#like. good for him for getting another shot

[anonf1writer]

It's stuck — LN4 TikTok Trend

hellooo! based on this request I wrote 1,6k words not about george, not about charles, but about lando loll. like i said, i was skeptical about it, but then i watched a few videos and couldn't help myself - i needed to write something. as silly as it was.

so this is it. rushed and random, but cute and easygoing at the same time. idk. hope you enjoy it. +18 PLEASE!!!

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Alone in the bathroom, you settled the phone on the counter and took a step back, making sure the camera was hidden well enough so Lando wouldn’t notice it, but not so much it wouldn’t get you both in the shot. Once happy with the result, you leaned closer to start recording and wished yourself good luck, knowing this prank had everything to go well, but also everything to go terribly as hell. 

“Lan!” you shouted, shaking your hands up and down to relieve some of the stress. “Can you come here please?!” 

“Yeah!” he shouted back. “One second babe!” 

“Now, Lando! I need you now!” 

He must’ve sensed the urgency in your voice, because he rushed across the apartment. Loudly. His feet echoing heavily as he stomped from his gaming room, through the hallway, to the bedroom.

“What?” you heard his voice, slightly out of breath, and the mere thought of him worrying that much about you was enough to curl your mouth up. “Where are you?!”

You covered your mouth to try and wipe the smile from your face, then waited as he approached the bathroom. 

“What’s wrong?” He stepped through the door with widened eyes, chest visibly going up and down underneath his black hoodie. “What happened?”

“I…” you tried, biting your nail if only to stop yourself from giving the lie away. “Sorry. I just need your help.”

“OK.” He nodded. And blinked. Hands on his hips. Tongue darting through his lips. “Sure, yeah.” Another nod. Catching his breath. “Help with what?”

“My tampon.”

“Your…”

Lando furrowed his brows. 

“What?” He flinched back and chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry. Your what now?”

“My tampon,” you repeated, dropping your hands to your stomach and fidgeting with your own fingers. “It’s stuck. I can’t get it out.”

Lando took a step back, and his eyes grew as wide as they possibly could. 

“Stuck where? Get it out from where?!” 

“What do you mean from where?!” You laughed, your voice growing just as loud as his. “It’s inside me! You know…” 

You wiggled your eyebrows and pointed discreetly between your legs, and at that, he gasped. 

“Shut up! Your tampon is inside you and you can’t get it out?!” 

“Yes!” 

He dropped his jaw. 

Looked between your legs, and up to your face. 

Then he closed his mouth.

Only to open it again.

And then close it again. 

And then he looked down to your feet, and you watched his expression change as his brain tried to put all the information together. 

“How… How is that even possible?” he murmured. 

Laughter bubbled in your chest, and you covered your mouth before glancing up to the ceiling. 

He looked adorable, to be honest, all confused while wearing his most comfortable clothes. With his curls still wet from the shower, and his cheeks slightly blushed, probably from the topic. Part of you wanted to kiss him and apologize for bringing this joke up, but also part of you wanted to know how far he was willing to go for you. So you tried to speak again, even if you didn’t really know what to say, because it was the only way to stop yourself from giving the prank away. 

“This is so embarrassing…” You sighed, then closed your eyes and focused. “I shouldn’t… I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, no.” Lando stepped forward and placed his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look down at him. “C’mon. It’s fine. I’m here, yeah? Just tell me what to do.” 

Shit.

“I… I don’t know!” You blinked. Twice as fast. “It’s stuck, so…” 

“So we need to get it out.”

“Um, that’s the idea,” you chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Right. How do you normally do it? When it’s not… Y’know… Stuck.”

“Normally with a string, but… Hm…” You blinked again, searching for a lie to tell. “I don’t know what happened with it this time, I mean… I tried, but… Shit, I don’t know, Lan! I’m nervous, I—”

“OK, ok.” He nodded and brushed his thumbs up and down on your cheeks. Clearly an attempt to sooth you. Or maybe to sooth himself. “We’ll figure it out. That’s ok.”

“Can you… Can you pull it out for me?”

“S—Sure.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah babe, of course.”

“Do you know how?” 

“No.” He laughed, and you laughed. “But I’ve been there before, so…”

He shrugged. 

And you frowned. Eyebrows pulling together as you took a tiny step back and pulled his hands down from your face. 

“What do you mean you’ve been there before? You’ve pulled a tampon out of whom?” 

He mirrored the confusion on your face, but it only lasted one second before he cackled.  

“Babe…” Laughing, he stepped closer again, hands reaching for your waist as he hunched slightly to look straight into your eyes. Demanding your attention. “Do I look like someone who’s done this before? I mean I’ve been there before… As in, inside you.”

“What?”

“I get my fingers inside you all the time.” He shrugged. “So it’s not like I don’t know where to go or what I’ll find or—” 

“Lando!” You shoved him away and gasped, laughter falling out your chest as you covered your mouth to hide your utter shock. “Oh my God!”

“What?!” He laughed, too. “It’s true! Even during your period. We just gotta get in the shower like we did in—”

“No!” You shook your head and launched yourself forward, cradling his face and smashing his cheeks under your palms. “Shut up, ok? Just, stop. Please just stop.”  

He laughed louder, all muffled and squished between your hands. “Why are you acting like this? It’s not like—” 

“Because,” you interrupted again, standing onto the tips of your toes and pressing your lips to his. 

Lando instantly melted, leaning down and squeezing his hands around your hips. 

Breaking into a smile, you pulled away and pecked his lips one more time, then moved your arms down his chest and around his back, enveloping him into a hug while stepping closer to snuggle your cheek against his hoodie. 

“Why do you always have to come up with something sexual?”

“Babe,” Lando chuckled, circling his own arms around your neck and leaning his own cheek onto the top of your head. “You’re asking me to help you get a tampon out of your vagina, I don’t—”

“Ugh!” You turned to hide your face against his chest and shook your head, half-laughing, half-crying at him. “Jesus Christ, I can’t have you on tiktok saying any of this, y’know.”

He froze. Arms going tense and posture going straight. 

“Tiktok?”

You sighed and nodded. And then you took a step back, tilting your chin up and meeting the confusion written all over his face. 

“You were doing so great babe, and you still are… I mean, your willingness to just help me was adorable.” You stood on your toes and kissed him, mostly because you could never miss a chance to do so. “But there’s nothing stuck inside me, don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

Another kiss.

“Sorry.” 

And another one.

“Is this,” — and then Lando kissed you — “another one of those pranks?” 

Kiss.

“Mhm.” Another kiss, the soft, wet mwah bouncing between the four walls of the bathroom. “Sorry.”

“You’re unbelievable…” he murmured around your lips, hands finding a place around your neck, fingers tangling slightly with your hair. And then he kissed you again. And again. Softer. Longer. 

Your lips curled into a smile, but you didn’t pull away from the kiss. Instead, you twisted your hands around his hoodie and pulled him closer, both of you stumbling across the bathroom as you blindly made your way towards the counter. 

“We should…” you mumbled into his mouth, one hand reaching behind you to find your phone. “The video…”

“Mhmm…” He moved his kisses to your cheek, down your jaw, and neck. 

You closed your eyes, then. Head dropping, lips parting and stomach twisting as his tongue traced a wet path on your skin. 

“Was this,” he murmured, “how the prank was supposed to go?”

You smiled at the ceiling, one hand threading his curls and resting on the back of his head as he kept tasting your neck. 

Kissing, licking, nibbling. 

So fucking good.

“Don’t think so…”

He moved closer to your ear, lips circling your sweet spot before he sucked it in. 

Your knees buckled, and the quietest gasp escaped out of your throat. 

“I say,” Lando murmured, right into your ear, “we should still try to find it…”

His hands moved down your back and to your thighs. The moment his fingers dug into your leg, you knew what he wanted, and you gave a little jump right as he hoisted you up to sit on the counter. 

You spread your legs for him to stand between them, and then you tilted your head and kissed him again. His tongue tasting your mouth with the same need and hunger he had tasted your neck one second before. 

“I think…” you murmured, breaking apart and searching for air. 

But then Lando was kissing you again. And then you were kissing him right back. And his hands were wandering all over your back, and thighs, and chest. And it was hard to keep up with your thoughts. 

“Damn…” you breathed out, fingers twisting around his curls. “My… My phone…”

He nodded, but he never broke apart. He just kept you distracted while reaching to where the phone could be. 

When he found it, and when he stopped recording, the screen faded to black. Just like everything else around you. 

And then it was just you, and him, in the bathroom. Making the most out of the very unexpected turn of events at a tiktok prank.

A tiktok prank that you would never forget, but that it would also never see the light of day.

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[motorsportbarbie13]

One New Voicemail (Oscar's Version)

your relationship with oscar through voicemails

(no warnings. this one was fun. credit to @lestapiastrisgirl for the 'accidental voicemail' idea. hope this one was worth waiting for!! wc: 2.6k)

Oscar Piastri has a crush

“Hi. This is uh…” Oscar had actually just forgotten his own name. 

“This is Oscar Piastri. We met today on that tour?” 

He’d been asked to do a Q&A session with a class of kids that day, visiting from the local primary school. You’d been there, a chaperone for your son’s class. 

Oscar had briefly forgotten how to breathe. 

“Yeah, I hope this isn’t weird or anything but...” 

Pause. Now that he was about to say this out loud, it sounded super weird. He was going to murder Lando for talking him into this. 

“Okay this is probably pretty weird but in my defense, Lando said this is what he’d do.” Another pause, heavy with the weight of regret at listening to Lando Norris of all people. 

“Which was probably my first mistake, listening to chaos personified. Anyway…”

Now, where was he? 

Fuck. 

“Fuck. Sorry. So.” Oh God, this was going so so very bad “This is Oscar from earlier today. I had my PR manager find your number because…this is so embarrassing.” 

Oscar’s chest feels like it might crack apart with how heavy this moment feels. 

“I’ve just never seen someone so pretty as you are and it’s to the point where I have to just, suck it up and shoot my shot because I might just go insane if I lose out on a chance at even one single date with you.” 

The confession tumbles from his lips, quick and thick with his accent. 

“So. If I haven’t totally terrified you yet, call me back? I’d like to take you out.” 

Click. 

He kisses you 

“Hi.” He’s breathless, chest rising and falling quickly. Oscar is distracted momentarily by the memory of the way you’d pressed your lips to his just moments before. 

“Uh…Hi.” He stumbles. 

“I hope that was okay to do. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to kiss you all night long.” He flushes in to the darkness, thankful no one from the garage was around to see him absolutely fold for this woman.  

“Every time you bite your bottom lip when you’re concentrating is so fucking distracting, I could barely remember how to blink.” 

The confession hangs quietly in the air, thick and warm like woolen blanket. 

“Woman, you have ruined me and I am so thankful for that. I don’t think I’ll ever fucking recover from that kiss, my love.” His voice is rich, husky in a way that made your stomach twist. 

“When can I see you next?” A pause, as if something pings in his memory. 

“I know you have Jack full-time and I want to be respectful of that. So, you tell me when and that’s what we’ll do.” 

He makes it sound so easy. You know it’s not. But if he’s willing to try, so are you. 

“You’re in control here.” 

Music to your ears. 

“Okay. Call me when you get a minute. I just want to hear your voice.” 

Click

He Meets Your Son

“I am in awe of you, woman.” Oscar’s voice is misty, airy in a way that tells of his admiration of you. 

“The way you mother Jack is…God.” He chuckles, sighs and shakes his head.

“It was a sight to see. That little boy is so loved by you.” Your heart stalls at his words, at the sincerity in his tone. 

“I cannot believe how good he was at that miniature golf today!” Oscar huffs a laugh, light and genuine.  

“Lando is going to be so excited to have a potential golfing buddy in the future.” 

Oh, he was making plans plans now? He was so down bad. 

“You know how some people are just built to be a parent? That’s you, my love.” The compliments spill from his lips, as easy as breathing. 

“Watching you and Jack together today, getting to meet him…” The awe in his voice. Like he knew how big of a deal it was for you to allow someone else in your son’s life. 

You didn’t bring people around that weren’t going to stay. You had extended that trust to Oscar and he had accepted that responsibility without question.

Knew it was a privilege. 

“You are raising one hell of a kid. I hope you know that.” He pauses, dragging in a shaky breath. The emotion of what he wanted to say, what he needed you to know sat heavy on his chest. 

“How good you are. How well you’re doing. I know you know this,” 

A pause.

“But in case you need a reminder allow me to be the voice of reason, sweet girl.” 

Tears slip down your face, fast and free as you choke on a sob. 

“You are a good mom and Jack is such a good kid. Call me after his bedtime.” 

Click. 

He babysits 

“Okay, don’t panic.” 

You do, in fact, panic. 

“Everyone’s fine. For the most part.” 

Somehow, you doubted that by the way Oscar was panting and breathless on the other end.  

“No one is at the hospital. Yet.” 

You were going to kill him. And Lando. 

“I feel like I’m babysitting Jack AND Lando right now. Oh God, they’re causing a scene.” You hear the distinct wail of your six year old followed by Lando’s muffled British accent. 

“Why’d I let him talk me into taking Jack karting is beyond me.” He shakes his head. 

“Not entirely sure how I managed to get you to agree to this.” He muses. 

He was going to be in so much trouble. 

“Jack’s only gone into the barriers twice, which is only once more than Lando funnily enough.” 

It was not funny. 

“Don’t tell Lando I told you that.” Oscar says quickly and you chuckle. 

“We just finished our third race, Jack finished P1 all three of them.” Oscar sounds truly impressed. 

“That kid is good, babe! If you want, we can go to a proper track next time!” He knows he might be getting ahead of himself but the way Jack looked taking those corners as fast as he could push the little go-kart reminded Oscar a lot of himself at that age. 

He shakes his head, dislodging those kinds of feelings from his head. The dangerous ones. The ones that lead to slow Sunday mornings and quiet Thursday dinners. 

“Maybe Jack will race at Silverstone one day.” His voice goes wistful. Sentimental. Something Oscar generally doesn’t allow himself the luxury of doing. 

But he’s begun to, with you. Little by little. Piece by piece. 

“Anyway. We’re having fun. Miss you.” He almost says two other words, but catches himself. 

“Say bye to your mom, Jack.” He calls quickly. 

“BYE MOM.” Your boy yells gleefully. 

“BYE MOM!” Shouts Lando. 

Oscar groans. 

Click. 

An Accidental Voicemail

The TV plays softly in the background. Everything is muffled. It takes you a moment to realize but this wasn’t meant to be recorded. 

“So, your middle name is Jack? Just like my first name?” Jack asked skeptically. 

You’ve been sent to the spa that Saturday morning, one of Oscar’s rare weekends home during the season. Jack was thrilled to get alone time with your boyfriend. 

“Exactly.” Oscar confirms. 

“Did she pick you on purpose then?” Jack asks, voice small. 

Oscar tilts his head. Turns down the volume on the TV. 

“What do you mean, bud?” 

“Well, she already knows my name so did she pick you because your middle name is Jack. I know she forgets things a lot so maybe she picked you so she’d have one less name she’d have to remember.” 

The laugh that Oscar lets out is genuine and warm. He ruffles your son’s dark brown curls. They’re so similar to his, it’s almost spooky. 

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works, kiddo.” He says gently, but there’s laughter at the edge of his voice. 

“No, I think it is.” Jack says, all six year old confidence and bravado.

“I think it means you two should get married one day too.” 

Oscar is quiet for a beat. Like he doesn’t quite know how to react to that little declaration. 

“Yeah, that’s the goal for one day, little man. Would you like that? Your mom and I getting married one day?” 

This was certainly not the conversation Oscar thought he’d be having today. He hoped he wasn’t overstepping but it wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t already discussed it. In vague terms, in ‘one day’, abstract conversations about quiet wishes whispered late at night in the darkness. 

Jack thinks for a moment and then nods. “Yeah, I think that would be cool.” 

Something tightens in Oscar’s chest. 

“Well, now we just have to get your mom on board, huh?” Oscar says conspiratorially. “Hopefully she says yes.” 

“She already told me she would.” He says it so casually, so off-handedly that Oscar’s heart nearly stops. 

And then he glances at his phone. “Oh…sh…” 

Click. 

Thanks, Dad 

“Hi. We have a problem.” He stops. Silence. 

“Problem? No, that’s not the right word.” He reconsiders. 

Oscar is always very careful with his words.  

“A…situation? That sounds bad. Maybe it is? I’m kind of spiraling.” 

Clearly. 

“When Jack got into the car today after school pickup, he told me how his friends didn’t believe his dad was Oscar Piastri.” Your stomach lurches. 

“Dad.” 

The word hangs in the air. Heavy. Meaningful. Everything.

“He…seemed to catch what he had just said and got a little shy.” 

Jack had shrunk back in his seat, realizing his embarrassing slip of the tongue. 

“But then in the tiniest voice I’ve ever heard him use, asked me if it would be okay if he called me dad.”

Oscar had nearly driven off the road. 

“I panicked. Should I have told him no?” 

A pause. He swallows around the stone of emotion that’s blocking his windpipe.  

“I told him he could.” He confesses. 

It had been an easy decision. As easy as falling in love with you. He just hoped you wouldn’t be mad. 

“I told him that he could call me whatever he wanted and if he wanted to call me dad he could.” Oscar paused. 

“I should have asked you though? Maybe?” His voice was tight. Thin. Like he was second guessing everything coming out of his mouth. 

“Oh, I am freaking out here.” He blew out a breath. 

“Did I just ruin everything? Jack was super happy when I dropped him at your moms. All smiley and chatty about his homework.” 

The words come quickly, like he’s trying to convince himself that this is okay. That he’s not seeing his very much desired future unfolding right in front of him.

“Then he gave me a hug and said ‘Thanks for picking me up from school, Dad.’” 

Emotion chokes him

“Babe. I. What?” He lets out a breath of disbelief. Like he can’t figure out how he stumbled his way into such happiness. 

“Can I? Can we…” 

A sob concealed as a cough. 

“Be a family? Please? 

Click. 

Interview Blunder 

“Um. Hi. Quick reminder that I love you…” Oscar was away for the weekend, somewhere in the Middle East, for a race. 

“But hopefully you listen to this before you watch the post-race presser.” 

Oscar had finished P2 that weekend, the tail end of a brutal triple header. You hadn’t seen him in what felt like weeks. The sound of his voice was a balm. 

“I just…” He drags in a shaky breath. 

“A reporter asked me if I was excited to have a few weeks off and without thinking I said that I couldn’t wait to get back home to my family.” That wasn’t unusual. Oscar was known throughout the paddock to be family oriented. 

“I said that I missed my son and was looking forward to doing school drop-off so you could have your slow mornings back.” 

Silence. Oscar has never publicly claimed Jack like that. It was known in your circle that you two were serious. That Jack called Oscar Dad. That you three were a family. 

But to the general public? No one knew fully grasped how serious it was. 

“I didn’t mean to talk about Jack so publicly. I know you don’t want him in the spotlight.” His breath catches, like he can’t fully take in a lungful of air. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be claimed by Oscar. You saw the kind of relationship he had with your son, the way he carefully considered Jack in everything he did. You were scared of the public scrutiny, the way people always had an opinion on everything. All you wanted was to protect what was yours. 

“Fuck, please don’t be mad at me.” The anxiety in his voice has your stomach twisting painfully. 

You weren’t mad. 

“He calls me dad and I think of him as my own, baby. You and Jack are my family and I slipped.”  He hadn’t meant it. It hadn’t truly clicked, what he’d said, until he saw the look on Lando’s face beside him. The shock. The awe. The cheeky grin. 

“I thought Sophie was going to have an actual anxiety attack. Crofty nearly went feral. Lando choked on air.” He chuckled. The reactions in the room had been priceless, even if he’d fully panicked as soon as the weight of what he’d said settled in his chest. 

“I think Max even smiled a little.” Anything that got Max Verstappen to show emotion was a big deal. 

“Anyway. Fuck.” He paused, his train of thought stalling. 

“My point is that I’m sorry, I just love that kid so much. And you. I love you.” He says it as easily as if he’s reading the day’s weather forecast. Matter of factly. Casually. 

“And you’re both my family and one day we’re all going to have the same last name and he’s always going to be my son and I just hope you’re not mad.” 

Another pause. Like he’s trying to figure out if he needs to do more damage control.

“I love you.” He says again. 

Deep breath. 

“Okay. Call me. Tell Jack I’ll be home soon.” 

Click. 

[rafeslvbug]

how reader humbled nfl!rafe…

(when they were eighteen)

you wrapped your zipper around you tighter, tucking your hair behind your ears as it whipped across your face. lip bitten in anxiousness, standing to the side as you watched rafe compete others in drills.

he’d been scouted at one of his recent games, for a big team who needed a younger player, needed a capable quarterback. now he was on day two of relentless drills, a table off to the left being drafted of different times. he’d come up top on most, the 40 yard dash, vertical jump and whatnot, and you could see it in the way he moved, the way he laughed when other players got a lesser score than him.

it was getting to his head.

you couldn’t interrupt him now, but you knew one or two things. tomorrow were psychological evaluations : interviews to test his qualities and character. currently, you had a feeling his character would be quite negative - no one liked a cocky player.

spotting an assessor standing not too far from you, you discreetly shuffle your way around the area to him, standing next to him for the briefest moments before you broke into your sweetest smile. “hi,” you greeted, giving him a little side wave. glancing at you, awkwardly repeating your gesture the assessor greeted you in return, before returning to his clipboard and fixating his eyes on the players before him.

you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of your cheek as you said, “some of these players are really good, huh?”

the assessor only nodded.

“uhm, i was just wondering…what’d you think of cameron? number 11?” you asked, clarifying with a timid point of your finger. the assessor raises one eyebrow at you, like he’s questioning why he should divulge that information to you.

you have a feeling it won’t help your cause, in fact, you’re sure it will worsen it as you answer with, “he’s my boyfriend…”

shaking his head, the assessor sighs and mumbles, “can’t tell you, look at the board, see for yourself.”

pursing your lips together, you internally groan - you’ve already seen the board. it’s all you’ve watched as rafe’s name’s been marked up at the top of each and every event. the stats are not what you want. “okay but don’t you think he’s a bit cocky? you can tell me that right?” you ask, turning to face him now, arms over your chest and bit more insistent.

the assessor says something to another man on the side, facing you when he inquires, “you sure he’s your boyfriend?”

momentarily stunned at his question, you fiercely nod your head. “yes! it’s just..he’s worked hard for this and i don’t want him to blow it all away because of his ego! you see, our high school wasn’t that known, and there wasn’t much competition, so his ego kind of had room to grow, and here it’s not really helping and i was just thinking if there’s anyway i could maybe help-” your ramblings are cut off when the assessor all but yells at you to stop.

“okay! okay! here’s what i think: your boy has everything every assessor is looking for, but if i was hiring someone - and i’m not saying anything - but if i was, i would rather the second best if he’s got the mindset to grow, over the best if he already thinks he’s the best.” the assessor gives you a slow nod as your worst fears are confirmed, and he turns back to the players who’ve begun their break.

“thank you!” you exclaim before running off to the edge where rafe’s coming off. he’s taking off his helmet, widest grin on his face, and expecting you to hug him as you usually do. but when your hands hit his chest and he stumbles back, he’s suddenly very confused.

“what was that for?” he asks, hands palm up, looking at you with bewilderment as your arms are crossed over your chest.

“for being cocky!” you say sternly, deciding that you would not let rafe blow his shot.

“cocky? sweetheart, come on! it’s not cocky, i’m just better!” he defends, pulling a face when he realises that what he said is no better, and your eyes have just widened because he’s proven your point.

“see! no, rafe! ugh! these people, are just as good as you, or they’re close, okay?” you turn him towards the board, pointing as if to show him the boys who are under him on the table, close behind. “they can catch up! they want it as bad as you do, if you spend so much time in your head you won’t get any better, you’ll let them catch up because you think you know everything there is!”

he almost looks offended, being scolded by his girlfriend during try outs. but he stays silent, not like he was even given an opportunity to speak during your lecture.

“and imagine when we get married!” you gasp, the depth of him becoming an arrogant, and hated player dawning on you. rafe can’t help the smile that spreads on his face when you say ‘when’, but he tries to contain it after you lightly swat his arm.

“imagine everyone hates you because you’re so cocky and then they hate me! i won’t have them hating me rafe, or our kids! do you understand?” you demand of him, pointing a finger in his face. rafe’s fully grinning, the mention of marriage and kids putting him in a better mood.

“yes ma’am,” he mocks, although he’s taken you quite seriously, darting his head forward to playfully try and bite your finger before you retract it with a scowl.

“rafe..” you warn, worried he isn’t listening properly.

“no cockiness! respect the other players! be a good sportsman!” he summarises, holding his hands up in mock surrender, helmet clutched in his right hand. he leans his head down, dimpled smile on his face as he asks, “can i get my kiss now, luck?”

you snatch his helmet from his hand, shoving it over his head with an ill-contained grin. “only when you get on the team,” you promise through slips of laughter, watching him groan and walk away, back to the other players.

later on, when you lock eyes with the assessor, he gives you a slow and subtle nod, as if to say rafe’s behaviour is better now. and you only look forward, watching your boyfriend who you know is going to be a star one day.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

But that didn’t last when he started fighting with Sam via text. He didn’t like fighting with his friends and it wore on him as the day went on. You saw it in how he carried himself. If that weren’t enough, Alexei accidentally shot a paint gun in the common room and hit Bucky’s thigh. The flare in his nostrils told you he was two seconds away from losing his shit when John laughed.

Some days are just like this, just one hit after another, legit the worst

“Did you have to laugh?” you asked John. Sure, you all gave him a hard time, but he dished it out as well and it was clear that Bucky wasn’t in the best mood. John shrugged, not at all phased. “He’ll live.” “You won’t if you keep pissing him off,” you teased, going to get Bucky’s jacket while you waited for him to come back. 

Thin ice Walker!

“A ride?” he asked, closing his eyes when he brushed his hair back. “Yeah, a ride,” you smiled. As much as you both loved being in the tower, he needed to get out and you were more than happy to join him. “And maybe we can stop off at that bakery you love?” Bucky’s eyes lit up. Between a ride with you and stopping off to get a treat, he’d be in a much better mood. “Let’s go.”

The way his eyes instantly light up 🥹

You stopped at the sound of John’s loud and piercing scream. It wouldn’t have been the first time he yelled, but that was typically done out of anger or frustration. This scream, however, sounded like pain.

Ohoh👀

Your eyes went right to your boyfriend since he was always at the forefront of your mind. You took a step forward when he locked eyes with you, the coldness in the blues almost making you shiver. He happened to be right beside John who was a bit more pale than usual and gripping his arm like a lifeline. Your mouth fell open when you realized the former Captain America had a knife in his hand. And he wasn’t holding it, oh, no. Bucky’s knife was through his hand. You knew it was Bucky’s knife because you bought it for him.  What the fuck happened, and why did that excite you?

I mean John really challenged it 🤷🏻‍♀️ also the excitement? valid 😌

Ava phased beside you, likely drawn by John’s scream. Yelena and Bob came in seconds later though Yelena didn’t seem too concerned. “What are you…” she trailed off with a snort. “That’s not good.” Ava sighed. “And we just got the blood out of the sofa from the last incident.” “No fucking shit this isn’t good! And who gives a shit about the blood on the sofa!” John snapped, screaming again when Bucky yanked the knife out. “You’ll live,” he muttered. 

They are all so chill, except for John, I love it🤭

John scrambled to find something to wrap his hand with. “Your fucking boyfriend stabbed me!” “Yeah, America’s Asshole, I stabbed you.” Sitting back on the sofa, Bucky got a cloth out of his pocket to wipe his knife. He stabbed John. He really did it. But why? “And you have the serum. You’ll be fine.

not even hiding or denying it 😅

You made the mistake of looking at Ava who had a smirk on her face. It didn’t do you any good to look at Yelena either since she also looked pleased. Only Bob looked concerned. And where the hell was Alexei?

Haha that's so them 😂

“I know, I know. Dick move. And I know I threatened to stab him because he raised his voice at Bob because, well, we don't yell at Bob.” You gave Bob a smile when he dipped his head. “But-”

Truly the only rule they have and everyone, except John, abides to it! ☝🏻

“He’s lucky I didn’t cut this tongue out,” your boyfriend growled. You tried hard not to whimper, which was tough since the sound was sexy as hell. “But why-” “You can still cut out his tongue,” Yelena encouraged, taking out one of her own knives. “Allow me.”

This just cracked me up 😂😂😂

Yelena and Ava are menaces and Bob is just a baby

“He what?” Yelena asked for you. “Ew,” Ava whispered. “But she… she’s not your girlfriend,” Bob added. “I might stab his other hand,” he said. “Do it,” Yelena encouraged. John sputtered when Ava nodded in agreement. “What the fuck?”

“I don't care.” Bucky carefully inspected his knife. “As far as he’s concerned, you don’t have an ass.” The girls scoffed with you and you weren't sure if you should've felt flattered or offended. “Okay, old man, so I have no ass now? Do I not have tits either?”

Uff wrong choice of words there buddy

John quickly shook his head out of the corner of your eye. You felt for the guy, but you weren’t going to lie. “He may have glanced at them when I leaned over the other day.” “Oh, when you were wearing that black top?” Ava asked, humming when you nodded. “Oh, yeah. He looked.” “What the fuck, Ava?!” John shouted.

Ava a girl's girl through and through 🙂‍↕️

“You looked, too!” “I didn’t look,” Bob said immediately, his hands up in surrender. He was too pure for this world.

Don't even try dragging Bob into this! 😤

“You didn’t sleep well, you’re in a bad mood, and you need a breather,” you gently said, framing his face so he’d only see you. Your touch took most of the anger away. “Please, let’s go. We can go right to bed when we get back.” Sex, cuddling, sleep, all of it, you’d give him whatever he needed later.

My vote is for all of it 🤭

“Jesus, it was meant to be a compliment,” he told you, daring to glance at Bucky. “You have a good looking girlfriend, okay?!” “Stop talking,” you begged when Bucky tensed up. You had just calmed him down. “If you want to compliment him or her, tell them how murderous they look,” Yelena suggested, looking to the others for support. “That’s cool, right?”

Lmao Walker really plays with fire and Yelena is just iconic

Bob swallowed a little. “If she looks nice, am I allowed to say so? Or should I just avoid looking at her?” You giggled. Bob deserved the whole world. “You can say whatever you want,” you replied. Bucky would agree. “Okay,” he smiled a little. “I just. I-I don't want to get stabbed.” “No one will stab you, Bob,” Yelena promised, ever the protector. John looked around the room and asked, “So, Bob can say whatever he wants, but I can’t?” “Yes,” everyone answered in unison. Bob wasn’t an asshole like John.

Everyone's on the same page about Bob 😌

The men stubbornly refused to look at each other, like children being scolded after a fight. John broke first when you cleared your throat. “Sorry for complimenting your girlfriend, I guess.” “Sorry for not stabbing both of your hands,” Bucky mumbled.

Like siblings being forced to apologize haha

“What, that I stabbed him?” Bucky asked, grinding his teeth. “He gets under my skin.” They were teammates now, but it didn’t get rid of the bad blood or the past. You sympathized with that. “I know he does, and I can’t believe that it took this long for you to stab him, but maybe try not to do that again?” His warm laughter brought a smile to your face. “I’m surprised it took this long, too, and I’ll try not to again, but I’m not sorry that you were the tipping point.”

Haha nobody is truly surprised that it happened, just that it took so long 😂

Hadn’t you made it clear earlier that you’d never allow John to touch you? Even if you weren’t Bucky’s girlfriend, that would never happen. “So possessive, but I love that about you,” you teased. His eyes softened, the look making your heart race. “I’m not too much?” Your gaze softened, too. “You’ll never be too much,” you assured him, almost to the elevator when Alexei waltzed by in his robe.

🥹🥰🥹🥰 + impeccable timing on Alexei's part 😅

“What did I miss?” he asked. “I stabbed John,” Bucky answered. The Red Guardian looked stricken. “And I missed it?”

He is truly bummed out

Maybe tomorrow he could hash things out with Sam. And maybe you’d look through the footage later so you could see for yourself that Bucky stabbed John. And maybe, just maybe, you’d make a copy of the footage for Bucky if he ever needed a laugh after a bad day.

“For trying to cheer me up,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “And for being mine.” You leaned into his touch, thrilled to be his. “Thank you for being mine, too,,” you said, hoping the ride and treat would make him feel much better before you went to bed.

🥰🥰🥰

Excellent plan and make copies for the whole team!

Since we see this mentioned in Game Nights, what does it take for Bucky to stab John and how does the team react?

That is an excellent question, Cole! I'm so glad you asked.

Don't Look or Touch

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky isn't having a good day and John suffers the consequences.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Stabbing (yes, Bucky stabs John), arguing, humor, kissing, implied smut, Thunderbolts spoilers, we love Bob, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: We have Not Exactly a Secret, Game Nights, and now this for our Tower Shenanigans. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the inspo!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't in a good mood today.  He claimed he didn’t need as much sleep as the average person, but he still needed to get some shut eye and he hadn’t slept well the night before. Too many things were running through his head. You wished he woke you up to talk or help take his mind off things, but you knew he hadn’t wanted to disturb your rest. Had the roles been reversed he would’ve wanted you to wake him up first thing. 

“I’m your girlfriend, Bucky. If something is bothering you, it bothers me,” you reminded him. “So, please, wake me up next time, okay?”

It didn’t matter how big or small of an issue it was, you’d help him through anything and everything.

“You need more sleep than I do,” he tried to argue, a ghost of a smile on his face when you narrowed your eyes. 

“I can always catch a nap later,” you said.

“If you say so,” he said, sounding in better spirits than he had moments ago.

But that didn’t last when he started fighting with Sam via text. He didn’t like fighting with his friends and it wore on him as the day went on. You saw it in how he carried himself. If that weren’t enough, Alexei accidentally shot a paint gun in the common room and hit Bucky’s thigh. The flare in his nostrils told you he was two seconds away from losing his shit when John laughed.

You half expected Bucky to punch John, but he silently got to his feet and went to change. “So sorry!” Alexei called after him, also leaving the room.

“Did you have to laugh?” you asked John. Sure, you all gave him a hard time, but he dished it out as well and it was clear that Bucky wasn’t in the best mood.

John shrugged, not at all phased. “He’ll live.”

“You won’t if you keep pissing him off,” you teased, going to get Bucky’s jacket while you waited for him to come back. 

Bucky returned a minute later, somehow looking more pissed off. Maybe it was because John scooted closer to you once you sat back down. As much as you adored Bucky’s signature grumpy stare, this was different. That look was on his face because of his bad mood. Your heart went out to him, and what kind of girlfriend would you be if you didn’t try to cheer him up? 

“Hey,” you smiled, holding out a hand so Bucky could help you to your feet. You gave him a quick kiss once you were close enough and handed him his jacket. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“A ride?” he asked, closing his eyes when he brushed his hair back.

“Yeah, a ride,” you smiled. As much as you both loved being in the tower, he needed to get out and you were more than happy to join him. “And maybe we can stop off at that bakery you love?”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. Between a ride with you and stopping off to get a treat, he’d be in a much better mood. “Let’s go.”

“Hang tight for just a minute. Just need to grab something,” you said, sneaking in another kiss before you headed toward your room. You wondered how much Bucky would argue if you tried to pay for the treats. He was always such a gentleman when it came to-

“FUCK!”

You stopped at the sound of John’s loud and piercing scream. It wouldn’t have been the first time he yelled, but that was typically done out of anger or frustration. This scream, however, sounded like pain.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled, rushing back to the common room.

Your eyes went right to your boyfriend since he was always at the forefront of your mind. You took a step forward when he locked eyes with you, the coldness in the blues almost making you shiver. He happened to be right beside John who was a bit more pale than usual and gripping his arm like a lifeline. Your mouth fell open when you realized the former Captain America had a knife in his hand. And he wasn’t holding it, oh, no. Bucky’s knife was through his hand. You knew it was Bucky’s knife because you bought it for him. 

What the fuck happened, and why did that excite you?

Ava phased beside you, likely drawn by John’s scream. Yelena and Bob came in seconds later though Yelena didn’t seem too concerned. “What are you…” she trailed off with a snort. “That’s not good.”

Ava sighed. “And we just got the blood out of the sofa from the last incident.”

“No fucking shit this isn’t good! And who gives a shit about the blood on the sofa!” John snapped, screaming again when Bucky yanked the knife out. 

“You’ll live,” he muttered. 

Your eyes went wide. Super soldier hearing and all, had Bucky heard John mutter his earlier comment? “What happened?” you asked. You had only been out of the room for a few seconds. What possibly happened during that time to cause this?

John scrambled to find something to wrap his hand with. “Your fucking boyfriend stabbed me!” 

“Yeah, America’s Asshole, I stabbed you.” Sitting back on the sofa, Bucky got a cloth out of his pocket to wipe his knife. He stabbed John. He really did it. But why? “And you have the serum. You’ll be fine.”

You made the mistake of looking at Ava who had a smirk on her face. It didn’t do you any good to look at Yelena either since she also looked pleased. Only Bob looked concerned. And where the hell was Alexei?

“Okay, Bucky,” you began, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice because you had to be the mature one. “I know you threatened to stab him during Uno.”

“He put down Draw Four…” He sneered at John. “FOUR times.”

“I know, I know. Dick move. And I know I threatened to stab him because he raised his voice at Bob because, well, we don't yell at Bob.” You gave Bob a smile when he dipped his head. “But-”

“He’s lucky I didn’t cut this tongue out,” your boyfriend growled.

You tried hard not to whimper, which was tough since the sound was sexy as hell. “But why-”

“You can still cut out his tongue,” Yelena encouraged, taking out one of her own knives. “Allow me.”

You put your hand out while John took a few steps back. “No, Yelena. Not today,” you said, which earned you a pout in response before you turned your attention back to Bucky. “Just tell us why you stabbed him, please.”

“He talked about putting his hands on your ass!” Bucky snapped, wincing when he realized how loudly he said it.

You could hear a pin drop from the silence that followed. Your eyes darted between Bucky and John, seeing the mixture of anger and discomfort. There was no way John was dumb enough to say something like that in front of your boyfriend. Right?

“He what?” Yelena asked for you.

“Ew,” Ava whispered. 

“But she… she’s not your girlfriend,” Bob added.

“I didn’t say I’d put my hands on your ass!” John defended himself, taking a breath when everyone stared at him. “Look, all I said was ‘I’d never leave my bed if I could get my hands on an ass like that’ and that’s it! That’s all!”

You were thankful you didn’t take a drink of something because you would’ve spit it out. As admittedly smart as John could be when it came to missions, he could also be an idiot. “Bucky, put the knife down,” you ordered when his grip tightened on the handle. You couldn’t have him stabbing him again. 

Though it was kind of hot that Bucky stabbed someone in your honor. 

“I might stab his other hand,” he said. 

“Do it,” Yelena encouraged. 

John sputtered when Ava nodded in agreement. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, one, Bucky, we both know I’d never let John touch my ass. Sorry, but. No,” you said, shrugging at the bleeding agent. Your ass was off limits to him. “Two, it doesn't sound like he said he was going to put his hands on my ass.”

“I don't care.” Bucky carefully inspected his knife. “As far as he’s concerned, you don’t have an ass.”

The girls scoffed with you and you weren't sure if you should've felt flattered or offended. “Okay, old man, so I have no ass now? Do I not have tits either?”

You held your breath when Bucky slowly got to his feet, his jaw clenched. It wasn't fair how hot and bothered that stance made you. “Did he look at your tits?” he asked in a low voice.

John quickly shook his head out of the corner of your eye. You felt for the guy, but you weren’t going to lie. “He may have glanced at them when I leaned over the other day.”

“Oh, when you were wearing that black top?” Ava asked, humming when you nodded. “Oh, yeah. He looked.”

“What the fuck, Ava?!” John shouted. “You looked, too!”

“I didn’t look,” Bob said immediately, his hands up in surrender. He was too pure for this world.

Bucky swung his head toward John. “Forget your other hand. Let’s see if that serum helps you grow your eyes back.”

Oh, shit. Maybe you shouldn't have said anything. “No! No more stabbing today!” You moved to block Bucky’s path. The mood he was in, you had no doubt he’d stab him again if he got the chance. “I appreciate you defending my honor and I always will, but we are going for a ride. Now.”

The former assassin pouting shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was. “But he-”

“You didn’t sleep well, you’re in a bad mood, and you need a breather,” you gently said, framing his face so he’d only see you. Your touch took most of the anger away. “Please, let’s go. We can go right to bed when we get back.”

Sex, cuddling, sleep, all of it, you’d give him whatever he needed later.

Bucky huffed, but put his knife away. He recognized that your tone wasn’t one to argue with. “He better not look again or try to touch you.”

“He won’t,” you said for John, looking over your shoulder to glare at him.

“Jesus, it was meant to be a compliment,” he told you, daring to glance at Bucky. “You have a good looking girlfriend, okay?!” 

“Stop talking,” you begged when Bucky tensed up. You had just calmed him down.

“If you want to compliment him or her, tell them how murderous they look,” Yelena suggested, looking to the others for support. “That’s cool, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ava said.

“Um, Bucky?” Bob asked. 

“Yeah?” he answered, slipping an arm around you. 

Bob swallowed a little. “If she looks nice, am I allowed to say so? Or should I just avoid looking at her?”

You giggled. Bob deserved the whole world. “You can say whatever you want,” you replied. Bucky would agree. 

“Okay,” he smiled a little. “I just. I-I don't want to get stabbed.”

“No one will stab you, Bob,” Yelena promised, ever the protector. 

John looked around the room and asked, “So, Bob can say whatever he wants, but I can’t?” 

“Yes,” everyone answered in unison. Bob wasn’t an asshole like John.

“Now apologize to each other so we can leave,” you said. The longer you stayed, the bigger the chance that Bucky would snap again.

The men stubbornly refused to look at each other, like children being scolded after a fight. John broke first when you cleared your throat. “Sorry for complimenting your girlfriend, I guess.”

“Sorry for not stabbing both of your hands,” Bucky mumbled.

“And we’re leaving now. Try to behave while we’re gone,” you announced, pulling your boyfriend away. Chances were that they’d start arguing over dinner or dish duty. “I can’t believe it.”

“What, that I stabbed him?” Bucky asked, grinding his teeth. “He gets under my skin.”

They were teammates now, but it didn’t get rid of the bad blood or the past. You sympathized with that. “I know he does, and I can’t believe that it took this long for you to stab him, but maybe try not to do that again?”

His warm laughter brought a smile to your face. “I’m surprised it took this long, too, and I’ll try not to again, but I’m not sorry that you were the tipping point.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Bucky Barnes stabbed a man because of me.” You weren’t exactly sorry that you were the tipping point either. “In his defense, my ass does look good in these pants,” you smirked.

Bucky waited a beat before he smacked your ass, making you shriek. “He still isn’t allowed to look or touch.”

Hadn’t you made it clear earlier that you’d never allow John to touch you? Even if you weren’t Bucky’s girlfriend, that would never happen. “So possessive, but I love that about you,” you teased.

His eyes softened, the look making your heart race. “I’m not too much?” 

Your gaze softened, too. “You’ll never be too much,” you assured him, almost to the elevator when Alexei waltzed by in his robe.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“I stabbed John,” Bucky answered.

The Red Guardian looked stricken. “And I missed it?”

The last thing you heard before you and Bucky stepped into the elevator was John yelling, “What the fuck?!”

“Right to bed when we get back?” Bucky smiled, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it.

“Right to bed,” you smiled back.

He pulled you against him to give you a deep and thorough kiss, one that left you breathless and yearning for more. “And thank you.”

“For what?” you asked breathlessly.

“For trying to cheer me up,” he whispered, touching your cheek. “And for being mine.”

You leaned into his touch, thrilled to be his. “Thank you for being mine, too,,” you said, hoping the ride and treat would make him feel much better before you went to bed. Maybe tomorrow he could hash things out with Sam. And maybe you’d look through the footage later so you could see for yourself that Bucky stabbed John. 

And maybe, just maybe, you’d make a copy of the footage for Bucky if he ever needed a laugh after a bad day.

So, did John deserve that? What other shenanigans do we think this group gets up to? ! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[megapteraurelia]

roommates!osasuna who, before they've agreed to share you, hear you in your room at night, soft gasps, breathy moans and their names escaping your lips as you bring yourself to the brink of insanity, and fuck, now neither of them can sleep.

suna finds himself in osamu's room not long after, his mouth full with cock. one hand of his leisurely drags across his own length, pumping himself against the scratchy sheets of osamu's that he's told him to change countless of times. now, though, it's long past the point of caring when he spills all over it, paints his name across the soft grey; osamu's neck with that one thick vein on display as his hand gripped suna's hair tightly.

suna ends up swallowing all of it.

roommates!osasuna who have incredibly soft spots that you exploit, always. osamu loves when you run your fingers through his hair, and he melts, his eyes half-lidded as they gaze at you with an intensity that you've only known him have when he concentrates on his projects, coming up with different recipes. his cheek weighs heavier in your hand as he sinks into it, and his mouth presses small little kisses on the palm of your hand.

suna is a hair width away from actually purring when you tug on his earrings, gently, just playing with them when you're cuddling. but when you tug, he freezes and his lips part slightly, a pretty little blush unfurling on his skin. his eyelashes flutter and even though he denies it, he leans into your touch a little more.

roommates!osasuna who have a group chat with you, and the things being sent there range from innocent to suggestive to downright pornographic.

day 1

has osamu send a picture of food he's cooked, telling you to come home hungry. (sometimes, though, he likes to push it a little, because then he'll send another text: "if yer good, ya get fed. if yer better, you get bent over the counter first.")

day 2

has suna send a blurry video, half naked, pulling his shorts down, revealing more and more of his dick until it cuts off right before it could spring free, captioned: "your spot's cold."

day 3

has both of them argue over who was able to please you better last night:

sunarin, "trust me, she was already shaking when i kissed her. you literally just got to the finish line."

osamu, "i'd say that too if i were you. doesn't count when i'm the one doin' all the work, huh?"

sunarin, "yeah, well, she moaned my name louder than yours."

osamu, "ya wanna weigh in, sweetheart? who made you cum harder?"

sunarin, "that's a trap, baby. don't answer that."

you shut up their pissing contest with an incoming video call and when they both accepted it, they were met with fingers deep in your glistening pussy, voice already shot from how loud you were moaning. osamu's exits the call right away only to enter it again a couple minutes later, and you recognise the change of location — he's moved into the storeroom of onigiri miya, his dark cap pulled deep over his eyes, but you could see the way his teeth dug into the pillow of his lower lip, slick noises echoing through your phone as he fucks his fist.

suna's long-gone, having propped up his phone against his gym bag, head rolled back as he lets spit dribble onto his angry dick, palming himself as it sat pretty over his shorts in the empty locker room. you heard faint knocking and complaints coming through from his side, but you were sure he's locked the door on purpose, and each second, that he's not letting his teammates in, is another second that he's hastily pumping himself.

day 4

has suna sending a picture of you passed out on the couch in osamu's hoodie, "look at baby." and osamu replying with "tell 'er she's cute when she drools. also, seaweed chips?"

day 5

has osamu saving all the little voice notes you send of you laughing, of you talking about your day, and the camera roll is full with suna's cute as shit pictures of you and 'samu.

day 6

has you cry about work and how stressful it is, and osamu's the one who ends up texting you throughout it, sending you messages in quick succession, as if he hasn't a whole restaurant to run, as if he has all the time in the world to focus on you and you only.

hey. breathe f'me a sec, alright? just stop everythin' and take one good deep breath. yer doin' your best and i'm proud of you for pushin' through it. but ya don't gotta carry it all on yer own, sweetheart you come home to us tonight, yeah? we'll take care of ya. you don't hafta be strong. bein' with you makes my day easier so let me do the same f'you.

suna's not the type to text a lot when it's sentimental, but he sends you a heart, and when you come home, your favourite food's already made, a hot bath run and your favourite hoodie of suna's draped on your bed, warm from the dryer, smelling like his cologne. and when you crawl in between both of them, his fingers are right there to travel over your body in a way that grounds you, that tells you this is where you belong, this is where you are loved and doted on and safe.

day 7

has them try to annoy you, rating your reactions like it's a game on a scale from one to ten as you sit amongst friends, enduring their suggestive comments and ignoring the way they had you right in their line of sight whenever you glance down before immediately turning the phone around, a blush burning on your cheeks.

you, "can we not do this tonight. please."

osamu, "do what?"

sunarin, "she's already cracking. that's a 4/10 reaction chat"

when you glance up from your phone, rolling your eyes, osamu's pretending to sip his drink, but suna doesn't even care, staring right at you with that lazy look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked.

another notification comes through a couple of minutes later and when you open it, you choke a little on your spit, awkwardly laughing off the concern of a friend only to look at the picture again. it's a photo from under the table, osamu's hand resting on his thigh, the zipper of his pants pulled down slightly, giving the bulge slightly more room to breathe.

the caption? "thinkin' 'bout where yer mouth should be right now."

sunarin's text isn't far behind, "oh, that face. that's a solid 6.5"

osamu, "mhmm, i give it a 7. she did this cute lip biting thing."

the next ordeal you go through is when suna sends a video half an hour later, and it's just his hand under the table as his fingers imitate the movement he always fucks you with, digits scissoring and stretching out inside an invisible hole as his thumb rubs nothing but thin air. the implication has your breath hitching, your thighs tingling as you pressed them together, any reprieve, oh god.

sunarin, "8/10, she's shifting in her seat."

and osamu takes the cake, he really does, because there's an entire paragraph sitting right before you, and arousal is a familiar concept etched in your very soul as you read it, face growing hotter and hotter, heart stuttering in tandem with the rustling in your ear from how fast your blood seems to run.

gonna make that pretty little face again when we bend ya over the kitchen table later? arms pulled behind yer back, tits all over the counter. bet yer gonna cry and sob for one of us to hurry up and fuck ya already. but ya know us, sweetheart, don'tcha? we'll take our time, i wanna see ya squirm against rin's mouth be good at dinner, we can be as nasty as ya want later

you really do end up hiding your face in your hands.

a message of sunarin coming through, "9.5/10. almost there"

and almost there, you are later once the door slammed shut behind you and their hands are all over you, teeth clinking against each other in a heated kiss. you get shoved forward until your hands hit the kitchen table, tits pressed against the mahogany just like promised, breath ragged as suna tugs your pants down like a dehydrated madman searching for water.

his teeth find your wet panties, stuck to your pussy lips like a second skin and he sucks the juice out with a groan, fingers keeping your thighs spread and steady. osamu's hand is dragging across his length, his cock heavy as it rest in between your ass cheeks, tip leaking, forming a little puddle in the dip of your back.

"been dyin' to get my hands on you all night."

you taste the wood as you pant against it, hands trying to catch even a little bit of osamu, but his grip is relentless, tight on your wrists. he tuts with his tongue, the click close to your ear as he smothers you with his weight, one leg of his pushing yours further out.

"be good for rin, sweetheart, won't ya?"

how were you supposed to be good for anything when suna's mouth latches onto your clit like that? when his jaw moves hard and fast as it suckles on the swollen nub, fingers teasing the quivering hole, dipping into your heat easily, "god, you're so fucking perfect," — your legs buckling, tears pricking at your lash line, biting your lip to keep from crying out, caught between the sting of his force and the pleasure burning through your veins.

how were you supposed to be good for anything when osamu lines up behind you, hard and ready? his head nudges against suna's fingers and really, suna cannot resist, fingers pulling out to tug on osamu's dick, using your slick to coat him as he found the sensitive vein on the underside easily, thumb rubbing the reddened tip.

"ngh, sunarin, yer such, ah, a bastard."

suna spoke against your pussy, and the vibrations have you push against his mouth, "yeah, but 'samu, don't forget that i can feel you throbbing in my hand. so am i a bastard or are you moaning for me?"

osamu's rubbing against your folds, tip catching suna's mouth every so often, and how does that leave you, hm? begging on top of the table, legs trembling, only kept upright because suna likes having you sit above him, stray tears stealing themselves on the wood, as your ass pushes back against osamu's backside.

"please, p-please, fu-hah-fuck me," you mewl, over and over until at least one of them has mercy and urges osamu's dick to finally fill you. his groan when he realises how easy he slips into you is deep and loud, reverberating against you so deliciously. you're so wet, he's bottoming out before he could even register the movement of his hips, and god, the sound of his balls slapping against your drooling pussy lips is heavy, suna's wet noises of sucking on your clit even worse.

really — how were you supposed to be good for anything?

1 | 2

TAGLIST | @sodaneko @takes1 @classicalelephant @pomigranit @sugacor3 @boktuoafterdark

sorry not sorry

[itneverendshere]

Hi Gigi, I hope you’re having a great day. I love your works so much, especially hockey Rafe in your brother’s bsf fic. I was wondering if I can request, like, Rafe coming to her dorm after a hockey practice, and then them taking a shower together, and it gets smutty

only if you want to. Thank you for reading my request :)

pleasure’s a place only we know - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's sister x hockey!rafe warnings: smut.

Your laptop hummed loudly next to your textbook, and your note pages were scattered on your desk. You’d been at this for hours — your brain had turned into scrambled eggs, and the stats exam looming tomorrow wasn’t helping.

Another sigh.

Your leg bounced under the desk. Rafe hadn’t texted, not that you were waiting on it. (You were.) He had practice, or lifting. Or some team thing.

Or maybe he’d forgotten you existed because finals week had turned you into a snapping, sarcastic monster.

Fair.

You shoved another handful of pretzels into your mouth, eyes skimming the same paragraph for the fifth time, absorbing nothing. The numbers blurred together — standard deviations, variances, and z-scores. All useless until they were on a scantron.

Your twist-out had frizzed into something unholy, your satin bonnet had disappeared somewhere between your fourth meltdown and the last pack of fruit snacks. You leaned back, stretched, and stared up at the ceiling, hoping God would beam down a cheat sheet through the asbestos tiles.

You knew you were smart. You weren’t failing. But something about finals season had you on a anxiety roll. You were short with everyone, hadn’t called your mom back in two days. And poor Rafe — bless his heart — had gotten the brunt of it.

You were an overstimulated gremlin with zero patience for anyone who wasn’t your stats professor handing you the answer key. You’d snapped at Rafe yesterday when he’d dropped off a smoothie from that place with the good ginger shots. He’d blinked, kissed the top of your head, and dipped before you could apologize.

You hadn’t texted since.

You told yourself you needed space. He’d understand. Except now it was late, the hallway outside was quiet. You cracked your knuckles, got up to pee for the third time in an hour, and when you came back, he was standing in the doorway like a literal hallucination.

Rafe. 

Hoodie damp at the collar, hair wet from sweat, duffle bag slung low on his shoulder. His eyes flicked over you — sleep shorts, tank top, socks with little ducks on them — and something in his jaw relaxed.

“You could knock like a normal person.”

“You always leave it unlocked,” he said, stepping inside. “Reckless behavior for a smart girl.”

“Cute. You memorize that on the bus?”

“Missed you too."

You sat back in your chair and turned toward your screen, scrolling through notes even though you weren’t reading.

“What do you want?”

He dropped the bag and crossed to you slowly. “You didn’t text me. You ghosted me after I fed you.”

“I was busy.”

“You were mean.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know,” he said, standing behind you now. His hands came to rest on your shoulders. Your eyes closed when his thumbs pressed gently into the knots at the base of your neck, and you exhaled before you could stop yourself.

It felt good. It felt so good and you didn’t deserve it.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be nice to me when I’m being a bitch.”

He laughed. “Can’t help it.”

You turned in the chair then, knees bumping his thighs, and looked up at him. There was sweat still clinging to the curve of his jaw. His hair was wild, that annoying, effortlessly hot that made you irrationally angry.

“You been here all day?”

You turned and kept typing. “No, I ran a marathon and then solved world hunger. Obviously, I’ve been here.”

“I brought you food.”

You pointed at the desk without turning around.

“Add it to the offering pile. You smell like a hockey locker room, by the way.”

You knew you were being impossible. 

“I know. Join me in the shower?”

You gave him a full glare. “I’m trying to pass stats. I’ll bathe after.”

“I’m serious. Come with me.”

“I’m serious, too. Go wash your ass.”

“You have two options,” He conceded, calm as anything. “You get up and walk to the shower like a functioning person, or I carry you.”

You didn’t bother looking up. “You wouldn’t.”

He stepped closer. “Try me.”

“I swear to God, Rafe—”

“Nope. God’s off-duty. You got me tonight.”

You turned slowly in your chair, posture full of defiance, even if your spine ached from being hunched for hours and your brain was one bad stat problem away from full shutdown.

“I’m studying.”

“You’re spiraling.”

You held up a finger. “First of all—”

You didn’t get the sentence out before he was dragging back your chair, and you were squawking, legs flailing as he picked you up.

“Rafe! I’m serious—”

“So am I.”

He adjusted you in his arms, one hand bracing your thigh, the other supporting your back like he’d done it a hundred times. (He had.)

“We’re showering. Either you’re in the mood for soap and peace or soap and attitude, but the soap’s happening.”

You kicked your legs weakly. “Put me down!”

“Say please.”

“Please choke.”

He grinned. “That can be arranged.”

You smacked his chest as he carried you through the narrow dorm bathroom door. He set you down on the counter like a princess and started pulling off his hoodie.

You crossed your arms in defiance, pretending you weren’t ogling his physique.

“This is manipulative behavior.”

“Yep,” He nodded, shirt now gone, abs on full display. “Textbook boyfriend manipulation.”

“Gross.”

He stepped closer. “You need a break, baby.”

You didn’t want to melt — you really didn’t — but the nickname came low and quiet, with enough scratch to it that it softened your body.

You rolled your eyes and grumbled a “Fine.” You sighed and peeled off your tank top, glaring at him while doing it. “If I miss a practice problem because of you—”

“Then I’ll make it up to you.”

You paused. “How.”

He kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, “With my mouth.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is sex all you think about?"

He shrugged in mock innocence. “You're getting naked. Can you blame me?"

You couldn’t think of anything except how much you missed him, and how awful you've been these past few days. Rafe was between your legs, hands braced on the counter on either side of you, effectively caging you in. 

“I’m only doing this because I was gonna shower eventually.”

Rafe held off from smiling.

“You say that like I didn’t carry your whining ass in here.”

You glared. “I didn’t whine.”

His nose skimmed yours. “You did. Like a baby possum.”

You slapped his chest, half-heartedly, and he chuckled, the sound vibrating through your skin. You didn’t want to smile, but you did anyway.

“I have four brain cells left max, and you’re wasting all of them on this,” You pouted as he gently pulled your shorts down. “I need to finish the—”

“Nope,” he interrupted, “You’re done for tonight. Stats can wait.”

“You’re so full of—” You started, but the words died in your throat when you lifted your hips without thinking, letting him pull them off.

His eyes dragged over you with that intense thing he did that always made you feel seen in unfair ways. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You were trying to fill the silence. “I haven’t shaved, my hair’s a mess, and my back looks like a little old man’s from hunching over that desk.”

Rafe dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the center of your chest, one to your sternum, and then the underside of your breast.

You squirmed, fingers digging into the edge of the counter.

“Don’t try to soften me up.”

“Not trying. It’s working anyway.”

Your underwear was gone too, your mouth opened to sass him again—reflexive— but he kissed you, with no real warning, shutting you up immediately. You tried to breathe through it, but you were already rolling into him without conscious thought. You moaned like you hadn't been touched in years, and Rafe only pulled back to gloat against your lips.

“There she is.”

“Asshole,” you breathed, chasing his mouth again.

He grinned against you, hands sliding around to your ass, pulling you flush to him. 

“You still pissy?”

You nodded — lying. “Yeah.”

He tilted your chin up. “Good.”

He dragged his lips down your throat while your hands scrambled at his waistband, needing him as close as possible.

“Take your pants off,” You demanded, breathless.

“You’re so bossy when you’re stressed.”

“And you’re so slow when you’re horny.”

Rafe walked back to strip off his sweats in one tug, briefs going with them. Your breath caught at the sight of him, already hard, as if he’d been waiting all day to put you in this exact position.

“You staring, or you joining me?” he asked, reaching past you to flip the shower knob. Steam billowed out instantly, curling into the corners of the cramped dorm bathroom.

You blinked. “I’m still mad.”

“I know,” His hands skated up your sides. “But that mouth’s gonna be too busy to talk soon, so I’m not worried.”

His hands slid down until he was lifting you off the counter.

“You’re such a cocky—”

He interrupted with another kiss, a growl buried in your throat. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively, arms going tight around his shoulders. By the time he stepped into the shower, you were melting all over him, steam clinging to your skin.

“You gonna relax now?” He baited, setting you down carefully under the spray. His fingers moved methodically—slicking your hair back, thumbs rubbing behind your ears the way you loved.

The water was hot, the tile freezing under your toes, but the second he wrapped his arms around your waist, you exhaled as if someone had pulled a string in your spine.

His lips ghosted across the back of your neck, down your shoulder, while his hands slid over your stomach, your hips, fingers finding the spots that always made you gulp. You tilted your head forward, letting the water cascade over your shoulders while Rafe’s hands kept roaming.

You loved that he knew how to dismantle you, that he wanted to. You were all jagged corners, brittle ego, and sharp tongue — and he still chose to be gentle with you.

His hands slid lower, palms dragging down your warm thighs, parting them with muscle memory.

“Rafe…” You warned, though it wasn’t convincing. 

“Shhh,” He kissed the shell of your ear. “Lemme take care of it.”

You should’ve said no, remind him you needed to study. That you were too overwhelmed, and this wasn’t the solution. But your body was already leaning into his, your thighs widening under his touch, head lolling back against his chest.

You gasped when his fingers slipped between your legs.

He chuckled and kissed the top of your shoulder. “You don’t sound upset."

You whined when he pressed firmer, your hips tilting toward his hand. “I didn’t shave.”

“I don’t fuckin' care,” He grunted, licking a stripe up your neck. “You could be covered in moss, I’d still want you.”

You choked on a laugh and a moan at the same time — of course he’d say something sweet while his fingers moved expertly, coaxing you open. He pushed you back until your spine met the cold tile, his other hand braced next to your head, creating space that felt both protective and possessive.

You didn’t think about the worksheet waiting on your desk or the unread slides you had pretended to skim. All you could do was arch into him, your thighs twitching as he moved his fingers slowly enough to make you curse and clench around nothing.

You could feel him grin against your collarbone, teeth grazing skin as he teased. You were pulsing, melting. Slipping into that headspace where everything else went far away.

His mouth was at your ear now. “Gonna make you feel good, then put you to bed. You’ll wake up smarter.”

You drew in a breath, the last sound before he dipped lower, dropping to his knees on the slippery tile. One hand still braced your thigh, the other holding your hip as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Rafe—” It was more of a plea than a warning. “Stop teasing—”

“Not teasing,” he said, dragging his mouth just shy of where you needed him. “Savoring.”

You whimpered, frustration bleeding into want. He was so annoying when he was like this — patient, too good with his tongue for your own sanity. He kissed the inside of your thigh first, and then his mouth found the place his fingers had left. The tenderness and hunger braided together in a way only he ever managed.

He was slow with it. Messy and confident, a rhythm that made your knees shake and your eyes flutter. He licked a stripe up, then back down. You choked on a noise and slapped a hand against the tile, the other tangling in his wet hair because you had to hold yourself up.

You looked down, your boyfriend was staring up, starry-eyed, mouth dragging lazy, practiced patterns.

“You’re actually—this is—”

He hummed against you, and your whole body jolted. “Focus.”

You wanted to kill him.

Your head fell back with a thud against the tile, and all that tension — the cramming, the guilt, the late-night panic attacks and stale pretzels and short tempers — it all disappeared once Rafe flattened his tongue and dragged it over your clit, slow enough to make you sob.

“Oh my God, Rafe—”

“Told you I’d make it up to you.”

He dove back in, mouth working overtime and only pausing to suck before switching back to his tongue.

When you thought you were going to embarrassingly come too soon, he backed off, slowing his pace, dragging it out. Again. And again, until you were trembling, thighs clenching around his shoulders, toes curling on the cold tile.

Then he started again, this time with two fingers sliding in, slow and deep, curving while his mouth kept working you over. You cried out, loud, not even bothering to keep it together anymore.

It was obscene. The wet sound of his mouth on you, the way his fingers moved in tandem — he was so fucking good at this, and you loved him for it. 

He looked up at you with that look and said, “Sit on my face.”

You blinked, heart stuttering. “What?”

 “You heard me. C’mon.”

You gawked, mind blank, but your body already knew. He reached up and tugged your other leg, guiding you with confident hands.

He adjusted his position “Take it out on me.”

You didn’t realize you were already straddling him until your knees settled around his neck. One of his hands gripped your ass, the other guiding your thigh up over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Rafe—”

“You want me quiet? Shut me up.”

His mouth met you instantly, needy, like he’d missed it for the past ten seconds, dying to taste you again. You were gone, no thoughts, no complaints, lost in pleasure and the obscene sound of him devouring you like a meal.

He pushed you further into his face, anchoring you with that ungodly strength — big hands gripping your ass, keeping you right where he wanted you, diving right in. You gasped automatically, one hand flying to the foggy glass wall for balance, the other tangled in his soaked hair.

“Rafe—holy shiiit—”

He moaned against you, the vibration hitting you, and then his tongue was everywhere — stroking, circling, dipping, sucking.

You tried to lift off a little, but his grip tightened, pulling you back down with a growl.

“Don’t run,” He tsked into your skin, voice ragged. “Take it out on me. Use me.”

You started to move tentatively, slow grinds against his face — but he loved it. You could feel it in the way he groaned, how he pressed into you harder, mouth moving, chasing every drop.

His nose rubbed perfectly where you needed it, tongue fucking into you with such precision it made your vision go white. The steam made everything hazy, dreamlike. 

“Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

You rode his face like it was the last thing you’d ever do—hips rolling, thighs shaking, hands scrabbling for purchase. He let you use him, wanted it. And when the orgasm hit, you shouted, the sound bouncing off the tile walls.

Rafe didn’t stop. Not when you came, not when your legs trembled, not even when you started begging, high and breathless.

“Please—Rafe—I can’t—”

He didn’t care. 

He held you down, tongue still working you through the comedown, drinking it in like he was parched. When you finally slumped forward, gasping and spent, he let you slide down slowly, arms catching you with infuriating gentleness.

He kissed the inside of your thigh one last time, a man grateful for worship. “Feel better?” 

You couldn't speak, throat sore from all the noises he pulled out of you.

Rafe pecked the hinge of your jaw. “Still stressed.?”

You coughed a laugh and collapsed against him. “Shut up.”

He flashed you that grin that sent heat rushing up your neck, strong arms still wrapped under your thighs.

“Round two, then."

[lovesickgirl18]

Hi! It's me again 🫶

So I had another idea, reader going to imolia with kimi for the class trip. But there relationship is not public yet, so it's like a whole blowup when everyone realizes that kimi is dating someone. And it's a whole soft launch on Instagram.

Thanks🫶❤️🫶

-🍓

Hello again! I know I already did a little one shot with Imola was the Grand Prix it took place in, but, this one is too good to deny. I'm hoping the way I took it is the way you intended it to be! Hope y'all enjoy!

Offically Offical

Kimi Antonelli x SecretGirlfriend! Reader

Warnings: none, really. some slight swearing, a little fluff, paddock goes haywire, typical teenage drama... not proof read!

It's not like you or Kimi wanted the relationship to be a secret, to have to run around in private and leave everything you wanted to say in public left to the text messages the two of you shared. But Kimi knew exactly how fans would be if they knew he was dating a girl, how they would treat you, and truth be told, neither of you were quite ready for that yet.

You weren't able to attend any of his races quite yet. Still being in school and not wanting to risk anything, the two of you decided that it would be best if you waited until Imola to attend a race, as it was close to home and Mercedes had already agreed to get all his classmates VIP passes to the Grand Prix.

You were excited to see him in his element as he showed the entire class around the track, the paddock, and the Mercedes garage, even getting you introduced to some other Formula One drivers, like his teammate George Russell, and his best friend, Ollie Bearman (although, you already knew the latter and let's just say, Ollie was pretty good at keeping secrets).

During one of the Free Practices on Friday, you were with all your other classmates, sitting in the hospitality room as the chatter went on around you and the sound of the cars faded into the background. You couldn't always see Kimi when he was on the track, his car going by too quickly to get a full glimpse of him, but you felt happy enough to just be in at least the same city as him. If you were lucky, the two of you could get some time alone as just a couple.

You were talking to some of your female classmates, discussing the finals that were coming up and how excited you were for a summer break, but honestly, you weren't fully invested. Your body might've been sitting in that chair, but your heart was out there in a race car, and you were more concerned with Kimi doing well this weekend than to talk about your summer plans.

"Are you even listening?" One of your friends asked, waving a hand in front of your face. "Seriously, what is the matter?"

You knew your face got red as you felt how flustered you were. You slowly shook your head, and gave a shrug. "Yeah, everything is fine, sorry."

Another friend snorted. "I know you're friendly with Kimi and all, but I didn't think you'd be this desperate to catch a glimpse of his car go by like once a minute."

You offered a smile as the table went up in laughter. You weren't sure what to say, what to do to try to steer them off your trail. Instead, you went to your phone, looking at the last few messages between the two of you. Him promising a dinner date at some point, and you wishing him luck during practice. You typed out a quick, looking good out there, my love :), before hitting send. '

Unfortunately, your friend happened to be screen-peaking, and saw the message thread and her eyes widened as she dropped her jaw. "No way."

You looked over at her, and dread over came you as you realized what had happened. You frantically tried to shush her. "No, you can't say anything!"

She gave a shocked laugh. "Dude, for how long? I need to know everything!"

You cursed yourself. "A few months, but seriously, I'm not talking about this here."

In his regular media duties, Kimi had also slipped up. The interviewers had asked simple questions before bringing up how his classmates were all there, what it meant to him, the usual home-race questions. Until, instead of saying, my friends or classmates, he went, "Yeah, I'm really happy my girlfriend is able to be here."

After the class heard about that, they all went into a frenzy, trying to figure out who it could be. But it wasn't just your friends. It felt like the entire world was on a mission to figure out who it could possibly be. On any social media, all it was were people attempting to figure out who you were and those who didn't even know who you were, they were already trying to push you down and claim you weren't good enough.

What you had dreaded the most happened at the one race you wished it wouldn't.

Later that night, you and Kimi were texting as he was getting ready to head over to your house for a movie night before his next practice and qualifying.

I'm sorry, my love, I didn't mean to let that slip. I am just so excited to have you here for one of my races.

I know, Kimi. I'm not mad at you, I'm more worried for how this will affect the future. I just want to make sure this won't make you perform poorly or something.

It won't. I'm more concerned with how this is going to impact you. I know you didn't want to be out in the media quite yet. I'm on my way, though :)

When he arrived, the two of you embraced, and you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek as you went to your room to turn on some random movie.

He was laid out on your bed, one of his arms slung over your shoulder as you cuddled into his side. You smiled up at him. "I know you'll do amazing tomorrow, Kimi."

He grinned down at you. "What would I do without you? You're always boosting my ego."

You rolled your eyes and smacked his chest, but you softened. "I was thinking... since the world already knows you have a girlfriend now, we could always do a soft launch. Like, post similar things on our Instagram stories. Then our friends would all know and all the little social media detectives out there could figure it out."

"If that's what you want," Kimi shrugged, but his heart swelled at the idea of going fully public.

So, the two of you took identical photos of your intertangled legs, his hand on your shoulder and yours on his chest, before posting them online and letting the chaos unfold. But you both knew with the other by your side, it would all be worth it in the end.

[strang3lov3]

Kiss it Better

You get hurt, and Roman puts you back together. Then makes you come all apart again.

Tags - stepdaddy!roman, one shot, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), implied piss kink, fingering/handjob, getting hurt, first aid, it’s not terribly graphic since I was able to stomach it lol, sweet and domestic - shut the fuck up about it it’s nothing im nothing it’s fine shut up.

A/N - all of you shut up. not one word .

“Jesus– fuck, you scared the shit outta me.” 

You smirk, amused by how easily Roman spooks sometimes. “Oh, hey, Rome.” 

Roman’s laying on the couch in near-dark, legs draped over the arm, mindlessly scrolling through his phone as the TV plays something forgettable in the background. It’s late at night, and it’s been an average day for you both. You ate dinner together like usual, but besides that, you didn’t talk much. He props himself up, squinting at you in the dark “Yeah, hi. Whatcha haunting my living room for at the lovely hour of–” Roman looks at the clock, “1 AM?”

You shrug. “I just wanted some tea,” you answer, and Roman makes an exaggerated face. 

“Well, aren’t you fancy. Crumpets, too, I’m guessing?” 

Dickhead. You flick Roman on the side of his head, and he whines when you do that. “Asshole.” He kicks your ass on your way to the kitchen a little harsher than what could be considered gentle, and then you turn on just one light. You open one of Roman’s mahogany cabinets and browse your tea collection, humming as you look through the boxes.

“Roman,” you call out. 

“What-an.” 

You snort. “What do I want?”

“What do you have?”

“I have…” Trailing off, you pull out boxes one at a time. You want nothing green or black, only herbal and caffeine-free. “I’ve got peach, Sleepytime, honey vanilla chamomile, then strawberry chamomile, aaand Throat Coat.” Throat Coat. You smile at the memory of Roman tending to you when you were sick. He had grabbed this tea for you in a moment of downtime and kept your mug full of it that whole weekend.

“Peach,” Roman answers, so peach it is. You take one of the bags out and bring it to your nose, inhaling the sweet, fragrant smell, then reach for the honey bear. It’s starting to crystallize, you notice. 

You’re filling up the Keurig with some water next, then turning on the machine to let it warm up. Behind you in the other room, you can hear Roman giggling at the stupid noises it makes. He can perfectly imitate it, actually. You love that useless skill of his. 

You open another cabinet for a mug, choosing your favorite one out of the bunch - it’s just a silly, old, cheap-ass mug, but you like the colorful owls it’s painted with. And it’s nicely shaped too, and feels good in your hand like it was made for you or something. You take the mug, startled to see a fucking huge black spider has made itself at home at the bottom. “Oh my god!” you shriek, dropping the mug instinctively, where it shatters into a million pieces. The spider skitters under the fridge. “Fuuuuck.” 

Roman pauses his scrolling and cranes his neck to look at you in the kitchen. He says your name cautiously, then, “...You good?” he asks worriedly, “What the fuck just happened?”

“It’s nothing, just - there was a spider in my mug and I dropped it. God fucking - whatever. Fuck.” 

“Okay, well, is there glass everywhere?” 

You look down at the floor, assessing the mess. It’s not everywhere, per se, but you can’t take any step in any direction without stepping in the glass. “Uh, yeah. More or less.”

Roman sighs and shuts off his phone, groaning as he gets up from the couch. He does a little stretch and a yawn, his t-shirt riding up and exposing his tummy, and the faintest bit of a happy trail there. “Alright, just hang on a second, okay. I’m gonna find a broom,” he says, then adds, “Do not fucking touch anything. Don’t even breathe/”

You roll your eyes at that. He’s such a worrier at times, overprotective. You might’ve been embarrassed by him as a teenager, but now, you’re just amused by it all. It’s kind of nice to have someone care so deeply for you, too. 

You know when you were a child, and you’d break a glass accidentally, and your parent would come rushing in? And they’d be deadly serious as they told you to get out of the way so they can clean up the glass. They didn’t want you getting hurt, they’d say. But when you grow up, that doesn’t really happen. Nobody gives a shit if you break a glass. But Roman does, though. He complains, but he likes being the person to clean up your broken glass, so long as it means you’re not getting hurt. Roman walks to the entryway and slides on some shoes, then opens the nearby closet door to find a broom. 

There’s really not much room for you where you’re standing. Looking down, you can see that you can’t adjust your footing at all, so you crouch down and carefully brush some of the glass away, making more room for yourself. 

And it comes back. The spider bolts quickly toward you, but there’s nowhere to run like you’d usually do. You squeal anxiously and smack it with your palm before you even have a chance to think. You’ve never been much of a fighter in a fight-or-flight situation, though. Guess there’s a first time for everything, right?

God, why did you fucking do that? 

“Ohhh, fuck no. Fuck. Ow, ow, ow,” you whimper, flipping your hand over to quickly see the damage, but even a brief glimpse is too much for you. You see glass and the color red, so much fucking blood.  “Oh my god, fuck.”

Roman returns to the kitchen with a broom in hand, and his face drops when he sees you on the floor, hand dripping blood onto the tile below. “Oh my god, what did you fucking do?” 

You’re already looking gaunt and glassy-eyed, too. “Hey. Hey - Jesus fucking Christ.” Roman rushes to you and drops to your level, taking your hand into both of his own. He looks so concerned, with his worried eyes and brows pinched together, a frown on his lips as he does his best to inspect the damage, but it’s not light enough to see much. He murmurs your name, voice low, and pushes hair out of his face as he exhales. 

“The spider came…b-back and I smashed it and I–” you cut yourself off before you finish describing the rest of it.

“Smashed your hand into a fucking pile of broken glass, yeah, I see that. Smooth one, dumbass.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

Roman exhales hard. “C’mon, kid. Up. You’re coming with me.” Roman steadies you as you rise and quickly sweeps some of the glass out of the way with his foot, making room for you to step forward.

“Are we going to the ER?” 

“Uh, possibly. I need to see how bad it actually is first.” Roman glances down at your dripping fingers. “Which…isn’t great so far. Okay. Don’t step on anything, alright? Just be fuckin’ careful, John McClane.”

“What?”

“Die Hard? Dude, we literally fucking watched it last Christmas -  he walks on the glass? Right? Barefoot, is any of this - Jesus Christ, never mind. Just - ppstairs.”

As Roman steers you up the stairs, he wraps his arm around you, squeezing your waist tightly to brace your potential fall. He walks slowly, keeping a watchful eye on you. “You’re fucking ridiculous, you know,” he says. “You’ve never killed a spider in your life - like, never - until now, where you smashed both it and your hand into a fuck ton of broken glass. Is that like - is that a logical progression, do you think?”

You whine in pain as your hand really begins to throb. Each heart beat has your hand pulsing in the same time, aching as all that blood rushes to the wound. “Are you pissed at me?”

Roman just sighs and kisses your temple. “No,” he tells you, exasperated.

“Promise?”

“Uh huh, whatever.” 

You stop walking and look at him, eyes all wide and nervous. You’re scared and vulnerable, and he knows at that moment that you need a little more tenderness than what he’s giving you. Even if he is annoyed. Not annoyed-annoyed, but…whatever. It’s Roman’s anxiety more than anything. He just doesn’t like to see you hurt, is all, he’s not trying to be a dick. “Yes, I promise. Not pissed.”

Roman holds your clammy forearm firmly in his hand as he guides you to the bathroom. You’re looking at the blood dripping down your wrist, feeling warm and fuzzy, but not in a good way. “There’s so much glass a-and–”

“Spider guts in your hand, yep. I know it’s gross. Don’t l - hey. Don’t look at it. Just look at me.” 

“I’m trying, I’m just feeling a little dizzy is all, Roman.”

“Yeah, well, that’d be your - you know, you-ness. Hey - I’m serious, don’t fucking look at that shit. Look at me, sweetheart. Look at my sexy fuckin’...I don’t know. Just look at something else.” 

He walks you to the bathroom, and he places you on the sink. “You sit, and you stay. And you do not look at your hand, okay?” he says, then turns to open a closet and pulls out the first aid kit. It’s years old at this point, and probably, definitely missing some essentials, but it doesn’t hurt to have, especially considering the present moment. 

Roman turns around to check on you, and you’re looking at your hand with that glazed look on your face. He says your name once, then twice, and it takes you a second to register that he’s even speaking to you. Roman sounds so far away, underwater, even. “What’d I fuckin’ tell you? Nope, don’t - leave it. Leave it. Eyes on me.” 

“But Rome–”

Roman ignores you. “Look away,” he tells you instead. “And if I have to tell you one more time, I’m going to strangle you, okay? And then your hand’s gonna be the least of your problems.” 

Roman knows who you are, and so do you. You’ve got this tendency to get all fucking squeamish and freaked out by blood, through no fault of your own. He  knows you can’t help this, but you absolutely can help looking at the thing that’s gonna trigger you to faint.   

It’s not the first time it’s happened. Once, when you were a teenager, you snuck downstairs late at night, looking for a snack. Not unlike you did tonight, too. Roman was watching some TV show and you walked right past him, waving shyly. “Hey, you. It’s–” Roman looked at the clock. “Way past bedtime, holy fuck.” 

“I don’t have a bedtime,” you replied, heading for the kitchen pantry.

“Mm, too cool for a bedtime, I see. I get it. Me too, actually. But whatcha grabbing there?”

“Cookies,” you answered, grabbing a plastic box of some fancy holiday season Harry & David whatever-the-fuck gourmet cookies. 

“Ooh, sharing is caring. Thanks.” 

You mumbled something in response, messing with the plastic. It was deceptively difficult to open, and when you finally did open the box, it wasn’t without a slice to your fingertip. 

It wasn’t even particularly bloody or deep, really, but you stood there in the pantry, just staring at it. Your vision started to go spotty, the lights were getting darker as you felt so, so heavy and dizzy and just…awful, swaying back and forth. “Uhh…Roman?” Your voice sounded far away, even coming out of your own mouth. 

“What’s up, night owl?”

“I think I need a Band-aid.” 

Roman sighed and stood up, rummaging through a nearby drawer for a box of bandages when then came a loud tumble. He spun around quickly to see you face down on the fucking floor. 

“Oh, shit.” 

He rushed to your side and turned you over, his hand at your side. “Wake up, wake up.” Roman was relieved to see your eyelids fluttering, though your pupils were unusually wide. Your chin was bleeding, also, and your face was a little sweaty. 

“It’s the - my finger,” you said breathlessly, showing Roman your finger. He looked at it closely, then looked at you. 

“Uh-huh, I see. Not so big on blood, huh?”

You shook your head to confirm, out of breath. This wasn’t news to you - you’d fainted before in health class at school, but it was new to Roman. Guess it never came up before now. 

Roman left you on the floor to quickly grab a few bandaids and a clean washrag that he dampened with a bit of soap and some water. He put a bandaid on your finger first, then held the rag to your chin, which was bleeding heavily. Facial injuries always do. “That’s okay. I don’t mind it myself,” he told you. “Guess I don’t really like needles, though.” 

You shrugged, and a beat passed before you whispered, “I’m really sorry.” 

“What? No, don’t - don’t be sorry, honey,” Roman said, pulling the rag away to inspect the bleeding. He folded it in half, then pressed it to your chin again, keeping his hand there as he maneuvered his way around your body. He lifted your head a little, and put it on his lap. 

“Do you want me to get up?” 

“Nope, I want you to stay right there,” he said, pressing the rag firmly against your skin. Roman felt relieved to see some life come back to your cheeks - not much, just a little, as you became more lucid. “Right here. You’re good.”

The bleeding stopped after a few minutes. Roman put a bandaid on your chin next, and kept you right where you were on his lap. You still have that scar today. He kisses it sometimes; his last stop after kissing his way up the column of your throat. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently. 

“Oogey and swirly,” you answered, “And embarrassed.” 

Roman laughed silently. “Yeah, well, that’s ‘cause you’re a huge fuckin’ wimp…”

“But?”

Roman smiled kindly at you. “I like ya anyway,” he murmured. “Kinda. Tolerate you is more like it. We’re gonna stay like this until you’re doing a little better, okay?” 

You just nodded quietly, eyes closed as you settled against him. Roman traced your face and stroked your cheekbones with his thumbs, then spent some time playing with your hair. You stayed like that even after you came back to life and felt like yourself again. 

“You scared the fuck out of me, you little shit.” 

 “I know. Sorry, Rome.”

“It’s okay, honey. Not mad at you.”   

-

Roman spins around with a plastic basket in his hand, and in it is some supplies - tweezers, alcohol, gauze, medical tape, and some other stuff. Your head is resting against the wall, eyes closed, hand held tightly in a fist as you breathe deeply through the pain and some tears roll down your cheeks. Poor kid, Roman thinks, washing his hands in the sink. He pats them dry, then holds your forearm. “I’m gonna open up your hand, alright?” You’re shaking your head no, trying to focus on the way Roman rubs your skin instead of the way your hand throbs in pain. “Yeah, I am, honey. Open your hand.”

“No,” you argue. “You’re gonna hurt me.” 

“No, I am going to help you. But if you’re already hurt, what does it matter if I hurt you, too? You know, in the process of…all of this.” He gestures to the medical supplies. “Hm?”

You open your watery eyes and glare at Roman, who holds his hands up in surrender. “Roman.”

Roman says your name sternly, but with a gentleness to it, too. “Hey. I’ve got you, alright? The quicker you let me look, the quicker all of this fuckin’ shit is over. Okay? Can you do step one with me? Just step one, sweetheart. It’s so fuckin’ easy.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, rolling around his offer in your head. Logically, you know it’s not just going to be step one. After step one will be step two, then step three, and so on. But you like the way Roman makes it all seem smaller right now, how he makes it all seem less scary. You nod and relax your fist. 

Roman takes the cue to pry open your fingers, slowly revealing the injury. There’s blood, there’s cuts, and there are quite a few obvious shards of glass sticking out of your palm, but beyond that, it’s really not so bad. Certainly doesn’t warrant a trip to the ER. 

You can feel his breath on your skin as he raises your palm and turns it from side to side, and as he pulls out his phone and uses his flashlight to inspect a little closer. “How’re we doing over there, huh? Not looking, right? ‘Cause if you faint again and crack your fucking skull open, I swear to god…” Roman clicks his tongue. 

“N-no. Not looking,” you answer, cringing at the warmth of the blood pooled in your palm. “Is it bad, Rome?”

“Mhm, oh yeah. Gonna have to amputate, actually. Wanna jerk me off one last time before it’s gone for good? Hm? A little farewell handy for the road?” 

You laugh breathlessly, pressing your other hand against your sweaty forehead. “Oh, fuck you, Roman,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, you wish. No, you’re not getting amputated, sweetheart, but I am gonna perform some minor surgery, so.” Roman puts your hand on your thigh and opens the cap of the isopropyl alcohol, then dumps the bottle onto a cotton ball. 

You open your eyes and see him wiping off the tweezers, thoroughly cleaning them before he uses them on you. Your heart beats harder and you feel dizzy even thinking about what he’s going to do to you. Fuck, you remember those tweezers. Roman would use them when you were a kid, coming home from the park with splinters in your hands and fingers from the mulch. He’d dig them out with said tweezer and you’d scream the entire time, and it was all of ten seconds but it felt like minutes that he was in there. He’d wrap your finger up in a rainbow Bandaid and would try not to feel hurt that you wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. He figured he deserved it/

“Roman, no. No, no, no. Don’t, please, don’t–”

“Yep,” Roman says, taking your wrist again. You pull it away from him, wincing at the glass shards moving in your hand. “C’mon, give it back.” Roman gives you a look and tilts his head, only to be met by you shaking yours. 

Something changes in the way he looks at you then. There’s still care and concern in his eyes, something so warm. Something loving. But his eyes darken, pupils swallowing his hazel irises as he reaches for your cheek. “Can you give me back your hand, honey? Please? Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”

Roman’s not oblivious to the way your heartbeat changes, or how your breath hitches in your throat. He wears his gorgeous, lopsided smirk as he runs his thumb along your cheekbone. “Yeah, you can do that, can’t you? Hm? You’re gonna be a brave girl for Daddy?”

You nod silently, earning a chuckle from Roman. “Oh, you are so fucking easy. Yeah, you can do it,” Roman says, moving his hand from your cheek to your wrist. “You’re gonna let me take care of this,” he murmurs, reaching for the tweezers, “And if you’re good…” Your breathing changes as Roman whispers something in your ear, finishing his offer with a couple of kisses pressed against your neck. “What do you think, hm?”

You give your hand over to Roman, willingly. 

He smiles silently and lays your palm out wide in his warm hand, then grabs the tweezers and thinks about how he’s gonna do this. 

The tougher shards are gonna come out first, Roman decides. Sorry, kid. He doesn’t tell you this, and instead gets right to work, pinching the shards of glass with the metal tweezers and pulling them out, holding your hand tightly when you try to pull it away. “Ow,” you whine, shaking and trembling a little. “Ow, ow, ow–”

“I know, I know. Almost done,” Roman lies, moving onto the next one. You wince harder when he pulls it out, a sob escaping your chest. He moves quickly and does the next one, and the one after that. 

“Rome–”

“You’re doing so good,” he promises, pulling out the easier shards now. You shouldn’t be feeling much at this point, but that doesn’t mean your mind’s not playing tricks on you. “One…two…three - shit, sorry - last one,” he says, and finally, “Four. Worst is over. Take a breath.”

You breathe deeply as Roman disposes of the glass into the wastebasket, then cleans off the tweezers once again. You’re relieved to see him do so. 

“So no ER?”

“No ER,” Roman affirms, turning on the water next. “Nothing’s deep enough to need stitches or shit like that, so you’re good. I’m gonna wash your cuts and wrap you up and send you on your merry way, hm?”

“Okay,” you nod, looking away as Roman your palm under the lukewarm water. All that blood temporarily stains the porcelain a reddish-orange, then washes down the drain. 

Roman finds a clean rag and some soap, then gently drags it along all of your scrapes and lacerations. You hiss in pain, that awful, sharp sting of the soapy water in your wounds making you twitch and shiver. 

“You’re lucky, honestly. I could piss on your hand instead, you know. To sterilize it.”

You laugh at that, cheeks heating up at the implication. You pause and wonder for a second about that. If Roman’s ever…if he would ever…if you’d…

“Oh my god, you sick fuck. You actually want that?” Roman laughs, squeezing some antibiotic ointment onto his fingertip to spread over your cuts. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Sure, but you didn’t not say that, did you?” Roman taunts. He lays some gauze over your palm and gives you a knowing look that you shy away from. He wraps more gauze around your palm and anchors it to your wrist, loving the way you squirm at this dirty little secret he’s uncovered. 

“Shut up,” you mumble. Roman raises his eyebrows as he tears off some tape with his teeth, then secures the gauze in place. He finishes the entire thing by kissing your palm gently, then lays your hand on your lap. 

He inhales and exhales slowly, and it seems that you’re more relaxed now, too. “You survived,” he says dramatically, “High five,” and raises hand. You raise your hand to meet his, quickly switching to your other, uninjured hand with a giggle. “Yeah, no, not that hand, dumbass. Oh my god, you’re fucking exhausting.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper, high-fiving Roman gently. He grabs both of your hips and pulls you to the edge of the sink, slotting himself between your thighs. 

“You okay?” he asks, “Are you dizzy at all?”

You shake your head, feeling more yourself now. Your hand does still hurt, though. “I’m okay.”

Roman nods, then pauses before he speaks. “I’m like - like I am very proud of you, actually,” he says quietly. “You did good.”

Roman’s drumming his fingers along your waist, looking so handsome as he smiles kindly at you. You hate this, the vulnerability you feel. The whole ‘I’m worried about you’ song and dance. It’s just hard, in a way, to be so seen and cared for. You think if you explained it to Roman, he’d understand. But you’re not going to.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” Roman says softly, and you scoff. “What? I can’t be proud of you? Hm?” He kisses your cheek over and over again, making you giggle until he quiets you by crushing his lips against yours. 

It’s been some time since you’ve kissed him last, so it’s nice to do. You think a lot about the first time Roman kissed you, all those butterflies you felt. You don’t get them as much anymore, but there’s still something so nice about kissing Roman, about tasting and smelling him, and feeling like he’s yours, whatever he is. Whatever this is. It’s perverse, but it’s home at this point.

The way his tongue slides past your lips and into your mouth, and how he squeezes you and groans. You love getting to feel him, too. Sliding your palm along his veiny forearm, squeezing his bicep, wrapping your legs around his slim waist. While kissing him, you reach for his pants and press your palm against his half-hard erection, wincing at the pressure against your wounded hand. “Yeah, nice try, honey. Gimme this–” Roman takes your hand and moves it away from his body, then undoes his pants himself. He drops them and his briefs just low enough to free his cock and his balls, then takes your other hand and wraps it around his length. “Yeah, fuck. There we go.”

You stroke his cock, feeling him pulse and twitch under your palm as you kiss him messily, moaning against his lips. Roman’s arm brushes against yours as he pushes your shorts to the side, humming because you’re wearing no panties. His fingers slide through your folds easily, already so wet and ready for him. 

He ignores your clit entirely and pushes two fingers inside you, curling them against that special spot that makes you stop breathing for a second. You cry out as he finger fucks you, quieted as he swallows each of your moans. 

You love Roman’s dirty fucking mouth, but you love this, too. All these lewd noises - the wet, sticky sounds your pussy makes, the quiet groans and hums from Roman as you swipe your thumb over his slit. The sounds of heavy breathing and that warmth created between your bodies. 

Roman kisses across your jaw and down your neck, pushing your shirt up to kiss down your torso, too. He hooks his fingers around your shorts and pulls them down, then sinks to his knees and pushes yours apart. 

It starts with kisses on your inner thighs, all lazy and sloppy. Roman’s looking up at you with those gorgeous, deep set sleepy eyes, letting them flutter shut as he kisses your seam. He just does that for a moment, simply kissing your cunt over and over and over until he sucks your clit between his lips, making you gasp.

Roman swirls his tongue around the sensitive part of you, then licks up and down your folds, savoring all of you. You wonder if he’s touching himself at all, or if his cock is just there, leaking and throbbing. You want to wrap your hand around it, want it in your mouth. You want him inside you. 

Roman pushes his middle two fingers into you and moves them as he moves his tongue in circles around your clit, finding that perfect rhythm. You slide your fingers through the slightly greasy strands of his hair, tugging on them as he eats you, working you closer and closer to release. 

It comes quicker than it used to. Roman knows your cunt so well at this point, and he’s lovingly memorized the exact way to kiss you and tongue you to make you cum so hard for him. When your clit swells in his mouth, like it’s doing now, he knows you’re close. Shaking, twitching, rocking your hips. 

You look so beautiful when you cum, and you’re such a good girl, watching him as you do it. Your eyes stay locked on his as you ride out your release, and it’s so profoundly fucking intimate. There’s nobody you’d rather share this with. Likewise for Roman. 

He should fuck you next. He should stand up and push his cock into you, but he doesn’t. Roman’s hard as ever as he tucks himself away and wipes his shiny lips on the back of his hand, then kisses your temple. He does a quick check on your hand, making sure the wound dressing hasn’t gotten all fucked up or anything like that. Roman’s out of breath when he pulls you off the countertop and sends you toward his bedroom, not yours. “Go to sleep,” he says, walking you forward with a hand on your lower back. “I’m gonna - gonna go clean up your fuckin’ mess downstairs.” 

“But you - your–” You spin around, and Roman gently pushes you into bed. 

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I have hands.” 

“I have hands, too.” 

“You have a hand,” Roman corrects, tucking you into bed. 

“And a pussy,” you add.

“Mhm, congrats on that. Now go to bed,” he tells you. “Maybe I’ll fuck you in your sleep or something, alright?”

You laugh. “Creep.”

“Could piss on you too,” Roman teases, then kisses your lips. “I’ll be back. Go to sleep. Watch your hand.” 

you know the drill :) say something nice if you enjoyed. love you all.

romey tags :)

@gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout @galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl @baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars @perpetuallymanic @111melo @veryverycoolgirl @marisemonteiroo @prettybpdgirl @butuhaventseenmyman @drunkdriverkillerwhale @fawnjaw @fadedviolets @flowercrowns-goodvibes @foursgurlx @hotdadlvr95 @keepinnitundercover @spiidergwenn @pearlessance

[escapaldi]

Yeah, the thing that I think a lot of people tend to forget about parenting is that there's a role for people that's not reliant on biological or adoptive family roles that's a lot more transient that fits Law and Cora's relationship extremely well: foster family.

I'm not here to extol the virtues or condemn the flaws of foster parenting systems, but as someone who grew up seeing the good, the bad, and the everything in between, I look at the Law-Cora relationship and very clearly see that relationship, which honestly looks different depending on the people in it. Fostering (at least where I'm from) is only meant to be temporary--anything from a weekend to a few months--but sometimes it turns out longer stays than that. It's meant for kids to have a stable place while their normal adults are working their shit out. Sometimes a foster family turns into an adoptive family, but other times they're just another group in a long chain of situations. It can be the closest thing to a family one has ever had, or just people who you later exchange cards with. Anything from "Mom" or "Dad" to "Ms" or "Mr" to just using given names like weird siblings--it's different for everyone.

Law's biological family was wiped out. He had no one. Then Doflamingo comes along and does the sinister version of adoption. This terminally-ill tween goes from one horror story to another. Say what you will, but Doflamingo was not in the correct headspace to raise children. Look at what he ultimately did to Baby 5 and Dellinger. But Law... Cora learned something crucial about him and decided that he needed to get into a better place, ASAP. He took emergency responsibility and carted his ass all over trying to get him help so that he could one day be stable, because as also ill-prepared to handle the upkeep of a child as Cora was, he had the love and compassion that his brother lacked, which is frankly the key here.

Are there other foster parents in One Piece who do things very different? Yes--I can go on a whole fucking rant about how Dadan was a piece of shit if I wanted to--but that's not the point here.

I do imagine that, should there be a Coco-style afterlife in One Piece, if there is no one waiting to greet Law when he arrives, he'll go searching for his family before all others. His parents, his sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins; he'll find the Flevench Trafalgars and they'll be delighted that he's hopefully come back to them old and gray and with a lifetime of stories to tell, of medical advancements, and the proof that he honored them by continuing their practice of medicine. That he took the hands he wanted to use to murder and used them to heal instead, because that's what we're watching Law try to do in canon. He becomes better than the soldiers who razed their home, which is the ultimate revenge.

...but then, on the edge of the crowd of his relatives, he catches sight of blond hair in a red hat and he realizes who it is, and his father urges him to go, and his mother says it's alright because they've already talked, and Law--who left the living as a great-grandfather and stoic patriarch--meets this man who died the same age as a grandkid was at his funeral and fucking loses it, because although he was far from perfect--Nika above he wasn't perfect by a long-shot--he was the first adult who cared anything close to what his parents did... was the one who took care of him until he reached his adopted family (in this case, his brothers Penguin-Shachi-Bepo), and was the one who made sure he lived. Countless people were helped with Law's medical knowledge as he honored his biological parents, but he only lived long enough to do so because of Cora... because both parenting situations were important, even though their relationships were really different.

Do I think that in a canon sense Cora would have tried to adopt Law had he lived long enough? Yeah. Do I think that it would have changed Law's trajectory much, pulling him away from honoring his parents and Flevance and keeping their medical traditions alive? Not at all. It's honestly a given that Law loves and honors his parents, given his chosen profession; what's interesting is that he also honors the one who only had him for six months, because they were just as impactful on him, just in a different way.

I am also sorry about the rant but I have feelings about this.

Poor Law thinks he's hallucinating about his dead father 😭

I already said this over on Blueskye but-

I personally don't really see Cora as a parental figure/dad, if only cuz OP is usually rather overt about those sorts of relationships (Zeff, Bellmere, Whitebeard, etc).

I like them being this weird, nebulous sort of deal that isn't defined by nuclear family roles. Law never refers to him as a father figure or even an older brother. He's just Cora-san.

Law HAD A DAD who was nurturing and loving and patient and taught him a lot of stuff, and Cora is very, VERY different from that, (and also not old enough to be Law's dad either-)

In the end, I just don't like people always needing to put "found family" into hardcut nuclear family roles. Human connection is more complex than that.

He's just Cora-san :y

[evilvillain123456789]

I was driving home from school and my bored AF ADHD'er son managed to slip from his restraints and pop the sunroof before I could subdue him, and due to the speed I was going (Casual 230MPH down the highway 410) even just pushing the button a little bit caused my toyota yaris to depressurize like an airplane, squeezing my sons relatively pliable head thru the inch thick crack, and fully inverting both eardrums out of mine. Luckily for me, the spew of gore left over from the delta P that flew behind me had splattered all over the police in pursuit's windshields, causing them to swerve, roll, crash, and let the K-9s loose, who instead of chasing me on foot via long distance tracking of blood, presumably went right for the windshield, and officers, and began licking it up quite hungrilly. Finally able to safely slow down and approaching my driveway, I quickly shifted the car to neutral, then neutral, then another neutral to park it, and dug through my purse to put some chapstick on. I then found a q-tip, pushed my eardrums back in, and went inside. After making dinner for my husband I had a wonderful nights rest. The next day I woke up at 3:40 PM and realized I'd be late to pick my son up from school, so I hauled ass back over to the elementary. After waiting in line for HOURRRRS I had remembered- I dont have a son... I have a baby! Babies don't go to school! Looking lovingly in the rearview mirror to smile at what would- should have been my precious darling, I instead saw a ghastly sight. Like, it still shakes me to this day. I dont know who- or what was there in the seat, but it wasn't my little baby. My baby isn't gray and green. And my baby smells good, not bad. I grabbed them, shook them, demanding to know who they are and what they want with my family, but they just rolled their head around to mock me. Running out the car screaming, I called 911, inconsolable, there's been a kidnapping, I have a suspect here with no identification and theyre not speaking. Yes. Yes. Uh, about a foot tall. Pale complexion. HURRY UP. The operator says the citys last 2 cops were killed in a standard procedure freak accident last evening so no ones coming to help then hung up the phone. Dejected, I leaned against the hood of my car, and sobbed. Utterly hopeless... Until, on the horizon, I saw it. Two tan dots running down a distant hill... THE POLICE DOGS! Turns out, they HAVE been tracking my cars blood trail! Things are finally going my way! After about half an hour they get here, and I welcome them, but they just ignore me in favor of sniffing the ground a lot. Eventually they started nosing at the door handle so I pulled it, and both dogs instantly leapt in, tearing the intruder to shreds. The ruckus rolled my car forwards a bit, and by the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. Since I have 5 neutral gears installed it just didnt stop, and I watched everything come to a head as it shot full speed downhill, out of sight within seconds. I dialed 911 again to tell them their police dogs had jacked my car and that I'd be suing the city for $6,000 to cover it, but before the operator could get a word in, the loudest sound in the fucking world played through my phone speaker, something so loud that I could have swore I heard it from outside the call as well. I said I'd be suing for damages to my hearing as well, but they didn't respond. I think I scared them off. Serves them right.

[vermililion]

john walker fic recs ✧°‧⭑.ᐟ

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continuing to update | last updated 28/05 - (need this man so bad omfg, tysm writers <3)

─── ✧ DRABBLES/BLURBS

nsfw hcs | @undyingdecay

he fucks like someone trying to win a medal for it.

enemies | @aquaholicsanonymousworld

team mates enemies to enemies who have hate sex.

domestic hcs | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

nsfw hcs | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

“Wasn’t plannin’ on stayin’ long tonight,” he mutters, swirling the amber liquid. “Then you had to go and look at me like that.” You smile, heat pooling low in your belly.

dating walker hcs | @purehypnotic

giving john head | @shadowheartshapedbox

what it’s like giving junior varsity captain america head ;)

─── ✧ ONE SHOTS

the way i love you | @randomnessfangirl

John Walker is the bane of your existence...but everyone else can see that there is potential for you to put your differences aside and reveal your true feelings for each other.

girls' night revelations | @zerosomnia

After venting some frustrations at girls' night, the reader realises that they are not just angry at Walker but that there's some other stuff going on too. A confrontation ensues that ends in some truths.

the soldier and the nurse | @blueberrypancakesworld

He was a soldier who, even as a hero, always tried to protect everyone with his shield. Even the best soldier gets hurt, though, and John finds himself in the infirmary of the tower, once again with a nurse he had visited many times before. This time, however, it seems different, because when concern meets amusement, two hearts finally find each other.

nocturnal guilt and training | @/blueberrypancakesworld

It is one thing when you don't concentrate, it's another when you let yourself get hurt to deal with your own pain. John finds himself in dark places from time to time, which is especially evident after the last mission, but the soldier wants to go through it alone. Yet his girlfriend is there to help him no matter how long it takes, they would make it together.

code yellow | @inlovewithquestionablecharacters

sex pollen with walker.

thunderstorms | @angellily920

johns a secret softie :)

and you came back to me | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

him where they’re dating and reader gets badly hurt on a mission and the whole team is freaking out, especially John, man is going BRUTAL on the people who hurt reader.

off your game | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

Working with the Thunderbolts meant swallowing your pride daily — but nothing bruised your ego quite like him.

honey, where is my shield? | @husbandjoel

you’re the fixer upper of weapons for the new avengers and want to do something for john walker’s upcoming birthday.

moral of the story | @starktonyx

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

patched up | @bruisedboys

john grudgingly patches you up after a mission — it gets more intimate than you both expect.

helmet | @gallavichsreddie1128

Y/N may be the only person on the planet that gets turned on by John in his helmet.

asshole | @/gallavichsreddie1128

Y/N hates John but he and everyone else are convinced that it’s just sexual frustration.

bad words | @/gallavichsreddie1128

Y/N and John are a secretly dating but put on the act of hating each other until one of them takes it too far.

need that | @blank-potato

You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

my kid's better than your kid | @/blank-potato

You and John's kids are in the same soccer league, and after you get into an argument on the field over your kids, you start seeing him everywhere. It's hate at first sight.

but why's it feel so good? | @sexy-monster-fucker

While out on a mission together, Reader and John stumble into a researchers trap. Leading to them being doused in an unnamed chemical.

the heart of the matter | @divinepoints

You had never thought that life would lead you back to John Walker. Or perhaps, that life had led the both of you back to each other. After all, this had been your world first.

pushing it down and praying | @swordgrace

your friendship with john is put on the line after you’re injured during a mission — what follows is something neither of you can anticipate.

you're the ache i asked for | @/swordgrace

forced into attending a gala event, you go to john for help with your dress. things turn incredibly heated.

a black eye and two kisses | @/swordgrace

john has a bad habit of running his mouth, especially during a sparring lesson — after taking it too far, he makes it up to you in more ways than one.

only pretend until it's not | @/swordgrace

you and john go undercover to infiltrate an arms dealing ring in paris. you take your roles a little too seriously.

bit the hand that needs you | @/swordgrace

after getting injured on a mission and dismissing your help, you can’t seem to shake why john doesn’t like you. the answer is more complicated than you thought.

proximity check | @/swordgrace

when a mission goes sideways, you and john are forced to hide together in a utility closet.

change | @johns-walker

when you get injured during a job, you and john have a genuine conversation for once.

boundless | @endofthelinegang

the quiet halls of Avengers Tower keeps a kind-hearted witch who begins to distance herself from John Walker after his cold, self-protective indifference makes her believe he hates her. but when her warmth fades and he’s left in the silence he created, John finally confronts his fear of not deserving her—and chooses, for once, not to run from something real.

your hero | @spookieloop

You and the rest of the Thunderbolts are going undercover to catch an arm's dealer at his favorite night club. Someone tries to spike your drink, and Walker teaches the scumbag a lesson. A violent one.

─── ✧ SERIES (including mini)

the things we don't say part ii | @/endofthelinegang

trapped between fury and longing, you and John Walker collide in a moment that’s been simmering for months—raw, reckless, and impossible to ignore. When a knock at the door threatens to shatter what little you have left, he finally says the one thing he’s been choking on: he wants you.

thunder rolls | @/endofthelinegang

this is the prologue of a series where you are bucky barnes little sister who has managed to make it this far with him, one little snafu has happened, you happen to have feelings for another super soldier one that your brother does not particularly like.

it only leads to trouble part ii | @mydearmando

you suppose it’s natural to touch people who you live and work with. you touch everyone on the team. walker does, too. so you don’t know why it bothers you so much when he touches you.

keep your heart, cause i already got one (ongoing) | @lauufeydottir

As the Thunderbolts make their way through The Void, Walker ends up a witness to one of your shame rooms, a past you've kept close to your chest for decades.

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[bjornsmuse]

Desperation isn’t a good look on you

A/n: I keep making shitty ass short one shots like this and i apologise but this is my contribution to the fandom😭🙏

Warnings: 18+ slight smut, dirty talk, remmick being a desperate looser, submissive remmick, remmick being a down bad little FREAK, talks about Masturbation, degrading kink, dom!reader kind off?, manipulation, stalking, humiliation kink KIND off?, remmick literally cums in his own pants.

Two whole months- every single night just after sun down, he has shown up- grovelling at your front door, begging you to let him in as if he was a stray dog kicked out of its home and left in the rain. You hadn’t let him in at all since the first night he knocked on your door you thought it was strange- but when he kept coming back nightly and seeming more and more desperate to get in? You put the pieces together pretty quickly.

It was around eight in the night when you heard footsteps coming up the steps of your porch- you already knew it was him- so you waited a good two minutes and when you opened the door?.. there he was again, on his knees on your porch, shirt open to the navel, chest streaked with dirt and dried blood, curls stuck to his temples.

“I beg you,” he rasped, voice thick, Irish lilt breaking through the Southern drag like cracked glass. “Sweet girl… please. I can’t feed, I can’t think, can’t do anything without you..Let me in.” He practically whines it- in the most pathetic way you have ever heard. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout you,” he murmurs, teeth clenched. “The way you looked that night when i first saw you, with the moonlight on your neck, like—fuck, like a lamb waitin’ for the blade.”

“You got no shame,” you said flatly “A man on his knees every night, whinin’ for a woman who don’t want him. You think you’re still a man, Remmick? Or just some dog beggin’ for scraps?” You scoff with disgust- looking down at him like he was a peice of dirt under your shoes.

He let out a ragged breath- His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, fangs just barely visible- he practically rutted his hips into the floor of the porch “God,” he choked “Say it again. Say somethin’ filthy to me, I’ll get on my belly like the dog you say I am.”

That made your stomach twist, not with fear — but with dark, terrible want. “You’re a filthy little thing,” you said with a slight sneer “So fuckin’ desperate for me, you’d crawl in the dirt just to be near me.” His eyes rolled back, hips rocking forward again, and he whimpered. “Say more,” he gasped “Please. Tell me I’m beneath you. Tell me I’m nothin’. Y’know i can’t touch m’self without seein’ your face. Ain’t that somethin’?” He sputters out desperately while looking you dead in the eyes.

“You really are pathetic,” you finally said once again, your voice laced with contempt but also a sick sort of pleasure from seeing a man this desperate. “You come crawling to my doorstep every damn night like a dog in heat. You think I don’t see the way you stare? Drooling. Desperate. Filthy. You’re nothin’ but a fuckin’ disgrace, Remmick,” you whispered- Remmick instantly came in his pants on the spot, rutting into the porch floor once again with a groan that was more of a whimper.

you just scoffed at him and closed the door without another word in a disgusted manner..but deep down? You were so very proud of yourself for making him that desperate and a part of you liked the feeling of someone wanting you that much.

[gooobraghhh]

Everyone keeps asking me for details so I might as well give them.

We were hanging out in my room and I had made little dog bone shaped Jell-O shots. I took a fist full of his hair and forced him to his knees. Told him to be a good boy and grind against my leg for his treat. He started humping my calf and begging in response to me going “wanna treat?” Over and over in a condescending voice.

We went through a little cycle of him performing tricks and being rewarded for it. He’d lift his leg up and expose himself or do some other similar embarrassing thing in exchange for another dog bone and a viagra at one point which we had discovered does work, very well, on a previous night. I was forcing him to do this all in front of my fiancé who’d make fun of him for it despite them both wearing collars. He’d get all feisty and bicker with my fiancé but if it interrupted his training I’d kick him hard in the groin or slap him across the face.

Eventually I needed to go change into my lingerie but I forced a knotted toy inside him so he could cockwarm it while he waited. Him and my fiancé wrestled around and got rough with each other but by the time I got back, he was fully pinned down and moaning so loud I could hear him from the other room. I made fun of how pathetic he was and went on to cuff and blindfold him. I also held a cart in his mouth and covered his nose so he’d be forced to get as high as I wanted him. After that he was real easy to play with.

Me and fiancé alternated between gently fucking the toy in and out of him, toying with his very hard and very sizable t dick, usually in a way that hurt him quite a bit, or just saying gross dirty talk in his ear between choking him out. He’s a masochist to a ridiculous extent so any pain we inflicted on him just made him moan louder.

Eventually I swapped to a vibrator since we had discovered on the trip fingering his prostate can make him cum in like 30 seconds or less and it was shaped perfectly for that. He was super fucking loud the second I turned it on and I used the toy that was just inside him to fuck his mouth. After he was sufficiently warmed up and had almost cum a few times I decided it would be good to get a recording.

I honestly planned to deny him in the audio but he came prematurely and extremely hard. After I finished recording my fiancé mounted him and fucked him like the dogs they both are and he came several more times before we were done that night. He averaged cumming more than 3 times a day over the week he came over if that says anything about his visit. Can’t wait to see him again <3

Fucked my Mutual Today <3

Petplay mtf dom x ftm sub with @the-kennel-keeper

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Bob Floyd X Reader: Pretty boy

a/n: another Bob played by Lewis that i absolutely write and never got to writing for.

Warnings: readers call sign is Echo, fluff, Bob being a nervous cutie, kissing, mutual pinning, cheesy lines (its fluff guys let me have this one), no use of y/n.

Word count: 2.2K

“Hey there, pretty boy.”

Bob didn’t need to raise his eyes to know you were the one talking to him. You’d given him the nickname and made it extremely clear only you were allowed to use it. He lifted his eyes from the pool table, gaze finding your frame. You were wearing civilian clothes like the rest of the crew, but somehow, seeing you out of uniform affected Bob more than seeing the others. Maybe it wasn’t the clothes. Maybe it was just who was wearing them.

“Can I have some?”

Bob understood you were talking about the chips in his hands—his go-to snack at The Hard Deck. He lifted the container from the table beside him, offering it to you. You gave him a small smile of gratitude, grabbing a handful and stuffing it into your mouth. Bob continued to look at you as you chewed, but you were focused on the pool game before you. Phoenix scored a shot, causing you to yell out in victory. The rest of the crew raised their heads to look in your direction, realizing for the first time that you had arrived.

“Didn’t think you were coming, Echo.”

“Oh yeah? Why, scared I'd beat you again, Hangman?”

Phoenix grinned at your words. You two always had a knack for getting on the boys' nerves. Hangman was an easy target thanks to his inflated ego, so you took whatever shot you could when it came to him.

“Better put your money where your mouth is.”

Hangman moved over to you, lifting the pool stick in invitation. You raised your eyebrows at him—you knew better than to take the bait.

“Nah, I’m good. Don’t need to prove myself to you.”

The others let out small noises like “uff” and “oh, burn” at your words, causing your smirk to widen.

“Plus, I think I'd rather spend time with Bob anyway.”

Hangman's eyes shifted to the man beside you, lips curling into a teasing smile before turning back to you.

“I’m sure you would.”

There was something cruel hidden beneath the phrase. You chose to ignore it. Like you often did. Realizing he wouldn’t get a rise out of you, Hangman turned on his heels, moving back to where Phoenix was still waiting for him to take his shot.

You turned your attention back to Bob, moving to sit next to him. The stools were small and close together—an attempt to use up as much of the limited space as possible—which caused your body to be flush against Bob’s. You felt him shift a bit, body slightly tense.

“This okay? I can sit somewhere else.”

You moved to get up, but Bob placed a hand on your thigh in desperation.

“No, it’s okay.”

He paused, realizing where his hand rested on your body, then moved it as quick as lightning. You laughed at the action.

“Sorry. I was just trying to be a—”

“Gentleman?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled at him, patting his thigh with your hand.

“You’re all good, Bob. Don’t worry about it.”

With that, you removed your hand from his thigh, resting it in your own lap. Bob's eyes remained glued to where you had touched him. His skin felt warm. You always seemed to have that effect on him. Whenever you were close, Bob would find himself getting flushed. He forced himself to drag his eyes back to the pool table, even though he’d much rather continue looking at you.

Upon remembering your request for his chips, Bob reached for his beer, touching your shoulder gently with his to get your attention. You looked over at him, glancing at the cup in his hand before giving him a questioning gaze.

“You want some?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure, thanks.”

Bob merely shrugged, handing you his cup. You took a sip before passing it back. You continued to do that until the cup was empty.

“Oh shoot. I finished it. Sorry, Bob—I’ll go get another one.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I don’t need—”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll get it.”

You turned to the others.

“Anyone else want a top-up?”

After getting everyone's cups, you began moving toward the bar. Bob grabbed your arm as you passed, causing you to pause.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. Really, it’s—”

“I want to.”

You were slightly taken aback by the words, but you welcomed the company.

“If you’re sure.”

You and Bob made your way through the crowd toward the bar, weaving between bodies and half-full tables. The Hard Deck was packed tonight—sailors, aviators, and locals all jostling for elbow room. The air smelled like beer and salt, and the music thumped loud enough to feel in your ribs.

Bob stayed close, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes scanning the room like he always did—quiet, alert, steady. You liked that about him. No pretense. No bluster. Just Bob.

You’d only just placed the drink order when the song changed—one of those upbeat, slightly retro tracks with a funky bass line and smooth vocals, the kind that immediately lit a spark in your chest. Your head snapped toward the jukebox like it had called your name. A wide grin spread across your face.

“Oh my god, I love this song.”

Bob turned to look at you, eyebrows lifting behind his glasses. “

Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You bobbed your head to the beat, already feeling the rhythm in your limbs. 

“Come on, Bob. Dance with me.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Dance?”

You didn’t wait for a full yes. You grabbed his hand, tugging him gently but insistently away from the bar. 

“You can’t say no, Bob. It's the rules.”

“What rules?” 

He asked, but you were already halfway to the open space between the dartboard and the old jukebox, a makeshift dance floor when the vibe was right.

“The ones I just made up.”

Bob stumbled after you, half-laughing, half-dreading, though his fingers stayed laced in yours. You stopped in the center of the room, turning to face him, still swaying to the music.

“Just follow my lead, pretty boy.”

“I don’t really dance,” he admitted quietly, looking everywhere but at you.

“Doesn’t matter. Just move. It’s not about looking good, it’s about having fun.”

You placed his hands on your waist and gave him an encouraging smile. Bob hesitated a second longer, then slowly let the music guide him, shifting his weight side to side. He was awkward at first, uncertain, but you were patient—moving in closer, syncing your steps with his, laughing when he accidentally bumped your knee with his.

“You’re doing fine,” you said, leaning in like you were telling a secret.

He gave you a small, sheepish smile—the kind that made your chest flutter a little.

“I think you’re just saying that.”

“Maybe,” you said, teasing. “But I’m still glad you’re out here.”

And then, like some switch flipped inside him, Bob started to relax. His shoulders dropped. His grip on your waist grew surer. The next spin you pulled him into wasn’t met with hesitation—it was met with a chuckle.

Maybe he wasn’t a dancer. But dancing with you? That, he could do.

And then the song changed into a slower one, causing your body to move closer. Bob’s breath hitched as he felt the shift—the proximity of your bodies finally settling in his mind. His throat felt dry. His gaze moved around the room, searching to see if anyone was watching. No one was, each person glued to their own conversation to notice a couple of people dancing near the bar.

You felt the tension in Bob’s body, causing you to call out his name. He forced his eyes to meet yours. “You okay?”

Bob didn’t answer at first, trying to figure out what he should do. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to kiss you. But that wouldn’t be appropriate. Not in front of all these people. Not without making sure you’d be okay with him doing it.

The lack of response made you pull away slightly, becoming a bit self-conscious yourself. Had you gone too far? Had your desire to be near him made him feel uncomfortable?

“We can stop if you want. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Bob began to feel you pull away. The feeling caused him to act, his hands tightening around your waist. Not forceful—just reassuring. “No, I…” he paused for a moment, uncertain. “I want to keep dancing with you. If you want to, that is.”

You smiled at him, shoulders relaxing. You hadn’t scared him. Not yet.

 “I’d like that.”

You moved together in an easy rhythm, your bodies swaying gently, comfortably. Bob’s hands rested on your waist like he was afraid to hold you too tightly, but they stayed. Steady. Sure. You looped your arms around his shoulders, fingers brushing the back of his neck, and for a moment, the world felt small in the best way—just the two of you in a noisy bar, dancing like no one was watching.

You leaned your cheek against his, lips close to his ear.

“You’re a fast learner,” you murmured, your breath making him shiver.

Bob gave a quiet laugh, the sound low and close. 

“I have a good teacher.”

Another minute passed like that—close and quiet—until Bob pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours.

“Would it be okay if we stepped outside for a bit?” 

His voice was soft, almost uncertain. 

“It’s a little loud in here.”

You nodded immediately. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Bob gently took your hand again, weaving you both through the crowd. The door creaked open and spilled warm air into the cooler night, the ocean breeze brushing against your skin. You both stepped out into the open air, away from the music, away from the bodies and lights and laughter.

Once you’d stepped out, Bob let go of your hand. You longed for the feeling again, but you understood that he’d probably let go because he wasn’t sure if you'd be okay with him holding you like that. You opted to stay quiet, tailing beside him as you two walked. You didn’t know where he wanted to go exactly, but you continued to follow him. You looked up at the sky, a soft “wow” escaping your lips as you caught sight of the moon. Bob heard the sound, gaze shifting to see what you were staring at. A soft smile made its way onto his face as he looked at you taking in the moon.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

He lifted his hand to you. You took it, glad to have his palm back in yours. He began running—not fast, but enough to make you have to race a bit to keep up with him. Once you made it to the spot, he let go of your hand, moving to lean over the railing. You copied his movements. And then you saw it: the way the moon reflected against the ocean. You let out a soft gasp.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It really is.”

You turned to face Bob, finding his eyes on you instead of the sight before you. You flushed a bit, realizing he’d been talking about you and not the moon. Bob inched closer to you, pulling off the railing so he could face you directly. You allowed him to go at his own pace, making his way to you slowly.

Bob stopped a breath away from you, his eyes flickering down to your lips before darting quickly back up to your gaze. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You waited, giving him time. He always seemed to need a second longer to speak his mind.

“I’ve been wanting to do something,” he finally said, voice low, as if afraid the wind might carry it away.

You tilted your head slightly. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “But I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to... assume anything.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. You stepped in a little closer, closing the last of the distance between you. Close enough to feel his warmth.

“You won’t.”

Bob leaned in, slow and deliberate. Giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t—when you leaned into him too—his hand found your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. His lips met yours in a kiss that was every bit as sweet and careful as you’d expected from him. No rush. No push. Just Bob. Steady. Honest.

The kiss was soft at first—testing the waters. But when you kissed him back, really kissed him, he melted into it, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, like he’d finally stopped holding himself back.

When you pulled apart, your forehead rested against his.

You stood there in silence for a moment, just breathing each other in, the ocean crashing softly below, the moonlight catching in his glasses.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, not quite looking at you.

“I was hoping you would.”

You both smiled. Then Bob reached for your hand again, interlacing your fingers.

“Wanna stay out here a little longer?” 

You nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Yeah. I think I could stay right here all night.”

Bob gave you a full, toothy smile.

 “Not a problem with me.”

You settled back into his arms, breathing in the scent of his cologne and the warmth radiating from his body. He was your pretty boy—yours, and no one else’s.

It had taken him a while to realize it, but he’d managed to get there eventually. And you couldn’t have been happier.

[p1astr81]

Hiii!! 🫶

Can I request for a Lando x rival!reader? Like she's a driver from another team and they hate each other very much— always fighting on and off track, 🖕 every time one surpasses the other, cursing a lot. But, when she's really on a mood, and actually not caring for Lando teases, he gets worried and finally show some cute feelings!

Sorry if you don't like it and you can change anything you like :))

I twisted this a little without actually meaning to. Sorry!!!

You hopped out the car furious. Lando had just crashed the both of you out. “You have to leave space on the outside, Norris! That’s how it fucking works!”

“Maybe you should know when to back off.” He shot back

“And give you a free win? I don’t think so.”

He scoffed a laugh. “Like you would’ve won that anyway.”

“I might have if you knew how to fucking race! What? Did someone’s daddy not teach him how to go wheel to wheel?”

“Yeah, yours.”

The trackside marshalls were dragging you both away now. “Fuck you, Norris,” you flipped him off.

He returns the gesture. “Oh I bet you’d like that,”

“You’re disgusting.” You spat.

He’d impeded you in quali.

You caught him in the media pen. “Seriously, your agenda against me is really getting old.” You kept your voice low, aware of the many microphones around you.

“That’s just racing.” He shrugged.

“No. It’s called playing dirty.” Your press officer grabbed your arm. Her efforts to pull you away were in vain.

“It was an honest mistake. Don’t let it keep you up at night.”

You raised both of your hands, one used as a shield from the cameras. The other was used to flip him off.

He laughed. “Real mature of you.”

“Oh, you’re the last person to be talking about maturity.”

“Y/n, enough.” Your press officer tugged your arm again. You complied this time, leaving Lando with a roll of your eyes.

The next day, after the race—which you’d won—he saw you again. Walking the paddock. He hadn’t thought you saw him standing outside the McLaren hospitality. But you raised your hand, and gifted him yet another bird without even looking at him.

“That’s my seat.” You pointed out.

You were one of the last to arrive to the driver’s dinner. When you did get there, Lando was sitting in your seat.

He raised a brow. “I didn’t see your name on it.”

“I always sit next to Max. He’s my teammate.”

“And he’s my friend.” He tilted his head.

“Ha!” One short burst of a laugh. “I didn’t know you had any of those.” Then you turned to Max, who was watching the interaction with an amused expression. “Is he paying you for this?”

Max laughed.

“I do have friends. But I guess you don’t since you seem to need to sit by Max so badly.”

Damn. He got you there. You bit your cheek and turned on your heel. You ended up sat between Alex and Ollie.

You ate something foul. That was the only explanation for the ache in your stomach.

You were missing much of the FIA ceremony, hunched in a secluded hallway right by the bathrooms. Footsteps clicked along the tile nearing closer to you with every step. You straightened, acting as fine as possible. Still, a hand clutched your stomach.

“Skipping the ceremony? I didn’t think you could have good ideas. Guess I was wrong.”

Oh fuck. Not him. Anyone but him.

You ignored him, eyes to the wall in front of you, measuring your breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Lando got closer, his brows furrowing. “Y/l/n? You don’t look too hot.”

Your face scrunched in pain at the feeling like someone was stabbing you in the stomach. “Thanks.” You muttered.

“No seriously, are you okay?” He was right in front of you now, obstructing all your vision.

“Just go away.” You groaned.

“I’m definitely not doing that. Not when you look like you’re dying.” His eyes were bulging out of his head. “Should I go get someone? I’m sure they have some sort of medic here.”

You groaned again, a new wave of pain shooting up your spine. You sunk to the floor, Lando dropped to his knees with you. A cold sweat started to collect along your hairline.

“Okay, I’m going to get someone.” He stood.

You caught his hand before he could go anywhere. He froze, eyes darting from your hand in his to your fiery glare. “Don’t.” Was all you said in a shaky exhale. Eyes squeezed shut, your head hit the wall.

“Will you tell me what happened then?” The urgency hasn’t left his voice since he arrived at the scene.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth. “Food poisoning.” Your voice was hardly a whisper.

“This bad?”

Your nod was small, but it delivered your point. “Just please go.”

Despite your eyes being closed, he looked at you like you were crazy. “And leave you here? Alone?”

“I’ll be fine.” You huffed.

“Jesus, I’m not leaving you by yourself. Not when you’re like this.” He stubbornly repeated.

You realized then that your hand was still in his. You quickly dropped it. “Norris please.”

His brain fought between being stubborn and staying, and listening to your wishes and leaving. So he compromised. “I’ll go get Max.” He sighed.

The next morning

breakfast was awkward.

“…so, yeah. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”

You’d tuned out Lando’s rambling a while ago. He’d been going for ten minutes.

“Okay. Thanks.” You shrugged, taking a small bite of a banana muffin.

Lando looks dumbfounded. “That’s it? I just apologized for a year’s worth of arguments and you say ‘thanks’?”

You just nodded.

“No, ‘I’m sorry, too’?”

You blinked, then, “I’m sorry, too.”

His jaw fell. Unreal. This is unreal.

You put your muffin down slowly, and dust your hands off. “I’m getting over the worst case of food poisoning this world has ever seen. Talk to me when the mere smell of food doesn’t make me gag.”

There’s so much attitude in your words, and instead of Lando getting into another spat with you, he smiles. “I was really hoping that apology wouldn’t change how you talk to me. Good to see it hasn’t.”

You raised a brow. “What? You got a think for it or something.”

It was meant to be teasing. But Lando said nothing, just a shrug of one of his shoulders.

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Interesting.”

[very-merry-birthday]

Let go

Summary: After a bad hunt, Dean's angry. You help him to relax, and show him how to lose all control.

Warnings: Smut

A/N: "She said take your time, what's the rush? I said baby, I'm a dog, I'm a mutt."

~~~

Dean slammed the door to the impala, you and Sam trailing behind him, broken and bruised. You looked over at Dean as he walked off ahead of you both, the side of his face sporting a purple shiner, a slight limp in his step. You started to follow him before Sam gave you a stern look, a warning to give him some space, and you backed off, letting Dean walk past you into your motel room without so much as a glance.

You heeded his advice for the rest of the day, letting the elder Winchester blow off steam alone while you and Sam sat around in his room, watching awful motel TV. You both tended to your own injuries, before finally breaking and helping one another, Sam bandaging up a particularly bad cut on your back, and you putting two stitches on a wound on his thigh. As he winced in pain, biting down on an old shirt, you thought of the state Dean, who had taken the brunt of the damage, and was now alone, dealing with it himself.

"He'll be alright, you know him." Sam said once you'd finished, watching your expression carefully, he knew what you were thinking.

"I just wish he didn't lock himself away like this."

"He always has- Hey, he knows he can talk to us, to you, he just needs a few hours to remember."

When the evening began encroaching, you gave Sam a warm hug before making your way back to your own room, aware that a tense night has only just started. As you pushed the door open you waited a second to take him in as he laid on the bed, eyes shut, headphones on, deep in thought.

"Baby, you okay?" You spoke out into the room, Dean not hearing you with the headphones on. You walked in, lightly brushing his foot with your hand to get his attention.

His eyes shot open as he sat up straighter, body on high alert. As he realized it was you he allowed himself to relax again, only slightly, pulling the headphones off and giving you a halfhearted smile, "Y' startled me, darlin'."

"Sorry," you held your hands up in mock innocence, "you doing okay?"

He gave you another half smile in response.

"Dean, you know that's not enough, you gotta talk to me."

"I'm okay, I'm fine, just a few bruises, nothing a decent night's sleep won't fix."

You looked at the growing swelling next to his eye and shook your head, "I thought we agreed we were being honest with each other, and-"

"I am being honest!"

"-and right now you're hiding yourself from me, Winchester."

He stood up, wincing slightly in pain from his aching body, "Jesus can you stop this therapy bullshit for one night!?"

A pang of hurt hit you, you knew he didn't mean it, but it didn't make it any kinder, "That's not fair, and you know it."

His face filled with guilt, but he was still angry.

"I'm trying, Dean, every day I try. I give you space, I let you sit in all this pain and anger, and I do it because every now and then you're actually vulnerable with me, but I can't keep trying if you're not going to be honest with me."

He began to raise his voice again, "I'm a fucking soldier, don't you get that? And a fucking good one! And I can only do that if I put my emotions to one side and-"

"You're not a fucking soldier, Dean!" You let your tone match his, "You're allowed to show you're hurting sometimes! Sam needed you today, I needed you, and you shut down again the second we were out of there!"

He finally looked at you properly, looked at how bruised you were, remembering the gash he'd seen on your back. He felt guilt flood him again, speaking more gently, "Sweetheart I'm sorry I-"

"I don't want you to be sorry, I want you to be honest."

He took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at you with big wet eyes, "Kept thinking about you, about what I'd do if you got hurt, properly hurt. Or what you'd do if I got hurt."

He paused as he watched for your reaction, his eyes flickering over your face. "You know me, I'd shack up with Sam, we've been hoping you'd be out of the picture soon."

He let out a laugh at your joke, grateful that you'd relieved the tension in the room. "I'm sorry- I'm not used to this, to a relationship, to someone caring about me like this."

"I just want you to know we're here, that we actually want to talk to you, Winchester. We want to hear what you have to say."

"I know baby, I know." He leant forward, pulling you closer to him, his head resting against your chest, breathing you in gently.

"Take off your shirt."

"As much as I'd love to fuck you senseless right now, sweetheart, I'm not sure-"

You rolled your eyes at his comment, "-just take it off you jerk."

He carefully pulled it off, blinking heavily as he adjusted to the pain in his muscles. You took a moment to take him in, his body half bruised, his face ragged with exhaustion.

"You done anything to try and help that situation? Ice pack? Cold water?"

"I'm alright sweetheart I just-"

You shook your head at his martyrdom, kissing his forehead, "Stop talking, relax."

He did as you said. He was used to taking orders, but never from you, and you weren't used to giving them. Dean was in control of everything he could be, and when it came to sex you enjoyed that, but you knew that's not what he needed tonight.

You sat up behind him on the bed, your hands tentatively reaching out to his body, gently gliding over his skin. You began to massage his aching muscles, letting your fingers kneed his tense body. He hummed into the feeling, leaning his head back with his eyes shut.

You leant down to kiss the back of his shoulders, a small trail until you were nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He leant against you, enjoying the feeling of your closeness. He reached up a hand to the back of your head, wanting to touch you, and you pushed him away.

"Baby, I'm okay, let me touch you." He murmured lightly, reaching up his hand again.

You stopped him, kissing up his neck, "Just let go, for one night Winchester, let go." You whispered, lightly kissing at his lobe.

The words sent shivers through him as he pulled his hand away. You kissed his neck heavier, letting your hands stroke over his strong shoulders.

You climbed back off the bed, standing in front of him and lifting his chin with an outstretched finger as he looked up at you with wide eyes. You could tell how desperate he was for you, how hungry he was for your body. Normally he'd grab you, pin you down on the bed, his hands finding every inch of you. After a good hunt he'd love to taste you, to have his head buried between your legs for hours, edging you until you couldn't remember your own name. But right now, as he looked up at you, the pain and anger shedding off his face, you just wanted him to release.

You kneeled in front of him as his eyes followed your movements. You traced a finger up his inner leg, from his calf up to his thigh, the feeling tickling his skin even through his jeans. You reached up to his belt buckle and he smiled down a lopsided smile, enjoying watching you knelt below him. Slowly pulling out his cock, you met his eye, biting your bottom lip with a smile.

He exhaled, his face solid, as you began to gently stroke his length. You stuck your tongue out, licking a light strip along his tip. He groaned, his hand coming up to the back of your head, ready to push you down lower.

You pulled back, looking up at his desperate expression, "Hands behind your back, Winchester, I want to take my time."

He exhaled again, placing his hands behind him on the bed and leaning back. You took his head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as he groaned in pleasure. You started to push your head lower, taking him in your mouth, sucking on his shaft. He rolled his head back, tensing his jaw to hold back a moan.

You pulled your head back, looking up at him until his attention was back on you, "Not good enough, I thought I said I wanted to hear you, no hiding anything tonight."

A playful smile spread across his face as he realized your game. Taking him into your mouth again, you lowered your head, taking him deeper until he was filling you. Then you began sucking again, swallowing down his precum, your tongue pressed against his length. He allowed himself to moan, his breath becoming ragged.

You pulled back momentarily, your voice no louder than a whisper, the words sending vibrations through his core, "Use your words baby, tell me what you're thinking."

He tensed his jaw as he watched you begin to bob your head on his cock, taking him so well. "Uh- right now I'm thinking- that this feels fucking amazing."

You hummed in agreement, nodding your head slightly.

"... And I'm thinking- fuck- I'm thinking your mouth is so fucking good at this-"

You pulled back, licking at his tip, "Good, Winchester, keep going."

He groaned again, "And I'm thinking I'm not gonna last much longer if you keep going like that."

You sped up your movements, treating his cock like a lollipop as your tongue lapped him up, he groaned loudly as you looked back up at him, "In a bit baby, just enjoy what's happening right now, we're not in a rush."

His hand reached up to you again and you pushed him away, looking up at him with stern eyes.

"I'm serious baby," he spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm so fucking close."

You slowed your movements again, taking your mouth off of him as you hand went back to gently stroking him. "Slow down, baby, slow down."

He tensed his jaw again, collapsing back onto the bed, a sigh escaping his lips. You kissed along his inner thigh, tugging at his jeans and underwear to pull them off. He reluctantly shuffled to allow them to fall down his legs, kicking them off from his ankles, and you went back to kissing his leg.

He shut his eyes, overcome with the feeling of your lips on him, his vulnerability, the cold air hitting his body. And then he felt you moving, climbing into a straddle around his waist. He opened his eyes to look up at you, naked and gorgeous in the dim light. He shuffled his body again, with you sat atop him, so he was in the middle of the bed.

He watched you carefully, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as your own hands flowed down your body, grabbing your tits, giving him a show. He leant out to touch you and you lightly slapped his hand away, "No touching, baby."

You stretched out, one hand on your breast, the other making it's way down your body, his eyes trained on you. You pushed it between your legs, gliding over your clit, letting out a loud moan. He let out another groan, hungry for you.

You smiled down at him, moving your hands away and back onto his chest. Then you lifted yourself up slowly, until his tip was just resting at your entrance, and looked down at him again, "You want me?"

He nodded.

"Communication, Winchester, tell me."

"I want you."

"Good." You cooed, your hand stroking lightly over his chest.

"Please?" This wasn't a word Dean had ever used in bed, he was used to getting exactly what he wanted, but it sounded so smooth falling from his lips.

You lowered yourself down onto his length and he rolled his head back, a groan falling out his mouth, his jaw hanging open as he tried to even out his breathing. You slowly started grinding against him, his cock easily filling you up, your walls tight around him.

After moments he looked up at you again, his hand once again trying to reach out to touch you. You gently pushed him away, a warm smile spread across your face, "Behind your head, Winchester, both of them."

He did as you said, putting both his hands up behind him, his face overcome with need. You sped up your movements, only slightly, one hand on his chest to balance yourself, the other reaching back up to your breast, grabbing it the way you had stopped him only moments before.

"Please baby- I wanna touch you." He groaned.

"Not tonight baby, let me make you feel good."

You quickened your pace once again, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, his body beginning to tense. As you grinded you felt his body stimulating your clit, letting out a moan at your own enjoyment. You could feel he was close, his breath becoming laboured, his abdomen beginning to tighten.

"Look at me baby." You whispered, and he did what you said, his eyes gliding over your body, looking between your bouncing tits and his cock buried inside you.

"I'm so close baby-"

"I know, just relax." Your tone was gentle, but firm.

"Please- want you to cum at the same time-"

"Tonight's all about you, just let yourself feel good."

He bit his lip as he looked up at you, his face desperate, his moans needy. He looked back down at your body, at his cock pushing into you, at the way you moved above him, and let himself release.

Rolling his head back and letting out a loud moan, you felt as he came, his body tensing, his mind going clear. You kept grinding against him, wanting to make his pleasure last as long as you could.

As his breathing began to settle you slowed down you movements, until he was looking back up at you again, a meek smile spread across his face. You lifted yourself off of him, sitting back on his stomach, his hands reaching out to your hips as you finally let him touch you. You sat for a moment, taking each other in, his thumb lightly rubbing against your skin, comforting.

"Baby lay down, let me touch you."

"Not tonight, Winchester. Right now we've got to get you some sleep."

He let out an exasperated sigh, knowing you were right but still wanting to feel you. You rolled off of him, laying down next to him, your head on his chest, his heartbeat pounding in your ears.

He kissed your forehead lightly, looking down at you to take your face in as you met his eye. He smiled, "I love you, baby."

"I love you too."