳ username2 THEY’RE SO TALKING ABOUT CARLOS 😭

charles_leclerc Did you call me a little bitch?

↳ ynpiastri you’re literally the only ferrari i like..

↳ username3 she really hates carlos i’m screaming

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Ferrari hospitality was the last place you wanted to be during a Grand Prix, the mere thought of it being the place where Sainz (or as you liked to call him, the little bitch), was most likely to be kept you away from it.

However, Alex told you to meet her there after the Qualifying so you could leave together for dinner. Oscar and Lando already left with the rest of the team, so you had no choice but to wait for your friend.

"Looking for someone, hermosa?" your eyes immediately rolled without even turning around to see who was speaking, the thick Spanish accent that you despised filling your ears.

"Not for you, that's for sure," you said, not even bothering to face him.

"Are you sure? Because this is not the McLaren garage, did your little bro finally kick you out or something?"

"Sainz," you retorted sharply, finally turning to face him, "Shouldn't you be busy making excuses for your next mediocre performance on track?"

"Ah, always so angry, Piastri," he chuckled, unfazed by your hostility, "Maybe you're just frustrated because you're not getting enough attention. I could help with that."

"I don't need or want anything from you," you shot back, your voice laced with irritation.

Carlos leaned casually against a nearby wall, his smirk widening. "Come on, hermosa, you know you've got a temper. Maybe you just need to let off some steam."

Hermosa, the word he used often when he wanted to get to your skin. When you first heard it, you had no idea of what it meant. You were never good at learning Spanish growing up. But after a quick google translation search you found out that it meant beautiful. And for some reason you felt like throwing up.

"Believe me, Sainz, you're the last person I'd ever turn to," you replied icily, folding your arms across your chest, "And don't call me that."

He chuckled again, seemingly enjoying your discomfort. You wondered how Lando could be friends with him when he was nothing but an arrogant little bitch, and you cursed Alexandra for taking so long to get her stuff from hospitality.

"I hope you know that you have some serious issues, Sainz," you said, your patience wearing thin as his cocky stare weighted on you.

"Issues? Me?," Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your anger, "I think you're the one with the problem, querida. Like I said, maybe you need to get laid. I could help you with that, your brother won't find out."

Your eyes narrowed, your blood boiled to the point where you could feel your skin burning up. If it wasn't for the all the people around, you swore you could've punched him.

You took a step closer to him, your voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I hope your car sets itself on fire so you're not able to race tomorrow."

Carlos's smirk only widened, he was well aware that he got into your skin and he enjoyed every minute of it. Before he could respond, Alex finally appeared, her eyes flicking between the two of you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Ready to go?" she asked, sensing the tension.

"More than ready," you replied, shooting Carlos one last glare before turning to leave with Alex.

The next day, news spread quickly through the paddock that Carlos' car had suffered a mechanical failure during the warm-up, rendering him unable to compete in the Qatar Grand Prix. Meanwhile, Oscar had won the Sprint and finished P2 in the race.

Karma got that little bitch, you thought to yourself

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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ynpiastri season over and out. super proud of you, rookie of the year @/oscarpiastri 🥹

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username1 i’m going to miss this season sm

username2 proud sisssss

mclaren One for the books 🧡

username3 thank you for fighting sainz online all season long bestie

landonorris Little Oscar is all grown up now

↳ ynpiastri don’t say that i’ll cry

lilyzneimer 🫶🫶🫶

username4 highlight of the season was the piastri - sainz beef

↳ username1 not for lando 😭

oscarpiastri Thank you for always supporting me (creating drama online and all) Love you so much ❤️

↳ ynpiastri that’s what big sisters are for

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The end of the 2023 season was a blur of celebrations, laughter, and champagne showers. Oscar had closed off the season as the Rookie of the Year and you couldn't be more proud of him, you were grateful you got to be by his side through it.

And of course, with the end of the season a celebration at Jimmy'z was in order, all drivers, their girlfriends and friends pulling up to Monaco for one last night of partying before the winter break.

You had stuck close to Lando and Oscar for most of the evening, since it was a special occasion, you decided not to hold back with your drinking and have as much fun as you wanted, Lando being your partner in crime as always.

So by 2 a.m, you were pretty drunk, not to the point where you couldn't stand on your own feet, but drunk enough to make a couple of bad decisions.

With that thought on your mind, you decided that it was time to find your brother or best friend and call it a night. But for some reason, both of them were nowhere to be found.

Stumbling through the crowded dance floor, you made your way toward the back of the club, hoping to spot them. The alleyway was dark and you couldn't see a single thing, but they weren't definitely back there.

"Fancy seeing you here, hermosa," a voice behind drawled, almost making you jump.

"What the actual fuck!" you said, holding a hand to your chest.

Of course it was fucking Carlos Sainz, once again

"You scared the hell out of me!" you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him, "Do you hide in dark alleyways like a creep all the time?"

"Slow down, hermosa, why are you so angry all the time?" his Spanish accent was thicker than usual, a clear sign that he was as tipsy as you were.

"I'm not in the mood for your games tonight," you retorted, trying to brush past him.

"Relax, I'm not here to cause trouble," he said, blocking your path with an easy grace. "Though you do seem to find me wherever you go."

"Only because you insist on being everywhere I am," you shot back, folding your arms over your chest.

"Or maybe you just can't resist my charm," he teased, leaning casually against the wall.

"Charm? Is that what you call it?" you scoffed, "More like arrogance and an inflated ego."

"Arrogance? No. Confidence? Absolutely," he replied with a smirk, "And I think you secretly like it."

"You're delusional," you muttered, feeling the alcohol clouding your judgment. "I can't stand you."

"Is that so?" he said, stepping closer. "Because you seem pretty invested in this conversation for someone who supposedly hates me."

True

"Maybe because you won't let me leave," you said, your voice rising in frustration.

"Or maybe because you've spent the entire season trying to get my attention by being rude to me and blasting me on social media, calling me a little bitch and all."

"I was defending Oscar," you snapped. "You kept messing with him on track. Someone had to call you out."

Carlos shook his head, his cocky smirk even bigger now. "It was never about Oscar, and you know it."

"God, I hate you," you said, ready to walk away but he blocked your way one more time.

"No, you don't," he replied, a knowing smile on his lips. "You just hate that you can't help but get all hot and bothered whenever I'm around."

"You're really are such a little bitch," you spat, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt a strange thrill.

"And you're a firecracker, Piastri. That's what makes this so fun."

"You're so full of yourself," you retorted, but the words lacked their usual bite. The alcohol was making it hard to keep up your defenses, and Carlos's close proximity was doing strange things to your resolve.

"Maybe," he conceded, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But I think you like it more than you let on."

Before you could argue back, Carlos took another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours. The tension between you crackled like electricity, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself unable to pull away.

"You're infuriating," you muttered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"And you," he said, his breath warm against your ear, "are insufferable."

Without another word, he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss. It was a collision of anger, frustration, and undeniable chemistry, and you couldn't help but respond in kind.

Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands roamed down your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

What the hell was happening?

For a moment, all the animosity, all the bickering, melted away. It was messy, it was intense, and it was everything you hadn't realized you wanted.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you could see the same mix of surprise and desire reflected in Carlos' eyes.

Before either of you could say anything, you were interrupted by Lando's voice calling out your name. You quickly stepped back, putting some distance between you and Carlos as Lando approached, a curious look on his face.

"Everything okay here?" Lando asked, glancing between the two of you.

"Just fine," you replied, giving Carlos a final, challenging look. "Just fine."

Carlos nodded, his smirk returning. "See you around, Piastri."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

texts between lando and yn

texts between carlos and lando

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

2024 SEASON

Formula 1 was back and in full swing. And with that your "nepo sister" privileges, which included traveling with Oscar for races came back too.

You were excited for this season, Oscar was no longer a rookie and he had a lot to prove, and you couldn't wait to see him rise to the challenge.

In addition to that, this season was going to be extra interesting, since the news of your least favorite driver on the grid (or at least the one you swore you hated) being replaced by Lewis Hamilton in Ferrari were announced a few weeks prior.

"Did you hear the news?" Oscar asked, making his way to you.

"What news?" you replied, setting down your coffee cup.

"Lewis Hamilton is moving to Ferrari next season," Oscar said, watching your reaction closely.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? So the little bitch is out?"

Oscar nodded. "Yeah, it's going to be an interesting season."

Carlos Sainz was both a source of irritation and inexplicable attraction. You had tried to push the memory of that kiss at Jimmy'z to the back of your mind all winter long, but you just couldn't stop thinking about it.

Plus, Lando was firm on his mission of making wither of you confess that apparently you "liked each other", which made ignoring the whole situation even harder.

You just hoped that he would keep it chill this season, not bothering either you or Oscar so you could just pretend he didn't exist.

With that thought on your mind, you made your way back to the hotel. You spent the day exploring around Bahrain with Oscar and Lando, and now you were ready to unwind in your room. The boys deciding to spend a few more hours walking around before heading back.

Once in the lobby, you stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a familiar hand slipped in, forcing them open.

Carlos Sainz stepped inside, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say.

"Not going to say hello, querida?" he said after a few seconds of complete silence from you, leaning against the elevator wall.

"Carlos. Still popping up where you're least wanted, I see," you rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest.

"Missed you too, Piastri," he chuckled, pushing off the wall to stand closer you, "How was your break?"

"Great, thanks for asking," you replied coolly. "Did you enjoy yours, planning how to be a pain to other drivers this season too?"

"Is that really how you want to start our first conversation of the season?" Carlos raised an eyebrow, "I though we've left that in the past, specially after what happened at the end of last year."

You tensed at his statement. More than once during the break, you wondered if he remembered what happened that night. He was as drunk was you were, if not more, so you convinced yourself that he had forgotten about it.

"I don't remember much from that night. Must have been the champagne."

Carlos leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Oh, I think you remember perfectly well. Especially the kiss."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your expression neutral. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you," he said with a chuckle. "But fine, we'll pretend it never happened. For now."

"Good," you replied sharply. "Because I have no intention of discussing it."

"Maybe you're playing dumb because you want me to kiss you again," Carlos teased, making you throw your head back in frustration.

"I'd rather choke on my own spit, little bitch,"

"Ahh, missed hearing that," Carlos said, his tone cocky and satisfied with your frustration. You mentally cursed the elevator for taking so long to get to your fucking floor.

"You know what? I hope you don't find a seat for next season at all. You act like a total peacock when everyone knows you're basically unemployed right now," you spitted out before you could even think twice.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his expression momentarily serious. "Low blow, Piastri. Even for you."

You held his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. "Just stating the obvious."

The elevator finally dinged, announcing your floor, and you stepped out swiftly, eager to end the conversation before it could escalate further.

Carlos Sainz had a way of getting under your skin like no one else, and the season had only just begun.

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ynpiastri and we’re back 🏁 i promise to make this season drama free

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username1 ICON IS BACKKKK

username2 nooo we need you to keep dragging sainz

mclaren Our favorite nepo sister 🧡

↳ ynpiastri that’s meeee

username3 yn always gives us lily x oscar content bless her

charles_leclerc What if I need you to fight someone from the grid for me?

↳ ynpiastri you know there’s one person i would gladly drag through the mood

↳ username1 HER HATRED FOR CARLOS LIVES

lilyzneimer love youuu✨

oscarpiastri Cute picture of me and Lily, thank u sis

↳ ynpiastri i’m just here for my babies 🫡

landonorris I know your reasons

↳ ynpiastri you’re so strange sometimes

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It was a sunny day in Melbourne, and the paddock was buzzing with excitement. The Australian Grand Prix was always a favorite, and this year was no exception.

You felt good to be back home, you always felt proud when you saw Oscar on the track, but seeing him racing in your home country was something even more special.

Carlos was also back from his emergency surgery and ready to race again. And even though you would never admit it out loud, you were relieved to see him back and healthy. The news of his appendicitis had shocked you more than you’d expected, and you’d found yourself genuinely concerned about his wellbeing.

I'm just being a decent human being, you tried to convince yourself, It would be really scary if that happened to Oscar or Lando.

Walking through the paddock, you looked for a familiar face to hang out with before it was time for the track action to start, spotting Lando's back talking to someone you couldn't quite identify, you decided to approach him.

As you got closer, Lando shifted slightly, revealing the person he was talking to, Carlos.

He looked well, a healthy glow back in his cheeks, his smile easy and relaxed. He was wearing his team gear, the Ferrari red suiting him perfectly. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and despite the casual setting, he looked effortlessly handsome for someone who had a major surgery just two weeks ago.

Your stomach did a little flip. You hated to admit it, but lately your hatred towards Carlos had cooled down. Maybe it was the memory of that kiss, seeing him vulnerable after his surgery or the fact that he had been decent to Oscar so far. You couldn't deny that there was something about him that made you feel… softer.

However, you decided to ignore those thoughts and feelings every time they got to your head, because at the end of the day, there was no way he could ever feel or think the same way. It was better to keep hating each other.

Lando noticed you approaching and gave you a teasing grin. "Hey, YN! Look who’s back from the dead!"

Carlos turned to face you, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. "Hey, Piastri," he greeted with a warm smile. "Back to your home turf, huh?"

"Yeah," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual despite the flutter in your chest. "It feels good to be back."

Lando gave Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later, mate," he said, winking at you before walking away, leaving the two of you alone.

You stood there for a moment, awkward silence filling the air. Maybe he was still tired from what he had been through, but he didn't show any signs of cockiness or wanting to annoy you this time.

"You look well," you finally said, your voice softer than usual. "I'm glad you're back."

Carlos chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I heard you were worried about me."

"Don't let it go to your head," you replied quickly, though the usual bite in your tone was missing. You felt a bit embarrassed that he knew, "I’m just being a decent human being."

"Of course," Carlos said, his voice nonchalant, "Decent human being, sure."

"I’m serious," you insisted, though your voice lacked the usual edge. "But I am glad you’re okay. It must have been scary."

Carlos’s expression softened. "It was. But I had good doctors, and I’m ready to race again. Thanks for worrying."

There was silence again, and you noticed that this was the first time you and Carlos had an interaction that didn't include biting each other's heads off.

It felt nice.

"Well," you said after a minute of silence, "don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you had surgery. You're still on my watch."

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Carlos smirked, "But for the record, it’s nice to see you care, even if you won’t admit it."

"Don't push your luck, Sainz," you warned, but there was a hint of playfulness in your voice.

"I wouldn't dare, Piastri."

"I should get going," you said, pointing towards the McLaren hospitality, "Good luck out there."

As you turned to walk away, Carlos's voice stopped you in your tracks.

You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"You know, this is the first time you don't call me a little bitch," Carlos said, a small playing on his face.

"What, you miss it already? Does it turn you own?"

"Maybe a little," Carlos chuckled, "Keeps things interesting."

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spread across your face.

"Well, good luck out there, little bitch."

You didn't wait to see his reaction, but you knew he was grinning from ear to ear.

Later that day, Carlos crossed the finish line first and won the Australian Grand Prix, sending the crowd into a frenzy. You watched as Carlos celebrated on the podium, spraying champagne with Lando and Charles and holding up the winner's trophy with pride.

You swore you played it cool, but everyone around you noticed the huge smile on your face.

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username1 AUSSIE QUEEN

username2 omfg included a picture of sainz win??

↳ username1 how pissed do you think she was bc he won in australia

↳ username3 i love that she didn’t tag him tho 😭

alexandrasaintmleux Mama piastri >> 🫶

↳ ynpiastri our real queen

lilyzneimer the third pic is my faveeee

username4 surprised that she didn’t blur carlos in the podium pic

landonorris Please don’t make me do a shoey ever again

↳ username2 OMFG I NEED TO SEE THAT

↳ oscarpiastri Aussie traditions mate

↳ ynpiastri cry baby

carlossainz55 started following you

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carlossainz55 replied to your story

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"You're not my best friend," Lando said, sitting on the plush couch of your hotel room, watching as you put a sweatshirt on, "You've been replaced with an alien or an evil twin, there's no way you're YN Piastri."

"Can you quit being dramatic," you rolled your eyes at him, "It's no big deal."

"You're grabbing sushi with Carlos Sainz," he stressed, moving his hands to emphasize, "You hate Carlos Sainz, it's been an issue for me for the last year because both of you force me to pick sides and I have to make sure you don't kill each other. And now you're suddenly going on dates."

"This is not a date," you protested, "Don't even say that out loud, it's gross."

"Then what is it? Because he asked you out and you said yes, that's literally a date."

You didn't give him a reply right away, hiding behind your your busy hands as you pretended to adjust your sweatshirt.

Truth was, you didn’t have an answer, at least not one that made sense. You couldn't blame Lando for thinking you've been replaced with someone else, because you'd never accept anything from Carlos last year, let alone willingly grab dinner with him.

But here you were, about to head out to meet him.

"I just want free dinner," you shrugged, "And he offered to buy it, so I'm taking advantage of it."

"Sure, free dinner," Lando gave you a skeptical look, crossing his arms, "Because you’ve never had other options for free dinner before, right? Your brother is rich, he could buy you whatever you want."

You huffed, trying to sound annoyed but feeling a bit defensive. "It's just sushi, Lando. Stop making it a big deal."

"You know, it's okay if you like him," he said, his tone genuine. "I mean, I get why you're hesitant, but it's fine to have feelings for someone, even if it's Carlos Sainz."

"Are you out of your mind?" you immediately said, your voice sharper than intended, "We're talking about the little bitch, what on earth makes you think that I could have feelings for him other than disgust and irritation."

"I don't know, maybe the fact that you're getting ready to get dinner with him, or that you were on the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was recovering from the surgery, or the time I almost caught you kiss-"

"God, just shut up," you interrupted him, "Oscar would understand. He knows I'm never going to get all lovey-dovey over Carlos."

"Oscar might buy whatever you tell him," Lando raised an eyebrow, "But that doesn't mean you're being honest with yourself. It's not the end of the world to admit you might have a crush."

"I do not have a crush on him," you insisted, your cheeks heating up. "It's just... complicated."

"Complicated how?" Lando pressed, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks pretty straightforward. You’re intrigued by him, he’s intrigued by you, and you both can’t seem to stay away from each other."

You let his words sink in, Lando might be a year younger than you, and often perceived as a carefree guy who didn't have a serious bone in his body. But in reality, he was a very wise person who understood the complexities of situations better than most.

That was one of the reasons why he was your best friend.

"Look, it’s not that simple," you sighed, rubbing your temples, "We have history, and not the good kind. I don't trust him, and I don’t think he trusts me either. We're just… trying to be civil for once."

"That's good," Lando stood up from the couch, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "Honestly I was tired of dealing with your constant bickering, if you didn't kiss and make up on your own, I was going to lock you up in a closet until you resolved it."

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ynpiastri just decent human being things

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username1 BESTIEEEE

username2 THIS LOOKS LIKE A DATE

alexandrasaintmleux I just texted you !!!

↳ username1 LET ME INNNN

f1gossip 👀

username3 CARLOS SAINZ ???

↳ username1 girl no way they hate each other

↳ username2 he’s in the likes tho 😭

landonorris IM FREEEEE WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFEEEE

↳ username1 wtfffff

oscarpiastri Answer my texts right now please

↳ username1 IM SCREAMING

↳ username2 OSCAR 😩

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After a nice dinner and a couple of drinks, you and Carlos walked back to the hotel. The sushi had been surprisingly good, and the conversation… surprisingly pleasant.

The bickering between you was still present, but this time it wasn't harsh or spiteful, it was playful and and light-hearted. The tension that usually accompanied your interactions had lessened, and you actually acted friendly towards each other.

"I still can't believe you made me try that weird seaweed thing," you said, bumping your shoulder against his as you walked.

"You loved it, admit it," Carlos chuckled.

"Maybe a little," you conceded with a small smile, "How did you know this place anyways?"

"I like reading restaurant reviews online," he shrugged, "It's a random hobby of mine, and I'm going to need those in case I don't have a job next year."

You paused, his words sinking in. Carlos joked about it, but you knew the uncertainty of his future in Formula 1 must be horrible. The sport is cutthroat, and the thought of not finding a seat to race must be weighing on him heavily. It made you think about Oscar, and how that could happen to him too.

"I'm sorry for saying that I hope you don't find a seat next season," you blurted out, feeling a pang of guilt. "You're right, that was low, even for me."

"Are you really apologizing, Piastri?" he teased, "First you cared about my health, now you apologize. What's next? You'll stop calling me a little bitch?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice behind it. "Don't push your luck, Sainz. Just take the apology and run with it."

"Alright, I'll take it," Carlos laughed, a genuine sound that made your heart skip a beat, "You must be praying I stay just so you have an excuse to argue with me, aren't you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," you shot back, grinning. "I can argue with anyone."

"But you like arguing with me the most," he said, his voice softening.

You didn't reply, the truth in his words making your heart race. From the corner of your eye, you saw the satisfied grin on his face.

Soon enough you reached the hotel lobby, and once you walked through the doors you spotted Charles and Alexandra by the reception desk.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Charles called out, drawing the attention of Alex, who looked at you with raised eyebrows.

"Just coming back from dinner," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. "What are you two up to?"

"We were just about to head up," Alexandra said, linking her arm with Charles's. "How was dinner?"

"Surprisingly good," Carlos said, glancing at you with a smirk.

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "This is new. You two actually getting along?"

"Don't get used to it," you said, rolling your eyes. "I just wanted free dinner."

"Right," Charles said, not convinced. "Well, we're heading up, you coming?"

You all piled into the elevator, the small space filled with a mix of comfortable silence and light conversation. When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out, Carlos following close behind.

"Goodnight, guys," Alex called out as the elevator doors closed, giving you a look that screamed 'TEXT ME ASAP'

Carlos walked you to your room, the hallway dimly lit and quiet. As you walked side by side, the occasional brush of his arm against yours sent small shivers down your spine.

"So, the only reason you agreed to come with me tonight was because you wanted free dinner?" Carlos asked once you reached your room.

"Exactly, what else do you think would make me want to spend an evening with you?"

Carlos chuckled, leaning against the wall beside your door. "I don't know, maybe my charming personality and good looks?"

"Charming?" you raised your eyebrows at him, "You're literally the most annoying person I know."

"Likewise, Piastri," Carlos shot back, his smirk widening, "But here we are, aren't we?"

"You really think you're that special, don't you?" you said, rolling your eyes.

"I know I am, querida," Carlos replied, stepping closer. "And you can't get enough of me."

You looked away from him, his stare suddenly becoming overwhelming. He was really close, as close as he was the night you kissed at Jimmy'z, and even thinking about it has your neck crawling away in sweat.

"See? You can't even deny it." Carlos grinned, his eyes locking onto yours again, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step closer.

"Don't get any ideas," you warned, but your heart was racing, and you were sure he could hear it.

"I can't help it," he said softly, his face now inches from yours. "You bring out the best in me, Piastri."

"I still hate you," you whispered, your breath hitching as he leaned in even closer.

"No, you don't," Carlos whispered back, his lips brushing against yours.

Before you could protest, he closed the distance and kissed you. It was gentle at first, tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, the kiss deepened, becoming more intense and filled with a raw passion that took your breath away.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you kissed him back, losing yourself in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, a small smile playing on Carlos's lips.

"Goodnight, Piastri," he whispered, his voice husky.

Unable to move from your spot, you watched him walk through the corridor and disappear into the elevator doors, your mind still blurry about what happened just seconds ago.

You were fucked.

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TWITTER

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A playlist full of pop classics played as you got ready for Lando's millionth win celebration.

He took the win at the Miami Grand Prix and the next following days were full of partying and champagne. You were beyond happy for him, and willing to put up with his multiple celebrations of his well deserved win.

This time, the setting was not that over the top, just a casual dinner at his place in Monaco with his close friends.

"Can I come in?" you heard after a knock on Oscar's guest bedroom, the place where you stayed when visiting Monaco.

"Sure," you replied, quickly meeting with your brother's figure.

Oscar entered the room, a casual grin on his face. He glanced around before his eyes settled on you. "Are you almost ready?"

"Yeah," you replied, adjusting an earring. "I hope this is Lando's last celebration, I can't keep up anymore.

"He's definitely on a roll," Oscar chuckled, "You know, Carlos is going to be there."

"I know," you said, looking away from him for a moment and trying to keep your tone nonchalant.

"You do?" Oscar raised a eyebrow.

"He's Lando's best friend, Osc, it's obvious he'll be there."

Oscar nodded slowly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Right, of course. But you two have been getting close lately, haven't you? You didn't even come for his neck after Miami, and you always do that."

You sighed, knowing where this conversation was heading. There was no denying that there was something between you and Carlos, your friends might not know about the times you've kissed, but they definitely noticed the shift in your behavior towards each other.

You found yourself enjoying his company, looking forward to catch a glimpse of him every weekend and craving his touch. You don't know if he feels the same way, but the way he looks at you and finds ways to get you alone tells you he does.

Admitting this to Oscar felt like crossing a line, even though he had always encouraged you to be open about your feelings.

"We're just… getting along better. That's all," you muttered, "And you asked me to behave on social media this season, I'm trying to do that."

"That's bullshit, YN," Oscar shook his head, a teasing smile forming on his lips, "Come on, admit it. Maybe the real reason you didn't attack him this time is because you like him."

"Oscar, we're not having this conversation," you quickly became defensive, "I don't know why everyone insist on something that's far from the truth. I don't like Sainz."

"Sis, it's okay if you like him," Oscar said, his tone gentle but insistent. "You don't have to hide it from me."

You looked away, feeling conflicted. Ever since you first met Carlos, there was something about him that intrigued you, however, you were too caught up in convincing yourself that he would never see you as more than his brand new rival's sister. Things getting worse when his incidents with Oscar on track started and you took that as an opportunity to be reckless to him.

It was a self defense mechanism for your own feelings.

"It's complicated, okay?" you said, feeling vulnerable but knowing you could trust him, "We spent last year coming from each other's necks all the time, but now he's nice to me and I am too, we spend time together, we kiss. But at the same time, I feel like I can't trust him, that he's going to switch to little bitch mode again and I'll end up feeling stupid for potentially catching feelings."

"Holy shit you've kissed!" Oscar said, his eyes widening, "Lando was right all along."

"Oh god, I shouldn't have said anything," you threw your head back in frustration.

"Sorry, sorry," he put his hands up in defense, "But It's okay to feel confused. You can talk to me, you know. I'm your brother, and I just want you to be happy. I can tell that this is really bothering you."

You sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I just don't know what to do, Osc. One minute I think I might actually like him, and the next I'm terrified of getting hurt."

"Look, I know Carlos can be intense on track, but off track? He's a good guy," Oscar sat beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders, "When he's not trying to push me off the track, he's really supportive and a nice guy. There's a reason why Lando adores him. Plus, maybe he's figuring things out too."

You leaned into Oscar's side, grateful for his comforting presence. "Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, I do," Oscar nodded reassuringly. "And you deserve to give yourself a chance at happiness. If Carlos could make you happy, then why not see where it goes?"

"When did you become so wise?" you teased, giving him a small smile, "You're supposed to be my annoying little brother who picks his nose and runs around the house."

"Hey, I can be wise when I want to be," Oscar chuckled, giving you a playful shove, "But don't worry, I'll always be your annoying little brother, nose-picking and all."

You laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. "Thanks, Osc. I needed this."

"Anytime, sis," Oscar said warmly, giving you a quick hug. "Now, come on. Lando is probably drunk already and we haven't made it to his house yet."

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username1 so iconic tbh

username2 EXCUSE ME MISS IS THAT CARLOS SAINZ IN THE LAST PIC ??

↳ username1 i thought they hated each other 😭

danielricciardo 🙌

alexandrasaintmleux 👀 I see you

↳ ynpiastri and i don’t see you over her which means your boyfriend sucks for not bringing you

↳ charles_leclerc …..

landonorris IM V DRVNK OMG

↳ username3 i love him 😭😭😭😩

username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri the ultimate enemies to lovers lowkey

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You're not sure how it happened, but Carlos' arm laid casually in the back of your chair as you chatted with those around you. His fingers gently brushed your bare shoulder from time to time, his thigh pressed to yours under the table.

Maybe it was the couple glasses of champagne you both had, you're not sure. But you definitely didn't want to move from your spot.

No one dared to say anything about it, but your friends had teasing grins at the sight. You knew you'll have to deal with them later, but you decided to ignore it for the night.

"Alright, I think I'm calling it a night," Oscar said as he got up from his chair, Lando immediately booed, "Are you coming, YN?"

You looked at him with raised eyebrows, you definitely didn't want to leave yet, feeling too comfortable in Carlos' presence. In addition to that, you haven't had a chance to get him alone, and that was enough to not want the night to end.

After a minute of silence from you, Carlos spoke up, "I can give her a ride home if she doesn't want to leave yet," he offered, his voice smooth and nonchalant.

"Oh, a private chauffeur service now, Carlos? How fancy," Max teased from across the table, making the entire group laugh.

Oscar hesitated, glancing between you and Carlos, his protective instincts kicking in. "Are you okay with that, YN?"

"Yeah, I'm okay with it," you met Oscar's eyes and nodded, "Or I can just crash here, Lando is too drunk to notice anyway, don't want to cause much trouble."

"It's really no trouble," he insisted, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder. "I'll make sure you get home safely."

Oscar seemed to relax a bit, though you could tell he was still a little uneasy. "Alright then. Just... be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry, Osc," you replied, standing up and giving him a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As Oscar left, the group continued to tease and laugh. You always enjoyed when the drivers were in a casual setting like this one, where they could forget about competition and teams and just hang out and have fun.

You stayed glued to Carlos the entire time, getting even closer as the night went on, you could feel your eyelids getting heavy, so you laid your head on his shoulder.

"You're falling asleep on me, hermosa," Carlos whispered to you, not moving your head from its place.

"I'm not," you protested, but at the same time you did a yawn escaped your mouth, which made Carlos laugh.

"Come on let's get you home," Carlos offered you his hand.

You took Carlos' hand, not even thinking twice about it. As you both stood to leave, your friends couldn't resist one last round of teasing.

"No funny business, Carlos," Charles called out, grinning widely. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. "We have Oscar on speed dial."

"Yeah, don't make me come after you, that's also my sister," Lando added, too drunk to even make sense.

You laughed, waving goodbye to everyone as you and Carlos made your way out. The cool night air was refreshing as you walked to his car, your hand still in his.

The drive to Oscar's place was quiet but comfortable. Carlos kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console close to you. You found yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way the streetlights played over his features.

At one point, Carlos glanced over and caught you staring. "You're staring," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

You felt your cheeks heat up but didn't look away. "Maybe I am," you replied, a teasing edge in your voice. "You have a problem with that?"

"Not at all, Piastri. Not at all."

When you arrived at Oscar's place, Carlos parked the car but you made no move to get out. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

"Are you ready to stop pretending we hate each other?" Carlos asked suddenly, his voice low and earnest. "Because I am."

His words hung in the air, causing your heart to skip a beat. The intensity in his gaze made it clear he wasn't playing around or teasing you. He was being real and serious.

You took a deep breath, your eyes locking onto his. "Yeah, I am."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger. The world outside the car ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way his kiss made you feel.

Carlos' other hand found its way to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he pressed you closer. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on as if letting go meant losing this moment forever.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Carlos' eyes searched yours, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"But… I'm not ready to stop calling you a little bitch, though."

[dollfacefantasy]

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..." 

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion. 

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.

[nkogneatho]

𝐻𝐴𝑈𝑁𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑂𝑉𝐸

—a/n: hii i am pasi and i like to make people cry and suffer.

He didn't mean it. right?

"You are so fucking insufferable. My wife was so much better than you. You can never be like her."

It stung you. your heart raced faster as fear, panic and pain seeped in your blood. You and toji had gotten into a petty arguement earlier. It was only a matter of time before it turned into a full fledged fight the way none of you were backing down. usually, you both would've just been mad for a few hours before apologizing to each other—although your apologies were in the form of long hugs and favorite food—but this one took the worst turn.

The room was silent for thirty seconds after the words left his mouth. Tears threatened your eyes. To be honest, you did not even have the energy to put a fight with them. So you just let them fall.

"I know." You finally spoke but it was a broken whimper. "I know, dammit." You bit your lips, holding in your loud cries. You wanted to sob till the neighbors knew something was wrong, but you suppressed them. "I can never be like her. She was perfect. She was beautiful. She—she would never get on your nerves like me." You stammered between sentences. "I get it. I respect her." Toji looked at you with raging eyes, his adrenaline still hadn't calmed down but you could spot regret when his brow softened a little.

"But, honestly toji...I don't give a fuck about being like her. I never tried to be. All I tried was to— to love you more that her so you could know your worth after you lost her." Every cell in your body tried to gather as much courage as it could to just stand there and being able to say this.

All the anger in his suddenly had vanished, replaced with regret and hatred for himself. He never wanted to make you feel like this. He never wnated to fuck this up, and make you cry. But now he had. He let his hand reached you, only to notice your leg stepping backward.

"I am never going to be enough, right? Fuck. I can't do this."

"No. Don't say it—"

"I think it's time I leave." Feet rushing towards you, his steps heavier.

"Don't say that. Fuck I am so sorry. I didn't mean it, baby. I..." Broken sobs left your lips. He wanted to kiss them away, but he didn't know if he could right now. Big thumb brushed away your thick tears, palm resting against your cheek. He picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. Placing your body on the grey mattress, he climbed on the bed, laying next to you with your head on his arms. There were no words exchanged for the rest of the night. When your sobs stopped, he kissed your forehead as you passed out from exhaustion. The sight bought him both peace and pain. He promised himself that he will make it up to you tomorrow.

The sun was brighter the next morning, or at least that is what Toji felt when the sun rays coming from the window fell directly on his body. Usually, he'd wake up to the shade of your body. His eyes widened as he hastily sat up, finding you nowhere on the bed.

"No. No. No. Please."

He rushed to the bathroom, but it was empty. Kitchen? Empty. Hall? Empty. Wait. He moved closer to the coffee table when he caught a glimpse of what seemed like a note.

"Thank you for everything and I am sorry I wasn't enough. Goodbye Toji."

A loud thud emerged as Toji's kness met the floor, clueless eyes scanning the room. It qas more silent than usual. The kind of silence that was killing him. Has it always been this quiet?

[augustinewrites]

“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

shoko stitches him up neatly, cleaning and covering it up with a layer of bandages. she offers him a hand to help him sit up, but he bypasses it to plant his palm against the cot, pushing himself up with a groan.

she rolls her eyes, peeling her gloves off and pulling her mask down, tossing them both into the trash. “clean and dress it at least twice a day. no sudden movements of strenuous activity for at least a week. if you ruin my work, i’ll put you on bedrest.”

she digs through her cabinets as he awkwardly pulls his shirt back on. his mind drifts to you as he does so. he’d lost his phone in the fight, so he hadn’t been able to tell you about cancelling.

he wonders if the pout on your lips is painted your lips that shade of red you’d been wearing when he’d first met you. wonders if you’re waiting wearing the dress he’d gifted you last week.

he’d really wanted to see you in that dress.

nanami sighs heavily as he does up the buttons, prompting shoko to glance over her shoulder at him.

“what’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting a small bottle of painkillers on the tray table next to him.

“i’m missing an important dinner,” he grumbles, wondering if just a bundle sunflowers or peonies from the small stall outside is enough. he should order you a proper bouquet from a shop. perhaps he can also book you a massage or—

a knock at the door interrupts his spiralling.

“oh!” shoko suddenly gasps. she reaches up, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead and fixing it as best she can.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely confused in this moment.

“you’ll see,” she simply grins, sending him a wink. then, “come in!”

the door to the infirmary opens to reveal…you.

“kento,” you breathe, the quiet click of your heels echoing through the empty room as you quickly walk towards him.

he’s shocked, but lets you carefully wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest.

but before he knows it he’s holding onto you too, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of your perfume and focusing on the steady beat of your heart.

“what are you doing here?” he asks once you finally release him, taking your hands in his.

“shoko called me,” you tell him. “apparently…apparently i’m your emergency contact.”

his face is suddenly hot with embarrassment. he’d honestly forgotten about that. he hadn’t even realized he’d done it when yaga had asked him to update his information with the school. your name had been the first and only name to pop into his mind.

“sorry,” he apologizes quickly, dropping your hands. he jumped the gun, didn’t he? you’ve only been dating for six months… “i should have asked you first but—”

but no one knows me better than you.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you sit next to him, with a gaze so reverent that it strips him to the bone. “i love you, kento. i will be your emergency contact as long as you want me to be.”

he whispers the words back to you, suddenly shy.

sometimes nanami lets himself slip a little too far into his own head, overthinking and a little insecure. but you’re always there, ready to coax him back into the light.

“you look beautiful,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. he’s seen you in a lot of dresses, each one making him weak in the knees. but this dress…this one makes it a little hard for him to breathe.

“well, you still owe me a date,” you tell him, helping him up off the cot. “we could go to the ramen place across from my apartment.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with his. “i’d go anywhere with you.”

[daddyricsdoll]

Vanilla? ✭ Oscar Piastri

Summary: It's always the quiet ones that are the freakiest. But that wasn't what every other driver on the grid thought as they teased Oscar and you for being too innocent to know anything beyond vanilla sex. So when you guys didn't put up a fight, they figured they were right... until someone was lucky enough to see you and Oscar on the other end of the spectrum of "plain sex".

Warnings: not vanilla sex! fingering, oral (male receiving), bondage (hands tied together), spreader bar (if that even what it’s called), unprotected sex, rough because how else would you have it? Gagging and deep-throating Oscar’s huge dick 😩

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Oscar is the man who makes me wanna wake up in the morning and I love it!! I'm so obsessed with him it's making me go insane, but if I'm going insane it's fine because I'm going insane over him. Everything about him is beautiful and I wanna call him pretty and gorgeous and watch as he blushes. Then ride him and take control of him until he wants to teach me lesson and makes me pass out. (I’m just a girl) Based off of this request.

“Oscar, how would you say relationships outside of F1 have helped you grow in this sport as a driver and as a person. If they had an impact, and if not then why?” Oscar’s PR manager testing questions on him, posing as one of the many journalists trying to break Oscar’s wall that he’s been perfect at keeping up so far. He finds it amusing that they have so much interest in his life, only encouraging him to keep his words to a minimum. Well as long as you don’t come up– his cheeks immediately flush and he starts every sentence with “my girlfriend” before he looks at others and silently begs them to say something to shut him up.

“Well, everyone’s been supportive of my career. Which only makes me want to do my best, and better than that.” Keeping a straight face as he answers until he looks at you beside him then Lando with a proud grin on his face.

“Who’s everyone…? Your girlfriend?” Lando’s voice teases, like every schoolgirl talking about their friend's crush.

“I- yeah. She does a lot for me, helps me let off steam before and after races, she also-”

“Let off steam, huh? Is my Oscar making his girlfriend cum to let off steam?” Lando’s mouth wide open, making an ‘o’ shape. Both you and Oscar have mixed emotions– heat coursing through you remembering just this morning, but also shock from Lando’s unhinged question.

“You’d be surprised?” Oscar’s answer broad, but you knew. Letting Lando believe that Oscar lets you cum, when his favourite thing is edging you until tears roll down your face.

“Oscar, you probably just learnt what a clit is.” Lando having nothing better to do than tease him as his pale cheeks turn pink. 

“Believe whatever makes you happy.” Oscar shutting down the conversation before he reveals too much, a little smile on his lips as he chuckles and moves his hand further up your thigh.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

It wasn’t just Lando who would have a say about you and Oscar’s sexual life, but any driver who happened to walk into the conversation at the perfect time.

“Oh yeah, Oscar you’re vanilla.” His fellow Australian, Daniel Ricciardo, says. Joining them on their walk to wherever they all had to be next. 

“Well actually I think Oscar is a little more than vanilla. He’s vanilla but not vanilla.” Logan pops in too.

“No. Oscar is sooo vanilla. Like he’s too scared to choke his girlfriend because she’ll die and he’s never marked her so she knows she’s his.” Lando expresses his words with so much passion it makes Oscar roll his eyes but know exactly what Lando’s doing when their hotel rooms are beside each other and he’s invited a girl over. 

“Wow. Calm down Lando, I think we learnt a little bit more from you than Oscar. You definitely need a girlfriend.” Daniel spoke the words everyone was thinking. Letting Oscar finally breathe and have all the attention over to Lando and his desires.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

“Fuck, I needed you.” Oscar groans out, thrusting himself ever deeper into your mouth. “Talking ‘bout how vanilla we are. But look at us.” The position you were in was unimaginable. You lay on your back, head on the edge of the sofa as Oscar rammed into your mouth with his fingers opening you wide and making you cum. But still, that wasn’t enough, your hands tied together and a spreading bar made sure your legs couldn’t be shut, always ready for Oscar, but with a blindfold over your eyes how would you know? Each of your moans were muffled by his cock and as one of his hands played with your clit the other toyed with your nipple.

Blood rushed to your head from this position and it filled in for the loss of his hand around your neck. Oscar pounded into you, his dick making you gag as you deepthroated him. An explosion of fireworks inside of you as he continued making you cum, a loud scream trying it’s best to flee your puffy lips, but Oscar couldn’t help but enjoy hearing you struggle to make out any coherent sounds because of his cock. 

By now it was impossible to remember the amount of times he had made you release. From his mouth, fingers and dick, all you did know was that that number was only going to increase. 

Each of his moves were so intense, Oscar had you spellbound. Unable to notice anything other than him. Well that was until he pounded himself as deep as he could into your mouth and then stopped. Everything went silent.

“Oh fuck! Oscar?!” Those words certainly didn’t come out of your mouth, and when you realised who did say that, oh you couldn’t have been more embarrassed, but somehow aroused. Seconds later the door finally shut, and you could only think about the uncensored view Lando had of the both of you. 

“Fuck, I’ll deal with him later. But for now…you need to cum.” Pulling out of your swollen mouth and grabbing you off the couch to lay your shamelessly sinful body on the floor. Oscar doesn’t take his time, manhandling your legs so your feet are nearly inline with your head and then making your arms keep them back by going in front of the spreader bar.

Leaving your pussy so exposed and vulnerable that Oscar could do whatever he liked between those drenched folds. It was always a gamble with Oscar, sometimes he’d take his time to tease you, others he wouldn’t even give you time to catch breath. This was just as unpredictable as others, by now you would either be covered in your own tears from his edging or on the verge of passing out because you could feel him in your throat after coming in you repeatedly. 

You felt less of an advantage, not even being able to lay eyes on him, so you listened to your own heavy breathing until he touched you again. Fingers going between your folds and spreading them apart with his index and ring finger. Lightly teasing you with his middle one. “Looks like you’ve had enough today huh? Or can you take one more?” 

You nod your head as an answer, but it’s never enough as he asks you for words.

“Y-yes. I can take more.” You force out between breaths, in shock of how you even managed to say those words. 

“Oh really? Well that’s great.” Oscar holds your pliant body up even further and then makes a swift move of ramming himself deep inside of you. Once again it pulled all of the oxygen from your lungs and the stretch from the position couldn’t be compared to the stretch from his cock. You couldn’t complain as he thrusted in again and hit your g-spot. Bringing more tears to your red eyes.

Grunts and groans slipping past his lips and making his actions such a godly sensation. 

Oscar pounds himself into you with no mercy, finding pleasure in your moans and cries. You wish to hold him, dig your fingers into his shoulders and mark his back. Adorn his pale skin in love bites and make his lips swollen. Thinking about the way his body flexes with every thrust and how divine he would look from this position that you’ve been in many times but each new one has a different effect.

“What’d you think Lando’s telling them?” Oscar grips your thighs tighter–fingers certainly making bruises– keeping you in place as he vigorously rams inside of your overstimulated pussy. Never losing pattern or momentum.

“You think he’s telling them about how you took me so well? Your hands tied up? And how fucking good you looked between my legs.” Each of Oscar’s words having such an effect on you it could've been a trick of hypnotism. Your legs shaking and lips parted as you came. Oscar savoured the beautiful sounds leaving your mouth and he worked harder to fuck your high out and bring his in.

You clenched around him, forcing a moan to finally leave his lips and bless your ears. Oscar spasms and releases inside of you. Pushing himself so deep and his cum even deeper. He thrusts a few more times, easing both of you out and spreading his cum inside your walls. Oscar sits in you for a while before pulling out. “Fuck, that was so. Fucking. Good.” He starts untying you and helping you come undone from all of the restraints. Letting you lay flat on the floor as he did all the work.

“I would’ve been in you for hours if he didn’t come in. Can’t imagine what he said to them”

Oscar crawls up your body and plants a kiss on your lips. 

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

Finally leaving Oscar’s room you both didn’t know what to expect. Well definitely not drivers surrounding a small table as Lando spoke to them all with hand actions and his face even worse. 

“Y’know vanilla isn’t even that bad. But wow Piastri, I didn’t think that.” Daniel brings all the attention to you two. Every driver turned their head with a series of reactions on their faces.

“You are freaky Oscar.” Logan couldn’t hold back and somehow Fernando was there to agree with him.

“I have to tell Charles! Now I know what you two do.” Pierre smirks, making you blush and look at the ground.

“Well I guess I was wrong, but Oscar why didn’t you tell me you sneaky boy. Because then I had to see it.” 

“It seemed like you wanted to join.” 

“No I-”

“The way you’re speaking about Lando, it seemed like you wanted to join.” Daniel once again kind of saving Oscar from these unfortunate topics.

“What? Guys this is about Oscar and how freaky he is with his girlfriend!”

“If you want to join, just ask.” You finally speak, teasing Lando and watching the way his face changes. 

“Oh you guys are so not vanilla!”

[thef1diary]

Podium Princess | LN + CS + CL

Summary: Lando lost a bet, which would have just temporarily damaged his ego, but the problem was that you were the prize that Charles and Carlos desired for one night.

masterlist taglist form

© thef1diary 2024. do not repost without permission

Warnings: 18+, mmmf, unprotected sex, three men for three holes 🤭, fingering, oral, anal, dp?, filthy as fuck, derogatory terms (kinda), praise, overstimulation, riding.

pairing: lando x fem!reader x carlos x charles

wc: 3.1k

Request: You should totally write a smut about lando sharing his girlfriend with Carlos and Charles after placing in the #australiangp

"You did what?" You asked your boyfriend, wondering if you misheard his words. "I made a bet," Lando responded, but this time with more assurance.

You sat down on the bed in your shared hotel room and asked, "what is it?" Patting the spot next to you, silently indicating Lando to sit down and begin explaining the bet. You've known from the years you've been dating that whenever he places a wager, he eventually loses, but you chose against mentioning it.

He hesitated for a moment but then decided to explain how he ended up in that situation.

The evening began when Lando noticed Carlos and Charles speaking after the qualifying session. He observed they had been spending a lot of time together recently, so Lando obviously had to approach them and disrupt their latest gossip session.

Putting the trio together, one would discover that they never run out of topics to discuss, which is how they found themselves sitting in a car in the parking lot outside their hotel. Carlos suggested that since they were all staying at the same hotel for the weekend, they might as well leave the track together.

However, during the car ride, there was a discussion that quickly brought out the competitive nature that each driver had developed at a young age. "What, you guys don't think I'll win?" Lando asked the Ferrari drivers, slightly offended. This particular topic of conversation started once they discussed the possible winners for the race tomorrow.

Based on the three practice sessions and qualifying, it could be argued that while they all had a fairly nice weekend so far, some were still more fortunate than others. As a result, the Spaniard shook his head, disagreeing with his friend, "mate, I'm starting second tomorrow, which clearly means I have a better chance of winning."

"I was first in fp1," Lando retaliated although they all knew that qualifying in a higher position meant more than topping a single practice session.

"You might have a good chance, but Max is on pole, let's not forget that," Charles reminded his fellow colleagues. Lando perked up at his words, "exactly, so all Carlos needs to do is somehow crash him out of the race so I can win."

Charles laughed at the outrageous plan, but Carlos scoffed, "I won't ruin my chances at a podium for a race you won't win." Noticing Lando's defeated expression, it caused Charles to laugh harder. "Not that I think either of you would win, but let's make a bet," the Monégasque suggested.

"Who do you think will win?" Carlos asked. Charles' dimple deepened as he smiled, "me of course."

This time Lando scoffed, "yeah, sure mate," then he looked at Carlos, "what do I get when I win the bet?"

"This," Carlos stated while holding up his middle finger towards him. Rolling his eyes, he decided, "fine, I'll ask for something when I win, and then you two won't be able to deny it."

"And what do we get if you don't win?" Carlos asked, looking at Charles who was waiting for an answer from Lando.

While Lando was focused on what he would ask for if he won the bet, he failed to consider that Carlos or Charles were more likely to win than him. He would have a one-in-three chance of winning the wager, but Lando hadn't realized the extent of the situation just yet.

"Not that it'll happen but what do you guys want?" He asked only as a formality to actually set the bet.

Carlos was quiet for a moment as he thought of something that would be worthwhile, looking at Charles to see if he had any ideas. Then he thought of it—of you. "Your girlfriend," he simply stated.

It took two seconds for Lando to start laughing, not that it was ever a challenge to do so, but he initially assumed that Carlos was joking. His laughter quickly died down once he didn't hear either driver laugh along with him.

Looking in the backseat at Charles briefly, who nodded in agreement, Lando snapped his head towards Carlos, "what do you mean my girlfriend?"

"It's simple. If Charles or I win, then you have to share your girlfriend for a night, if not, then you don't," he explained nonchalantly.

Lando looked at Charles, "and you agree with him?" He shrugged, then nodded, "she's hot, I wouldn't say no."

He slumped back in his seat, "I suppose you'll be disappointed when I win." While Lando was secure in his abilities, both drivers around him thought he was growing overconfident. "So you agree, that if you don't win, we can have her?"

Nodding it off and waving his hand around, Lando agreed, "yeah, you can."

You were stunned into silence once he finished explaining. Noticing your lack of words, Lando was unsure of your thoughts. "You don't think I'll win?"

You shrugged, "all I'm gonna say is that you have twenty-one other chances to win this season if you don't win this race." You didn't exactly answer his question, but he realized that you weren't opposed or disgusted by the idea either. Pulling you into his lap, he tilted your chin upwards with his fingers and leaned closer for a kiss.

He tightened his grasp on your chin to stop you before you could press your lips against his. "Oh I see, you don't want me to win just so you can be passed around like a slut between my friends?"

"You wouldn't have put me as the prize if you didn't like the idea," you retaliated, smirking as you moved his hand away to finally place your lips on his.

—

You stood among the crowd, cheering for Lando, who took his place on the third step of the podium. As the podium celebrations began, a part of you was also looking forward to the celebrations that would follow later tonight. Lando may have lost a bet, but it was the first bet you were glad he lost.

That is how you ended up in your hotel room with your lover, waiting in anticipation for the other two drivers to arrive. With his trophy set aside, you and Lando were occupied with each other; your eyes closed and head tilted back as he trailed kisses down your throat.

Then came a knock on the door, one that made your heart race in all the best ways. Lando stood up and opened the door, revealing Charles and Carlos standing on the other side, still dressed in their Ferrari polos from earlier that evening.

"What did he say? I suppose you'll be disappointed when I win," Charles greeted by mocking Lando's words from the day before. "Alright, alright I get it but I still placed third," he retaliated which earned a nod from Carlos. "Congrats, cabrón."

You could hear them laughing among themselves, but it quickly died down once Carlos and Charles spotted you. Lando had suggested that you should wear red, considering both of the drivers that placed first and second adored red.

There you sat on the mattress, leaning back on your forearms with an ankle crossed over the other, clad in only a tight short red dress which you were glad you ended up packing.

"Well, fuck me," Charles muttered under his breath earning a chuckle from you once you heard his comment. Standing up and slowly stepping towards them, you replied, "fuck me indeed."

Your gaze was fixated on Carlos, the race winner, whose eyes revealed a glimpse of all the dirty thoughts racing through his mind. "Congratulations, you both deserve a good celebration," you said, smiling as you felt Carlos' arm snaking around your waist and Charles' breath fanning your face.

"Is that what you're going to give us? A good celebration?" Charles asked, his lips grazing your cheek. "I'll give you anything you want."

You looked at your boyfriend for a second, making sure he was still comfortable with the situation before proceeding any further. But you just saw desire in his eyes and while the corner of his lip curled up in a lazy smirk, a nod from him allowed you to carry on. He may have nodded at you, but his eyes darted over your head to his fellow drivers, "Go on then, Carlos, Charles, claim your prize."

Your lips parted slightly, marvelling at the fact that Lando hadn't even addressed you, instead treating you like an object to be claimed. The worst part was realizing that you liked it since his remarks had made you clench your thighs together.

Carlos grinned at your obedient behaviour as he was easily able to tip your head back to face him. Now that they truly had the freedom to do anything they wanted to you, with your permission, neither felt bad for having sinful thoughts about you—their best friend's girlfriend—while Carlos and Charles were alone in their bedrooms.

Kissing you with a sense of urgency, Carlos stole your breath away in a matter of seconds. Your thoughts had quickly dissipated into thin air as you felt Charles trailing his fingers up your body while pressing up behind you.

You heard Lando shuffle around before leaving the three of you alone in the bedroom for a moment which only intensified your feelings. Sandwiched between the two men who are good friends of yours, were now looking at you as if you are merely an outlet for their sexual desires.

Sliding down the straps that held your dress up, Charles continued kissing every inch of your bare skin revealed to him. His hands rounded to your front, pulling down the flimsy piece of fabric to display your tits to the duo. Your nipples instantly pebbled as Charles' fingers brushed against them, making you tilt your head back and resting it against his shoulder.

Letting you regain your breath, Carlos moved down to your neck, replacing each kiss Lando had placed earlier with small nips and grazes of his teeth, just painful enough to still be pleasurable.

While both their mouths were occupied, the Spaniard's hands pushed down the rest of your dress to the floor, parting away for a moment to let you to step out of it and toss it to the side with your feet.

Lando returned to the room, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth to prevent a moan from leaving his mouth. You were now completely bare, with two fully clothed drivers—his friends—pressed against you while their hands roamed all over your body.

Discarding his shirt on the floor, he occupied your mouth with another kiss, muffling your moans. "Fuck, enjoying yourself, baby?" Lando muttered once you parted away for a moment. Nodding, you opened your mouth to respond but a sharp gasp left your mouth as you felt Charles' fingers teasing your clit while Carlos palmed your ass.

"Merde, she's so perfect," the Monégasque commented, spreading your pussy with two fingers while a third finger swiped through your folds to catch the wetness that gathered between. "Charles," you breathlessly whispered, a plead for more.

"So ready to be ruined," Carlos added, his own fingers prodding your ass, earning a string of curses along with pleas to keep going from you. Gathering your slick from your cunt, Carlos coated his fingers to ease just the tip of one finger into your ass.

Soon enough, you were laid down on the bed, and one by one the three men stripped their clothes away, adding to the ever growing pile that started from your dress. You could barely keep your eyes open due to the feeling of three pairs of hands roaming everywhere, not leaving any inch of your skin untouched.

You had already orgasmed twice, but you couldn't remember whose fingers brought you over the edge the first, or even the second time, as all of the sensations mushed together in what felt like one never ending wet dream.

Staying true to your words of giving them anything they desired, you moaned around Carlos' cock as Charles slid his dick in your pussy without any forewarning. Your grasp on his thighs tightened as Charles began to thrust, slowly at first but then showed no mercy once his grasp on your hips tightened.

Carlos pulled your mouth off his cock, but quickly replaced the emptiness you immediately felt with two of his fingers resting heavily on your tongue. His actions didn't allow you to close your jaw, causing you to drool down your chin, and only then he was satisfied.

"Such a good fucking girl," he commented, which only made your head spin further while you smiled at the compliment. "Oh she likes that," Charles added as he felt your pussy clench around him at Carlos' praise.

His fingers that were now coated with your saliva trailed down your body to where you and Charles were connected. He nodded mockingly at his teammate's comment, "yeah, you like being praised?"

Easily finding your swollen clit, he slightly pinched it before creating small circles, edging you closer. You nodded, "please, please, please." You were sobbing for relief, your voice strained from the constant cries that left your lips with each new wave of ecstasy.

Connecting their gaze, Charles and Carlos smirked as they silently agreed to let you cum once again. Charles's fingers slid closer to your back hole, this time able to slide two fingers down to the last knuckle. At the same time, Carlos' fingers left your clit only to join the thrusts of Charles' cock, scissoring two of his fingers in your pussy to stretch you out even further. Pleasure surged through your body, and you closed your eyes tightly at the sudden sensation of being so full.

Charles slowed down his thrusts, prolonging your post orgasmic sensation. You slumped forwards when he pulled out, still holding back his own release for now.

Despite still being eager, they were ever patient with you especially after bringing you over the edge multiple times now, knowing your limbs were close to tiring out.

Still on your hands and knees, you shuffled up to straddle Carlos, sinking down on down cock this time, mouth dropping open as he stretched you out slightly differently compared to Charles.

"C'mon, cariño, ride me," he instructed, resting his hands on your hips, urging your movements while also allowing you to depend on him for help. "You feel so good, Carlos," you panted.

You heard some shuffling around you again but you couldn't move your gaze away from watching your pussy engulf Carlos' cock over and over again.

However, you were startled once you felt a cool sensation prodding your ass; Charles' fingers coated in lube. "Need you to relax, baby," you could hear Lando's words and he was quick to come into your view, stroking his dick to the sight of you filled by his former teammate.

He grabbed your hand off of Carlos' shoulder, guiding it towards his cock. Already slick with his precum, you could easily move your hand up and down, watching his reaction with hooded eyes.

Charles' free hand wrapped around your throat from behind while he whispered in your ear, "we're gonna fill up all of your holes, darling."

Groaning, you nodded, "please," a word that you had repeatedly spoken to the point where it sounded like a broken record. "You want that?" One of them asked, but you couldn't focus on whose voice it was. "Fill me up, please," your words turning into a moan as Carlos shifted underneath you, reaching deeper inside.

Releasing the grasp on your throat, Charles focused on opening you up with his fingers, for you to be able to take his cock in your ass while Carlos continued pounding your pussy.

Lando replaced Charles' hand, grabbing the back of your neck, threading his fingers in your hair to bring you close for a filthy kiss. Tongues and teeth clashing, he slightly bit down on your bottom lip, sucking and pulling on it for a moment before letting go.

Without any words exchanged, your boyfriend guided your mouth towards his cock, filling up two out of three of your holes. It took you a moment before you actually started moving your head up and down, moaning and drooling on his cock because of Carlos' upward thrusts.

Charles removed his fingers, having deemed to have stretched you out enough then coating his dick with a good amount of lube. With one hand palming and spreading your ass, he used the other to guide his cock into you. Your eyes welled up with tears, not entirely painful but almost overwhelmed with being filled everywhere at once.

Your body was quickly calmed down by Lando, Charles, and Carlos as they moved their hands all over you in soothing motions. Charles began thrusting when you nodded because you were unable to speak while Lando's dick was in your mouth.

Your muffled groans sounded distant to you, mind foggy, but you had never felt so full and aware before.

With a warning, Lando filled your mouth with cum, which you swallowed greedily without hesitation. Now, with your mouth unoccupied, you couldn't hold back on your moans. "Gonna cum," you warned, knowing you won't last long, still sensitive from your previous orgasms.

Charles' fingers reached your chest, teasing and pinching your nipples while Carlos rested his palms on your cheeks, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

Your pace stuttered as you came around his cock, and Carlos took the reins and thrusted upwards, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. "Fuck, where do you want us?" Charles asked, tethering on the edge and based on Carlos' stuttering pace, you knew he was too.

Your next words pushed both over the edge, "inside." Slumping forwards, you felt both Ferrari drivers filling you up with their cum. "Fucking hell, that was hot," Lando commented, leaning closer to brush away the strands of hair stuck on your forehead due to sweat.

Charles and Carlos carefully eased you off their cocks, with Lando helping you lie down on the bed which you immediately melted into.

It was unbearable for you to be completely empty after being entirely filled. Mustering up all your strength, you held your arms out for your boyfriend, who immediately joined you on the bed, whispering praises in your ear.

Meanwhile, Carlos and Charles decided to clean you up by wiping the cum that had leaked out of your holes with a damp towel. They saw the bruises from their grasps on you in the heat of the moment and couldn't help but smile, knowing they were the cause of it.

You hoped, as you drifted off to sleep, that the three of them would share the podium more frequently, and therefore, share you as well.

Taglist based on the form (let me know if you would like to be removed) @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @evlkking @jointhehunt67 @wonnou @nikfigueiredo

[lqvesoph]

Brother’s best friend || LN4

gif by @princemick

summary: you’re carlos’ sister and know lando from your brothers time at mclaren but now a few years later feelings might change

a/n: this is literally just a small piece i wrote a few weeks ago

warnings: bit of suggestive talk, alcohol

taglist | masterlist

"When did he get so fine?", you whispered to Rebecca who nipped at her cocktail. "Hmm?", she asked, not having paid attention.

You nodded over to Lando who stood behind the DJ desk, white shirt and headphones on.

Rebecca smirked. "Go over", she said, pinching your side softly. You shook your head. "I can't, you know I can't. If Carlos finds out- and besides I don't think Lando would-", you stopped when you saw Rebecca looking at you with her brows furrowed and a be-fucking-for-real look.

"What??", you defended yourself. "That boy has been crushing on you since 2019, Carlos scared him away back then but I doubt he'll still listen now. He's not 19 anymore", Rebecca told you.

Your heart skipped a beat when she told you but you tried to ignore it. "He's still Carlos' best mate, he won't just betray his trust like that", you shook your head and took another sip from your straw while glancing over to Lando.

"Just get the fuck up and talk to him, it's exhausting watching you two admire each other from afar", Rebecca laughed and pushed you a little.

"Wait he's looking at me as well?", you asked, getting a little excited. She nodded. "Yes, as soon as you're not looking- now for example", she explained.

You turned your head to meet Lando's green eyes piercing into yours through the dark room of people.

You nodded, gripped your drink a little tighter and stood up.

"Hey", you called over the loud music, leaning over next to the DJ desk. Lando smirked and wriggled his brows as a way to greet you.

He asked you something but you couldn't quite make it out and only looked at him with a head shake and a lost expression.

Lando leaned over the desk so his lips were close to your ear. His necklace, hanging down from his neck, being the only thing you could focus on.

"What's in your drink?", he asked, his hot breath meeting your ear. "Vodka Lemon", you called into his ear. Lando leaned back a little and held out his hand, signaling you that he wanted to try a sip.

You knew 2019 Lando never liked alcohol, in fact you couldn't recall a time where you've ever seen him drink. But you wordlessly handed him your glass and let the boy take a sip.

To your surprise he didn't grimace in disgust but took another sip. You reached out for your glass again. "Heyy, get yourself your own", you joked.

Lando laughed and carefully handed you the glass once again, his fingers lightly touching yours.

"You ever stood behind a DJ desk?", he asked, pointing to the mess of buttons next to him. You shook your head.

He held one hand out and wriggled his fingers. "Come on then", he demanded with a smirk and led you to the side where you could enter the private space.

"It's okay, I know her", he told the guy standing next to the small entrance before pushing the hip-high door open and let you in.

"Mi amor", he joked and took your hand. You chuckled and followed him.

"It's so many buttons!", you called into his ear, gracing his cheek slightly with the tip of your nose. His arm draped around your shoulders.

From the close distance you saw his slightly flushed cheeks and glaced eyes, along with the messy curls better than before.

"Come on I'll show you", Lando laughed and handed you the pair of headphones from his head.

He carefully put them over one of your ears, leaving the other free so he could still talk to you. Then Lando grabbed your hand and placed one finger on one of the buttons.

A loud remix-like sound arised and you flinched a little because you could hear it much louder and more clear through the headphones.

"That's so cool!", you called and pushed the button again.

Lando's left arm was still wrapped around your shoulders, his right hand was holding yours and guiding you to press the right buttons in the right moments.

You didn't notice but from across the room your brother starred Lando down with his glares.

"Why is he standing so close to her? He's way too close", he grumbled, taking a sip from his straw. "Let loose, they're not kids anymore", Rebecca smiles, wrapping one arm around Carlos' waist.

"She's 20", he defended you. "Exactly, she's not a child anymore", Rebecca talked to him in a smooth voice.

Carlos nodded but a frown was still visible on his face.

"Why is he touching her like this?", he asked after a few seconds of silence, pointing to Lando's hand that was wandering lower on your back. "Carlos, stop it", Rebecca chuckled and pulled him down on the couch, next to her.

A shiver went down your back when you felt Lando's fingers pushing themselves slightly under your crop top. You leaned into him a little further.

"What are you doing?", Lando softly mumbled in your ear, his hot breath hitting my skin. "What do you mean?", you asked, acting oblivious but pushing yourself further into him.

Lando closed his eyes for a second and his grip tightened around your waist. "Darling-", he hissed. "Lando", you whispered back. "Your brother is watching us really carefully right now", he mumbled against your neck.

"Then let's leave", you suggested, your heart beating because you didn't know if you went to far but Lando's low groan gave you confirmation that he was more than okay to leave.

You quickly put down the headphones that Lando had previously placed on your head. You grabbed his hand and he immediately linked your fingers, his hand feeling warm in your own.

"Cabrón!", you heard a voice yell behind you, immediately recognizing it as your brothers.

"Run!", you whispered but reacted too late as Carlos had already grabbed Lando’s shoulder. "Where do you think you’re going?", he asked, a stern impression on his face.

"Barbados, so we can get married in secret", you replied, rolling your eyes at your older brother. Lando suppressed a giggle and raised his arms when Carlos eyes landed on him again.

"Just taking her out for a spin, I promise I’ll get her back in one piece", the curly headed driver said, standing his ground under the watchful eyes of Carlos Sainz.

Your brother kept mustering the boy until you snapped your fingers in front of his face. "Cut it off, I’m not a kid", you scolded your brother before grabbing Lando’s hand.

"We’re leaving, I’ll see you tomorrow", you yelled back towards your brother and dragged Lando out behind you.

As soon as the fresh air hit your face you turned around to face Lando, still having his hand in yours. "I heard you’re taking me for a ride?", you grinned.

"You know that was an excuse", he laughed but moved towards his car. "Figured, but I won’t pass up on the opportunity to take a ride in your Mclaren", you giggled, turning around and leaning your back against the car. "I might just use you for your car", you smiled innocently.

Lando smirked and came closer, his knee pushing between your legs and his lips almost touching yours.

"Careful, I said I’ll bring you back in one piece, I never said anything about your ability to walk", he muttered, grabbing your waist firmer and pressing his lips on yours.

[cleo-fox]

Overtime

Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.

Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).

A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.

Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.

You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.

“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.

“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”

“You’re still doing it.”

Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.

And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.

“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”

Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”

But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.

Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.

Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.

“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”

“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”

You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”

Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.

“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.

Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”

You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.

“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”

The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.

This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.

You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.

The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.

Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.

“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.

Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.

And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.

It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.

Also not a great sign.

Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”

“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”

“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”

Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.

“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.

This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.

You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”

“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”

Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.

“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder

You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.

There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.

“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.

“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

*

Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.

You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.

Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.

You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”

Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”

You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.

But you’re also not about to say no, either.

“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”

The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.

“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.

You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”

“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”

“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”

You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.

“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?”  he says.

You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”

He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”

“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.

Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”

“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”

He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

*

He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.

“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”

He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”

“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”

“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”

“Technically.”

“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”

You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”

“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”

Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”

You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”

“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.

“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.

“Liar,” you say promptly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”

“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.

“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”

“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”

“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”

“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”

“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”

“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”

“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”

He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”

You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”

That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.

“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”

You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”

Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.

“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.

You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”

“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.

“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”

There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.

“It does.”

There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”

He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”

It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”

He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”

He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”

You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”

Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”

Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”

“I think I have that memorized at this point.”

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.

The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.

“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.

His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”

You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.

Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation. 

Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.

“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”

Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.

“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later. 

“What’s that?”

“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”

You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”

He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”

“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.

You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”

“What are body shots?”

For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.

He’s teasing you.

“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.

He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”

You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”

He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”

You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.

But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.

“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.

“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”

“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”

He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says

“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together. 

“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”

“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”

“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”

“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”

You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

*

The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.

“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.

Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”

“You do. It’s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”

He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”

You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”

He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”

You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.

The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.

“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”

“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”

He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it. 

You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.

“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.

“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”

“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”

You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”

He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”

“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh, you’d like it—it’s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”

It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”

He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.

The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.

There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.

You touch his hand. “This way.”

You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.

“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”

He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?”

They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”

The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”

“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”

This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”

You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”

“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”

“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”

“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”

He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”

You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”

“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”

Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”

“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”

You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.

You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”

He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.

For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.

Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”

There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.

You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.

But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.

*

You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.

But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.

“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.

It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.

Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”

You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”

Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”

He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”

He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.

You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.

You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.

You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.

As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.

“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh. 

This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.

“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.

“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”

Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.

And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit. 

“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.

She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”

With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.

“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.

Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.

Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.

But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.

You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—

“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”

“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.

His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”

“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”

Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”

You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.

“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.

You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.

You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.

You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”

You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”

“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.

You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. ���I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”

He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”

You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”

“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”

“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.

He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.

Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.

“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”

“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.

“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”

With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.

This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.

Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.

You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.

He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”

That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.

It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.

Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”

“No.”

Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net. 

But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.

“Yield.”

You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”

Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?

“Yield.”

God, he’s so close and you want him so badly. 

“No.”

He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.

They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.

He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.

“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar. 

“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.

“No,” you say.

“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.

His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.

“Cheater,” you say. 

“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”

You shiver. “Your prize?”

“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”

“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”

“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants. 

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“You have not,” you say.

“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.

You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”

You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.

He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.

You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.

His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.

Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.

“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. 

You believe him.

His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.

“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.

You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.

“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”

You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”

His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”

For who?”

“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.

“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”

“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”

The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”

“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”

“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”

“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.

“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”

That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.

“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”

This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.

“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”

Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.

You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.

He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.

Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.

You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.

You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.

This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.

Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.

It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.

“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.

“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.

“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”

His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?

“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”

You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.

You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.

You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.

“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.

“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”

You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine. 

“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.

He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”

You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”

He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.

He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He rolls on top of you  and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.

He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.

But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.

You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.

He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.

He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”

He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”

His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.

He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.

He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.

You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”

“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”

He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.

He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.

You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.

“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.

He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”

You whimper. “Loki—”

“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”

Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.

You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.

As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.

It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.

After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.

You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.

You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.

You don’t know it then, but you’re right.

*

Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.

Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.

“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.

“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.

“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”

Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”

But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”

Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee. 

Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”

“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”

“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”

“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.

Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”

You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.

“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”

“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”

Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”

Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”

“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”

Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”

“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.

Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”

“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”

Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”

Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.

It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.

“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.

“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.

“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.

He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”

Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.