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eraserbread · 3 months ago

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Whats on my mind… oh nothing 😞 just uhhh reverse cowgirl mirror sex where Nanami forces you to watch yourself 😔

"do you trust me?"

you nod slowly in the bathroom, pressed against the counter with your husband at your back. it's date night, your favorite and a pain in the ass for kento. you two have a standing agreement - twice a month. he plans everything, never asking for further input, because loving you was not your responsibility, it's his.

the night went off without a hitch -- expensive dinner in the city, shimmering diamond boxes, and your sweet smile wrapped up in a modest dress.

six hours outside of the comfort of his home has him treasuring the twenty minutes back. now, he's watching you pick your jewelry off in the bathroom mirror, smiling shyly at him every few seconds when you feel his eyes linger.

you're playing your stupid sad music, and he's dealing with it for so long, because you just look so beautiful. so pristine and stoic when you're coming undone. almost... edible.

"look at you," he mutters, thick fingers finding the hidden zipper on your dress. in the large front-facing mirror, you give him a passing side-eye, swallowing back a giggle. "beautiful."

"stop," you tease, placing your bracelet upon your pile of gold to filter through later. "I'm not even doing anything."

"you don't have to constantly perform to be beautiful to me," he reassures, kissing over your bare shoulder before pulling the zipper to your waistline. the fabric bunches around your figure, loose and welcoming. kento's lips meet the middle of your back, just under your neck. it tickles, you draw a half-smile.

and you know it's coming, but you still gasp. he presses a hand to the small of your back, forcing you into a perfect ninety-degree over the cool porcelain.

your dress comes undone around you, falling from your body and hanging on like a vice. nanami tugs it from your skin and tosses it away. all you're left in, blinking up to see him through the mirror, is your underwear. no bra, no slip, no cover—just you and your flesh-colored decency.

"you always know the right things to say." you reply, voice muffled as you rest your chin on crossed arms. behind you, he's pulling open his shirt, smiling so fast that you could blink and miss it.

making love is muscle memory, now. kento's always and easily hard for you -- you're always welcoming with slickness and beauty. if you were counting, surely it'd be the fourteen-hundredth time he's slid your panties to the side and dragged his beautiful flushing tip between your cunt, sending a steady stream of air between his teeth.

he closes both big hands over your waist, guiding you back to slide against his cock. you're coating him thoroughly in all of your arousal, whining stupidly in your skin, begging for more.

"please, baby." you bite, furrowing your head deeper into your arms as his cock just eases right in that perfect little dip of your entrance before popping free.

breathless already, kento nods. "look at me, doll. can i see your face?"

"put... put it in." you ignored him, so kento ignores you. instead, he wraps his hand around the front of your neck, pulling you flush to his clothed chest. you're bare, blushing, and completely at his visual mercy. the soft hum of background music covers your little whines enough that you weren't as embarrassed.

"look at me." he tries again, peeking his head in the crook of your shoulder. he leans down, kissing your dewy jawline and licking over your neck. he's humping over you from behind, tight hips focused and precise as he hits the promise of penetration every time. "nanami, open those eyes."

"so embarrassing," you shake your head, brave enough right now to defy him without second thought. you could open your eyes to study his flushed, serious face bright against your skin, but that means you'd also have to see your flushed, horny skin and smudged makeup.

"what is embarrassing? i don't understand. it took you nearly two hours to do your makeup in this same mirror tonight."

"that's different-

"no, it's not." he cuts you off, tone dipping into that familiar authoritative way that makes your knees buckle.

your nanami is strong enough to lift anything. with or without his curse, so it's nothing for him to lean down, sliding his hands behind your knees. you're not sure what you're expecting, but it's not for him to hoist you up.

jarred, your hands fly up for some kind of stability. you end up with one curled around the back of his neck, the other digging into the muscle of his arm that's holding you up.

"what are yo-

"hm," he answers for you, taking a step closer to the edge. he guides your dangling heels down into the counter, kissing all over the back of your neck. he drags one hand free from holding you up, taking it down to his cock to position it just right for gravity to sink you down half an inch. it's enough to pull a reaction out of you, just to knock you breathless.

"ohmygod, can't-

"you will." he's demanding you with a dark edge to his careful tone, pushing his hips far enough for the angle to give his cock the perfect shot at that spongy, sweet spot inside of you.

you're tossing your head to the side, warding off his dark stare over your shoulder. then, he's taking a big step back, leaving your toes grasping for friction and your body loose enough to slide all the way down his thick length.

the intrusion sucks a deep cry from your lungs, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes squeeze shut. "f-fu, kentooo!"

in the mirror, nanami's eyes are hooked onto the slick intrusion, obsessed with the way his cock disappears inside of you. your thighs are trembling in your reflection, warm pussy blooming deep red from the stretch. he has to swallow down anxious gobs of want just so he doesn't loose control and fuck you in the way he knows he shouldn't

But it's hard—impossible, really. you're whining so pretty, clawing at him so needily, saying his name like it's your gospel. he's obsessed with it—with you and how you take him like it's the first time, every single time.

he thinks all of these sinful thoughts as you gather your bearings, eventually blinking open your eyes for an intense blush to coat your naked body.

the reflection you find yourself staring into is lewd but personal and beautiful in a way only you and kento could achieve. he's so tall behind you, big and caring as his hips rock upward, fucking you so gently and loving. he's kissing all over you, but only where he can still blink up and watch your needy, perfect cunt swallow him up like a pill.

smudged makeup runs down your face as tears spring to the surface. you're so off balance, that you let yourself fall back on him, and he doesn't even falter. kento holds you tighter, completely pressing your thighs into your chest and running his tongue across your shoulder.

"watch it, dear. look how you're taking me," he bites out, tongue running over his top lip. thick lines of arousal drip and squelch against his cock and it's so filthy to watch, but you do. you're a good listener, and nanami loves how embarrassed you get when he steers too lewd. "it's my favorite view. just wanted you to see this time."

"st-stop, it's too muchhhh -- fuck!"

"it's okay, you're okay, i know."

"mmh, i'm gonna..!"

"yeah? keep those eyes open." kento's whispering in your ear and his voice is so sinful and graceful, laced with so much beauty and love. "ah - open'em."

for the first time in forever, ken cums before you. he's biting into your shoulder, keeping his eyes open and staring into your stretched cunt. like a gentleman, he fucks you through it, staccato grunts growing more desperate with each dragging thrust.

this time, you're caught staring as the seed coating his length forms a sticky, white rim against the base. it's so unapologetically sinful that it drives you crazy and fuels your heart and mind in so many beautiful love-licked ways.

his familiar face is stoic, yet ever-changing as he pants and kisses your ear. thoughtful to the core, kento doesn't stop until you're crying his name and gushing warmth all over his stained cock, begging him for more he's already given, but would give you ten times over.

you two have found it—that perfect semblance of give and take that makes every emotion and touch light fires you didn't even know existed. kento is so gentle when he puts you back down on your feet, chasing kisses when you turn around that you give, and he takes.

it's a lifetime thing. an unsaid thing.

a beautiful thing.

#awwww they're (we're) so in loveeee <333 #.nanami <3 #eraserasks #.the wife guy!! <3 #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #kento smut #kento x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x you #.favs :o

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requiemforthepoets · 7 months ago

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baby peanut! 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x wife!reader

SUMMARY: keeping your pregnancy from lando was proven to be very hard when all you want is tell him the amazing news that you both are expecting again. but since his birthday was coming up, you waited for his special day to tell him.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: reader is french-russian, multicultural household, established relationships, pregnancy, typos, and gramatical errors

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HAPPY LANDO DAY!!!!! was debating on posting a new fic for him, but decided to just make it a part of the norris family series, though this can be read as a stand alone. hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The soft morning light was just beginning to filter through the white curtains when you stirred awake, glancing over to see Lando fast asleep beside you. His peaceful face looked even more boyish, framed by the tousled strands of hair he hadn’t bothered to tame before collapsing into bed after last night’s stream. It had been hours before he joined you in bed, he and Max laughing and gaming into the early morning, and you knew he deserved this rest.

Just as you began to carefully sit up, you heard a soft rustling sound from the bedroom doorway. Peeking over, you spotted a small figure, a very familiar figure—a little silhouette with tousled hair, just like Lando’s, and sparkling eyes, trying best to tiptoe into the room. It was Thylane, with her tiny hands clutching her favorite blankie. You could see that she was struggling to hold back a giggle as she glanced over at her sleeping father.

Smiling, you brought a finger to your lips, silently shushing her. Thylane’s eyes widened, and she stopped mid-step, freezing in the doorway. You motioned gently for her to come closer to you, and she padded over quietly, looking up at you expectantly.

“Is Papa awake yet?” She whispered, voice barely more than a breath.

The eagerness in her tone made your heart swell, and you could not help but lean down, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

“No, mon amour,” you whispered back, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Papa had a very late night with Uncle Max. He needs his sleep, let’s let him rest a little longer, hm?”

Thylane nodded, her expression brightening at the thought of what you had in mind. “But it’s Papa’s birthday! I want to say happy birthday to him!”

“I know, my love. But how about we go to the kitchen, just you and me, and make a special birthday breakfast for Papa? Then we can surprise him together when he wakes up, and…” you paused, heart fluttering as you thought about the special surprise you had planned, one that you had kept to yourself until today. “And there’s something very exciting we’ll be giving him. Something you’re going to help me with, too.”

Her eyes lit up, and she bounced on her toes, already whispering with excitement. “What is it, Mama?”

“You’ll see, mon petit trésor,” you murmured with a soft smile. “It’s a surprise just as much for you as it is for your Papa. Now, come on.”

You grabbed your silk robe by the vanity chair and put it on. Taking Thylane’s little hand in yours, you casted a quick glance back at Lando. You leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, lingering just a moment. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and for a heartbeat, you just admired the peaceful look on his face, hoping he would carry that warmth with him when he awoke to find you both by his side. Then you carefully lifted Thylane into your arms to keep her quiet and avoid the soft creaks of the floorboards as you slipped out of the room together.

You and Thylane moved quietly into the kitchen, both of you filled with anticipation. The kitchen was softly lit by the morning sun, casting a warm glow over the countertops as you gathered everything you needed for Lando’s birthday breakfast, with Thylane already clutching the whisk with her small hands, her tongue poking out in concentration as she tried her best to mix the batter for the pancakes.

“Like this, Mama?” She asked, glancing up at you, her face bright with determination.

“Oui, parfait, mon ange,” you replied, ruffling her hair lightly. “Now, tu peux ajouter les blueberries. Add the blueberries, like this.” You handed her a small bowl of plump blueberries, showing her how to fold them gently into the batter.

She followed your instructions very carefully, not wanting to ruin Lando’s surprise, her little fingers pushing each blueberry into the mix with care, her eyes darting to you every so often to check if she was doing it right.

“Is Papa going to love it?” She whispered.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Of course Papa’s going to love it because you made it for him,” you assured her, watching her face break into a wide grin. “Now, pass me the flour, please—la farine. Careful, don’t spill.”

With both hands, Thylane picked up the small bag of flour and brought it over, the look of focus never leaving her face. She had switched to a more serious demeanor, taking her role as your little sous-chef very seriously.

“Here, Mama!” She said proudly, handing it to you as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

“Merci, mon trésor,” you replied, taking the flour and measuring out the right amount for the batter. “Okay, now you can stir again, doucement, like this.” You demonstrated, letting her hands follow yours as you guided her through the gentle motions.

When the pancakes were stacked high on a plate, topped with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup, you and Thylane both stood back, admiring your creation.

“Look at what we made together,” you said softly, squeezing Thylane’s shoulder. “Papa will be very happy.”

Thylane clapped her hands excitedly, bouncing on her toes. “Can we give it to him now?”

“Not yet,” you shook your head, a smile forming on your lips. “There’s one more surprise we need to get ready.”

Walking over to the drawer, you retrieved the small acrylic box, some soft cloth, and your carefully wrapped pregnancy test. Thylane’s brows furrowed as she watched you, her head tilting with curiosity.

“What’s that, Mama?” She asked, peering closely at the box as you placed the soft cloth inside.

“This, my love, is a very special surprise for Papa,” you knelt down so that you were eye-level with her, placing the test in the box atop the folded cloth. “Do you remember how you told me you wanted to have a little brother or sister?”

Thylane’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded eagerly. “Yes! Yes! Does this mean…”

“Yes, Tilly. This means you’re going to be a big sister.” You smiled warmly at her.

Her face lit up, her mouth forming a perfect little “O” of excitement. “Really, Mama? I get a baby brother or sister?”

“Yes, mon trésor,” you nodded, laughing softly at her reaction. “We don’t know yet if it’s a brother or sister, but the baby is here, right inside Mama’s tummy, just a little peanut for now.”

Thylane’s eyes went wide with wonder, and she pressed her small hands to your stomach as if she was trying to feel the baby herself.

“A baby peanut!” She giggled, delight shining in her face. “Can we call the baby that for now?”

“Of course,” you chuckled, brushing her hair back. “Until we know more, we can call your little sibling, baby peanut.” She grinned, clearly enamored with the idea, and watched carefully as you tied the ribbon around the box with care.

“Can I help with the ribbon?” She asked, her hand already reaching out eagerly.

“Of course, here.” You said, guiding her hand as she carefully looped the ribbon around, tightening it with a gentle tug and finishing it off in a neat bow.

“Where should we put it, Mama?” She asked, glancing around the room.

You took a quick look at the cozy space, then pointed to a spot on the kitchen counter, just out of Lando’s immediate line of sight.

“Right here,” you decided, setting the box down gently. “That way, Papa won’t see it right away.”

Thylane nodded, grinning widely. “I can’t wait to see Papa’s reaction!”

With breakfast prepared and the surprise box tucked safely out of sight, you and Thylane made your way back to the bedroom, eager to wake up the birthday boy. By now, the sun had fully risen, casting a warm glow across the room as you nudged the door open to your and Lando’s bedroom. You expected to see Lando still sleeping peacefully, but instead, he was already awake, propped up on pillows with his phone in his hand, scrolling with a sleepy smile on his face.

Before you could say anything, Thylane let out a squeal of excitement and sprinted towards the bed, practically launching herself onto him. Lando barely had time to react before she pounced, wrapping her arms around his neck and showering Lando’s face with small kisses.

“Happy birthday, Papa! Happy birthday! Happy birthday!” She chanted, each word punctuated with a giggling kiss to Lando’s cheeks, forehead, and nose. Lando can’t help but laugh, his eyes crinkling with joy as he pulled her close, enveloping her in a warm hug.

“Thank you, Tilly!” He replied, chuckling as he looked up at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a special wake-up call on my birthday before.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her face flushed with pride. “I made you a biiiiig birthday card last night! It’s pink, and has lots of hearts and sparkles on it, and I even drew a race car!”

“Woah, a race car? Just for me? Now that is one special card,” he said, brushing a few stray curls behind her ear as he smiled up at her. “I can’t wait to see it. I bet it’s the best card in the whole world.”

Giggling, Thylane seated herself on top of his stomach, her little hands resting on his chest as she looked down at Lando with pure adoration. You leaned against the doorway, laughing at the sweet sight in front of you before walking over to the bed and settling down beside Lando.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, but laced with affection. “I’m so happy that I get to spend my birthday with my favorite girls.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. “Good morning, birthday boy,” you whispered, smiling against his lips before pulling back just slightly. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Lando grinned, puckering his lips again, silently asking for another kiss. Laughing, you leaned down, giving him another soft kiss, feeling his hand come up to gently cup your cheek. In that moment, it was just the three of you, wrapped in warmth and love, as if nothing else in the world existed. As you pulled back, Thylane let out a little giggle, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.

“Ew, Mama and Papa!” She teased, though her face betrayed nothing but happiness.

Lando laughed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Hey, I deserve a birthday kiss, don’t I?”

“Papa! Mama and I made you a special breakfast!” She announced, clapping her hands. “We worked really, really hard. I even put the blueberries in all by myself!”

“No way! You mean to tell me you were my chef this morning, too?” Lando ticked her side, making her dissolve into giggles.

Thylane laughed, wiggling under his tickling fingers. “Yes, I’m your chef today! Mama showed me how to make everything.”

“Well, now I definitely have to see what my two favorite girls cooked up,” he said, sitting up slowly.

Lando reached over, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you close, then lifted Thylane into his other arm. She squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling her head against Lando’s shoulder. As the three of you made your way to the kitchen, Lando kept his arm secure around your waist, pulling you close as Thylane chattered excitedly about breakfast.

“Mama taught me how to fold in the blueberries so they wouldn’t smush!” She said proudly. “And we made a big stack of pancakes with syrup and blueberries and…oh! And I even helped tie a bow for your present!”

Lando gave you a curious look over Thylane’s shoulder. “A present, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a grin. “I’m starting to think you two were up to a lot more than just breakfast this morning.”

“Hm, maybe we were,” you replied, smiling playfully as you reached up to brush a strand of his hair back. “But you’ll have to be patient to find out.”

He chuckled, squeezing your waist. “Well, I don’t know how much patience I have today. I mean, it is my birthday.”

Laughing, you reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Good things come to those who wait, birthday boy.”

The three of you entered the kitchen, where the table was set with the special breakfast you and Thylane had made. Lando’s eyes sparkled as he took it all in, and Thylane beamed with pride, practically bouncing in his arms.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” She exclaimed one last time, her voice full of love and excitement, her little arms squeezing him tightly.

With Lando’s arm around you, and Thylane hugging him with all her might, it was clear to you that this birthday morning could not have started off any sweeter.

Breakfast was a cozy, peaceful affair, the three of you wrapped in the simplicity of the morning. You and Lando chatted about plans for his birthday dinner later, throwing around ideas and laughing at each other’s jokes, while Thylane happily watched her favorite show on her iPad, humming along with the familiar theme song of Little Einsteins. It was a gentle scene, just the three of you? Sharing a quiet, joyful space as the morning sun spilled across the table.

Lando seemed perfectly content, caught up in the warmth of the moment. He had almost forgotten about the small gift waiting for him, tucked away in the kitchen—until you stood up, brushing a gentle hand across his shoulder.

“Wait here for a sec,” you said softly, a hint of excitement in your voice. “Tilly, come help me with something for Papa.”

Thylane’s face lit up as she hopped down from her chair, glancing at you with a secretive smile. She knew exactly what was coming next. Taking her hand, you led her back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to see Lando watching you both with a look of fond curiosity. He seemed completely oblivious to what was coming.

You reached into the cozy corner of the counter, pulling out the small, acrylic box you had hidden away with so much care. Inside, carefully wrapped in a soft cloth, was the positive pregnancy test. You knelt down, handing the box to Thylane, who held it carefully with wide, shining eyes.

“Okay, mon ange,” you whispered, giving her a gentle smile. “Give this to Papa, and make sure he opens it.”

She nodded, taking the box in her hands as if it were a treasure. Together, you walked back to the dining area, where Lando was watching you both with growing curiosity.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a playful grin.

Thylane held out the box, her excitement barely contained. Lando took the acrylic box, glancing from her to you, a mixture of awe and confusion on his face.

You smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, leaning close. “Go on,” you said, voice soft with anticipation. “Open it.”

“Open it, Papa! Open it!” She echoed, bouncing slightly on her toes, her face brimming with excitement.

Lando carefully untied the delicate ribbon that Thylane had helped you with that morning, his fingers moving slowly as if savoring the moment. The box felt light in his hands, and his expression shifted from curiosity to wonder as he lifted the lid, pulling away the cloth inside. The instant he saw the test, his eyes widened, and Lando looked up at you with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“Is this…” he stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he was afraid he might shatter the moment. “Is this real? Is this for real?”

You nodded, unable to contain your own smile as you squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, love. It is real.” You watched his face light up as the reality of it washed over him.

“Happy birthday, my love.” You added softly, feeling your own heart swell with happiness.

Lando did not hesitate. He stood up, pulling you into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around you as he lifted you off of your feet, twirling you in a gentle circle. His laugh was warm and filled with immense happiness so pure that it brought tears to your eyes.

“After all this time,” he murmured, voice thick with emotions as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’re really going to have another baby?” You nodded, laughing through your tears.

“I found out a few weeks ago, when you were in Mexico. I wanted to wait until today to tell you.” You placed a hand on his cheeks, gazing up at him with all the love you had been holding back for weeks. “It took everything in me not to tell you the moment I found out.”

He kissed you softly, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered. “Thank you for waiting, love. This…this is literally the best birthday gift I’ve ever had.”

“Papa, did you see? It’s real!” She said, beaming and clapping her hand, while bouncing in happiness. “I’m going to have a baby brother or sister! I told Mama I want to call them baby peanut!”

“Baby peanut, huh?” Lando chuckled, bending down to lift Thylane into his arms, bringing her close to the two of you. Kissing her forehead, and looking at you with a grin. “I think that’s a perfect name, for now.”

“Papa, can we tell everyone? All our friends?” Thylane’s face lit up at the thought, and she looked back and forth between you and Lando.

“Soon, Tilly. But for now, let’s keep it our little secret, okay? Just between us.” He leaned down, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That way, we can keep baby peanut all to ourselves a little longer.”

“Our little secret!” She nodded seriously, her eyes wide as she held her finger to her lips. “I’m really good at secrets, Papa. I won’t tell anyone!”

You all just stood there, basking in the warmth and happiness of the quiet moment, Lando had never felt a new kind of peace settle over him. This was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of. A family, life filled with love and laughter, and now, another little one on the way.

Lando let Thylane down, letting her run towards the living room to play with her toys. He reached out, threading his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle squeeze, and kissing it softly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little bit. “For this, for everything. You’ve given me the greatest gift of all.”

You squeezed his hand back, your own eyes shining with emotion. “I love you,” you murmured. “Happiest birthday, my love.”

As Lando held you closely, he realized that this was a happiness beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

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sixeyesonathiel · 1 month ago

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what happens when satoru gojo fakes vulnerability and someone responds with actual care?

a/n: reader using a male avatar so she doesn't get underestimated and satoru using a female avatar to scam his way through life is literally the silliest dynamic i’ve ever cooked up. like hello??? gender who??? one’s silently carrying the whole server with raw skill and the other’s sobbing in sparkles for loot he doesn’t even need. peak clownery. I LOVE THEM.

satoru didn’t play the game to be noble. he played to win.

he lounged on a mossy ledge in aethergate online’s emerald forest, legs swinging above luminous roots, beams of late afternoon light dripping through the tree canopy like syrup. his avatar—a petite girl with tousled silver hair in a wispy bob, watery blue eyes wide with a kind of fragile wonder—sat delicately beside him, barefoot, skirts artfully dirtied, wand trembling in her small hands. she looked like she’d burst into tears if you so much as raised your voice.

and she was him.

he’d picked the flattest chest size the game allowed, for maximum "innocent lost fairy" effect. her voice—filtered through a pitch-tuned modulator—was airy and lilting, like a tearful anime side character two seconds from fainting. her idle animations were rigged to sparkle when she wasn’t doing anything. a helpless deer stuck in traffic. a damsel in distress.

who also happened to be capable of obliterating an elite raid squad with one broken staff and an accidental crit chain.

in real life, satoru slouched deep into his gaming chair, hoodie collar bunched beneath his chin, white hair curling in a sleepy cloud around his head. his bangs hung low over a pair of gleaming, mischief-fueled eyes behind the visor. he stretched, knuckles cracking, before lazily adjusting the mic attached to his cheek. a bowl of half-finished cereal sat nearby, forgotten. his room glowed faintly with neon strips and a flickering holographic map of the game world plastered to one wall.

he was, objectively, the worst.

and today, he was feeling particularly theatrical.

the forest shimmered around him—twilight casting gold against the thick moss, background players flitting through with cloaks trailing behind, the soft ding of system notifications blending into birdsong. a sprite child NPC chased a floating pet butterfly near the stream, while two players argued over loot nearby, their chat bubbles popping like comic panels. satoru squatted in an overgrown fox den, triggering a scripted ambush, and let a swarm of level thirty wolves drag his health bar down to red. he screamed through his girl voice like a starlet in an old movie. “aah~ not againnn~ i’m sooo scaaared~ someone heeelp~!”

just in time, the brush behind him rustled.

you stepped out.

no fanfare, no slow-mo entrance. just calm, heavy steps. armored boots pressed moss flat as you walked into the fray, blade already swinging. three clean arcs. no wasted motion. the wolves fell without even a snarl. your avatar—broad-shouldered, practical, with short dark hair and a jawline like it was carved by someone very tired—stood tall against the dappled light.

satoru’s avatar blinked slowly up at you. perfect mark.

he mashed the sparkle emote.

“waaah~ thankyuuuu~ i was totally gonna diiie~ you saved meee~ teehee~”

you stared. then crouched, dropping a low-tier potion by his feet.

his real grin stretched wide. “ehhh? you’re sooo nice~ i ran out of everythiiing~ do you maybe have a few moreee?”

you paused. then dropped three more. silent.

he squealed for real. in real life, he kicked his feet against the desk.

“i love you,” he breathed through the mic, voice mod still on. but you just nodded once.

and left.

or tried to. satoru scrambled after you like a glittery barnacle. every time you stopped to check your map, his dainty avatar would sit cross-legged behind you, hands folded in her lap. if you set traps, he’d walk directly into them with the most tragic whimper you’d ever heard.

you always helped.

he couldn’t believe how easy it was.

on the third day, he managed to scam your epic raid-earned sword out of you with a long, high-pitched plea and a sparkly spin.

“n-noo~ i feel sooo baddd~ i’m scamming youuu~!!!” he cried, while pressing confirm before you could blink.

and you just... nodded.

no mic. not once had he heard your voice.

but you always turned to face him. always healed him. always gave a little wave at the end of a dungeon. sometimes you’d do a silly dance emote if he pretended to cry hard enough.

he was on top of the world.

until the boss hunt.

he was half-tempted to ghost you when the invite came in. but... he liked the attention. and the freebies. so he showed up, sparkles and all. actually tried a little. even dodged once or twice.

afterward, when the rare loot dropped, he waited for you to start dividing it.

instead, you traded it all to him. the legendary cloak. the mount egg. the enhancement cores. he stared at the trade window, then at your avatar. you stood still, like a sentry carved from obsidian.

his fingers hovered over the confirm button.

“w-wait, are you sure? i don’t— i don’t deserve all this—”

he flicked on the sparkle emote again, panicking.

but you only bowed gently. then waved.

then disappeared.

he stared at the empty space where your avatar had been.

“…what the hell,” he muttered, voice modulator still on.

then, real voice: quiet, almost pouting. “what the hell.”

he sat down in the same mossy spot, skirt fluttering in the still forest air. around him, players sprinted past in the distance, gear clinking, birds chirped lazily, a low-level bard sang off-key to a party of two, while an animated slime NPC bounced in slow circles nearby. the world went on, coded and infinite.

satoru stayed frozen.

then, slowly, he typed.

“did u mean to give me all that stuff?”

an hour passed. the sky dimmed from golden dusk to violet evening. fireflies blinked in and out between fern leaves. his cereal had gone completely soggy.

then:

“yes. u looked happy.”

his visor fogged a little. his fingers paused on the keyboard.

he didn’t log off for another four hours. just sat there, tiny legs swinging off the ledge, face pink.

slightly smiling.

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cleantechwater · 1 year ago

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Know the Basics of Side Stream Filter

Discover the fundamentals of side stream filters with CleanTech Water. Our blog delves into the essentials, offering insights into the benefits and applications. Learn how side stream filtration enhances water quality and efficiency. Explore now for a comprehensive guide.

#side stream filters #wastewater treatment plant

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arrenjo · 1 month ago

Text

Summary: You meet Jack Abbot during a terrible shift as a nurse in labor and delivery.

Notes: After a really shitty shift, this is my coping mechanism. All similarities are coincidences, this is not an actual patient/situation that I have had but rather a mix of many. This is a separate storyline from the Robby series!!

Trigger/content warning: perinatal/intrapartum loss, loss of a child, infant loss (trying to tag/mention words appropriately so that people who have it filtered don’t see the post; the content warning only applies to the first few paragraphs)

You needed air, you needed out of the unit. Your chest felt heavy like you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t lose your composure right here. Ultrasound techs, residents, other nurses from the postpartum unit, and your coworkers were all gathered around in an attempt to debrief what had just happened.

You were a part of the worst day of someone’s life, the day they lost a child, and that always weighed so heavily on you, but this one, this one didn’t make sense. Baby was fine until she wasn’t, you rushed her mom to the OR to get the baby out, but the NICU team worked her for an hour and never got a blip of a pulse. A complete concealed abruption was the cause.

“Need a minute,” You said suddenly and got up out of your chair and headed out of the unit, you felt eyes on you but you didn’t care. You took long, quick strides towards the staircase and up the stairwell onto the roof, your vision getting blurrier by the second. By the time you were crossing the roof, tears were streaming down your face. You ducked under the railing and sat parallel to the roof’s edge, pulling your knees to your chest. The cold air stung your lungs as you sobbed, able to let go now that there was no one around. You don’t know exactly how long you cried for, but when the tears stopped flowing you rested your head on your knees, looking out over the skyline. Your back hurt and you were starting to shiver, it was 4 am in Pittsburgh in November, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You contemplated staying up here until your shift was over at 7, but surely someone would come looking by then.

You didn’t so much as move as the door to the roof opened, you were composed enough now to deal with your coworkers. You stayed in the same position, you weren’t ready to go back in just yet.

“Must be that kind of night,” A man said from behind you, leaning forward on the railing from the opposite side. Not a voice you were expecting. You turned to look at him briefly. He was older, salt and pepper curls and a black scrub top mostly hidden by a black zip up hoodie, you turned back to the skyline.

“A really fucking shitty one?” You countered

“A really fucking shitty one.” He agreed.

“Labor and delivery isn’t supposed to be shitty,” You said, not to him or to anyone in particular, really to just get it out of your system.

“Yeah, but when it is, it’s really shitty…” The man trailed and you were both silent for a moment. “How long have you worked L&D?” He asked.

“Five years. It’s been sad at times, for sure, but what just happened literally doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Your voice broke on ‘sense’ and you laid your forehead on your knees, willing yourself to keep it together. You had the patient volumes, you had seen some real shit, but this one was hard. You felt warmth over your back and arms, he had taken his jacket off and draped it over you.

“I’m really okay,” You said, starting to shrug his jacket off.

“I can see you shivering from here.” He retorted. You paused and closed your eyes, taking another deep breath. His jacket was warm and it smelled heavenly, it was comforting. Coupled with the fact that you didn’t have the capacity to fight with anyone right now, you stayed silent. He leaned on the railing for several more minutes then ducked under the railing and sat down in front of you, your feet inches from his thigh. He stretched his feet out to almost touch the edge of the roof. He leaned back on one of the poles of the rail and he was staring at you when you finally looked back up at him.

“You alright?” He asked. You just barely nodded your head.

“I will be.” You rested your chin on your knees, taking in the man in front of you. You were both silent for a beat, the hum of the city a soft soundtrack from the roof.

“I’m Jack,” He stuck his hand out and introduced himself. You gave him a halfhearted smile and introduced yourself, shaking his hand.

“Thanks for not letting me freeze, Jack. Where do you work?” You could see his badge clipped on the neckline of his scrub top but couldn’t quite make it out in the dim lighting.

“ED,” He responded. You let out a soft laugh.

“Props, I could never.” You said, shaking your head. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Eh, it’s not all bad…” He trailed off, looking out to the skyline. He cocked his head to the side after a moment.

“Just most of it.” He deadpanned. You let out a small chuckle at his crack and he smiled at you.

“Gonna go back in?” He asked, nodding towards the door. You sighed and sat up to stretch.

“We could just hide out here until 7?” He suggested, pulling himself up to stand, you laughed.

“Though I’ve truly considered it, I figure it’ll probably be in my best interest to go back in at some point. Can’t give away our hiding spot, and they’ll definitely come looking.” You said with a slightly more relaxed smile. This night sucked, but the company you were in helped. He was sweet, genuinely concerned.

“Of course, gotta protect the hiding spot.” He said with a small grin. His face changed, a look of genuineness washed over his features as he extended a hand to help you up from the concrete rooftop.

“I’m sorry your night sucks.” He said, his voice soft. You gave him a tight lipped smile and took his hand, pulling yourself up. “Anything I can do for you?” He asked. This man was genuinely so sweet and seemed to care a lot about someone he had just met. The genuine kindness made your stomach flutter.

“No, you’ve actually already helped a lot, thank you.” You said with a small smile. “I’m sorry your night sucks too, but it was nice to meet you.” You added.

“It’s been a pleasure, come hide with me again, yeah?” He asked with a smirk, his tone almost playful.

“For sure, but under better circumstances next time.” You said with a grin and gave him a wink. You let your smile fall and let seriousness fall over your features again.

“I hope your night gets better.” You said softly.

“You too,” he said with a tight lipped smile.

After a moment, you ducked under the railing and started towards the door, turning to look back at him one more time. You caught him watching you walk away and smiled, immediately turning back around and ducking your head so he didn’t see you blush. You tucked your hair behind your ear and opened the door to the stairwell, heading back to your unit.

By the time you swiped your badge to enter the unit, the slew of people had dispersed, which you were grateful for.

“You good?” One of your coworkers asked as you passed her in the hallway. You nodded,

“Better, thanks.” You said with a small smile. “Hey, do you know wh-“

The shrill sound of the staff assist alarm cut you off. You spun on your heel and sprinted in the direction of the alarm. When you got to the patient’s room, she was obviously post-seizure and disoriented. She was combative and screaming about someone trying to kill her.

Two nurses were working on putting her in soft restraints, you took the place of another younger nurse who was frozen in place, asking her to go get medication to help calm the patient down and to call the doctor. You turned to look at the patient when you felt a sharp pain around your eye socket. The patient had slipped out of one of the restraints and you were at perfect height for her elbow to collide with your eye in the midst of her flailing. You staggered backwards, your vision immediately blurry, and fell to the floor.

“Fuck,” you groaned, your hand reaching to cover your eye. You touched something wet and looked at your fingers. Blood.

“Oh, shit.” you heard, and in a flurry, everyone was around you. You were put into a wheelchair and wheeled out of the room. Someone at some point handed you an ice pack. You hissed as you put it to your eye.

“You have to go down to the ER,” someone said from behind you.

“I’ll take her,” another person volunteered.

“No, I’m fine.” You objected. Your head hurt like a bitch but other than that, you were good.

“I already called a code medic, they’re on the way” Another voice chimed in.

“Oh fuck me,” You groaned and leaned your head back. “I’m really fine, tell them to go away.” You insisted, closing your eyes.

“Oh, I’m gonna pretend my feelings aren’t hurt,” a familiar voice said. Your eyes snapped open to Jack crouching in front of you, already assessing. Two things dawned on you in that moment: you were still wearing his jacket, and he was a doctor.

Nothing was wrong with being a doctor, but they usually weren’t as kind or as caring as Jack had been to you on the roof. Most of the doctors you worked with were real dicks to the nurses.

“Lemme see,” He said softly, gently taking your hand with the ice pack away from your eye. His thumb brushed your brow bone and you flinched.

“You’ve got a cut that I think needs a couple of stitches but I can’t tell for sure. I need to get you to the ED to clean you up and look with better light,” He said. “You also gotta have a head CT, that was a hard hit.”

“I’m really fine,” You said, he shook his head.

“Don’t fight me on this,” He warned, “Let me make sure you’re good.” He shined a pen light in your eye and you flinched again. He raised an eyebrow at you, the look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

“Okay, okay. Can I at least walk?” You asked, he laughed and unlocked your wheelchair, already pushing you to the ED.

“Does this answer your question?” He said as he continued walking and pushing your chair.

“Don’t make me roll my eyes, it hurts.” You said with a small smile. He pushed your chair into the elevator and swiped his badge for the ED.

“I didn’t mean to steal your jacket, I honestly forgot I had it on until I saw you,” You filled the silence. Not being able to see his face was making it hard to gauge his reaction. He sighed.

“I wasn’t gonna ask for it back, though you could have used that to see me again instead of taking an elbow to the eye,” He ribbed.

“Oh, yeah, should have thought of that first,” You said sarcastically. He wheeled you into a room and offered a hand for you to stand up. You took it and sat on the stretcher. He turned the overhead light on. You shielded your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,”

“Sorry, give me just a sec, I need to get sutures and lidocaine.” He said, your eyes widened.

“You weren’t kidding about the stitches?” He chuckled and shook his head, starting out of the room. He turned to look back at you in the doorframe.

“Not at all. Keep the ice pack there, I’ll be back in a few. I’ll put you next for a head CT. Any chance you’re pregnant?” He asked, you scoffed.

“Not at all,” You responded. He tapped the doorframe and nodded, disappearing into the hallway. Minutes passed and he was back with a handful of supplies. He sat down on a stool at the side of the bed and laid the head of stretcher back. He set up his workspace and drew up medicine.

“Lidocaine stings like a bitch,” he said. You nodded, closing your eyes.

“Be gentle,” You warned, he chuckled.

“One, two, three, little pin prick and lots of burning.” You did your best not to flinch but hissed as the stinging started.

“Motherfucker…” You winced.

“It will be better in a second.” He said, taking the needle out. A few seconds passed and you felt him touch the skin around your eye gently, you jumped at the initial contact. “Just relax,” He soothed. “I’ve got you.”

Jack set to work on the sutures, it only took about four before he cut the thread.

“All done. CT is ready for you,” He said, sitting the head of the stretcher up and offering you his hand again. You took it and sat down in the wheelchair.

“Now I’m starting to think you’re the one that wants to spend time with me,” You teased. “Hey, do you accompany all your patients to CT or am I just special?” He handed you your ice pack back with an eye roll and pushed you out of the room in the wheelchair.

“You went through such great lengths to see me again I figure you might as well get what you wanted.” He said playfully with a squeeze of your shoulder. You put your hand on top of his as he wheeled you down the hall.

You took a sharp left into CT and he locked the wheels, helping you up onto the table.

“Thank you,” You said softly. He nodded.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

The whole scan only took a few minutes, he wheeled your chair back into the hospital room and helped you sit.

“It’s clear, but you need to go home and rest. You need to stay home for at least 48 hours. You probably have a concussion. Do you have someone that can come pick you up?” He asked. You chewed on your lip and shook your head.

“I can uber?” You asked. He shook his head at you.

“Not a chance, I can take you home.” He said. You laughed.

“Seriously, I get off in half an hour anyway. Stay here, I don’t want you driving.” He pressed. Your head really hurt and you honestly weren’t sure if you had the reaction time to be able to drive in Pittsburgh morning traffic. You nodded once, laying back on the stretcher and closing your eyes.

“I’ll be back in a few and we can go,” He said, flicking the lights off. You weren’t sure how long he was gone, you had dozed off. He woke you by gently rubbing your arm.

“Hey, you ready?” He asked softly. When you opened your eyes, he was staring at you. His eyes full of tenderness and caring, he helped you off the stretcher. He linked his arm with yours as you walked with him.

“Careful, Dr. Abbot. People are gonna get the wrong idea,” You teased with a smirk.

“Just to steady you, can’t have you falling.” He said with a wink. Your stomach did a flip and your cheeks flushed. Headache be damned, this hot ass doctor was flirting with you. You got to the physician’s parking lot where his truck sat and he opened your door and helped you climb in. He started the truck and handed you his phone.

“Type in your address,” he said, putting the truck in reverse. You chewed on your bottom lip.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much? What about my car?” You started to worry. Not that Ubers weren’t plentiful in Pittsburgh, but it seemed pretty out of his way to do this for you.

“I don’t mind, I’m only a phone call away if you need me for anything.” He said. You nodded and typed in your address on his GPS app on his phone and handed it back to him. He took one look at the screen and let out a snort.

“Yeah I think I can handle that.” He said with a smirk. He closed the app off of the phone and started to drive. He wasn’t using the directions and seemed familiar with the surroundings.

“You live close by?” You asked after a few minutes of driving. He nodded.

“You could say that,” He answered. “What apartment number?” He asked as he pulled into a space and put the truck in park.

“417,” You said, gathering your things. He nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging up and got out, rounding the truck and coming to your door. He took your backpack from you and slung it over his shoulder, offering his hand to help you out. You took his hand and slid out of the truck, wincing as your feet hit the ground.

“Thank you for doing this,” You said again.

“Anything to help a neighbor out,” He quipped. You did a double take.

“You live here too?” You asked, your eyes wide. He let out a laugh.

“Not just here,” He responded as he linked his arm with yours again, walking you to the elevator. He pressed the ‘up’ button and the elevator started to descend.

“How’s your head?” He asked, you sighed.

“Honestly? Really fuckin’ hurts,” You grimaced as the loud ‘ding’ of the elevator signaled that it was at the ground floor. Jack stepped on the elevator with you.

“I have Tylenol though, I’ll take some when I get in, hang on, let me get my keys,” you said, unzipping the backpack that Jack had slung over his shoulder. You dug your keys out of the bag.

“So, you gonna tell me which apartment is yours?” You asked, getting off the elevator when it stopped at your floor and walking down the hall to your apartment. He chuckled and shook his head.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” He said.

“Try me,”

“That one,” He pointed at the door marked ‘414’ as you passed it. You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him,

“You’re fucking with me,” You said, studying the look on his face. “There’s no way, I would have seen you before,”

“Okay yeah I’m fucking with you,” You rolled your eyes and scoffed, turning away from him and continuing to walk towards your apartment.

“But you’re still not going to believe me when I tell you.” He said.

“I’m not playing that game twice,” You said as you unlocked your door.

“317,” He said. You spun on your heel as you pushed the door open.

“You live directly below me?” You asked skeptically.

“Honest to God,” He said, fishing his keys out of his pocket and showing you the key engraved with ‘317’. You laughed and looked up at him.

“Do you hate me, just a little bit?” You asked, still in disbelief.

“I’ve honestly never been annoyed, more concerned?”

“I do drop things quite often, sorry,” You admitted sheepishly. You held the door open for him and he walked inside. “It’s kind of a mess, work has been kicking my ass lately,”

“I get that,” He said, taking in your apartment.

“Thank you for everything you did for me, Jack.” You said softly, taking half a step closer to him. He locked eyes with you and nodded.

“Anytime. Can I put my number in your phone, in case you need anything?” He asked.

“That’s incredibly sweet but you don’t have to,” You said, taking your phone out of your back pocket and unlocking it.

“I know, but I want to,” He said, taking your phone out of your hand and typing in his number. “Though I guess you could stomp really loud and I would hear it,” He added, handing your phone back to you with a smirk.

“We can figure out something about your car later this week, or I can drive you to work whenever you’re well enough to go back?” He offered. You nodded.

“That sounds good, thank you again.” You said. He nodded.

“I’m just a phone call away, or a good stomp, if you need me,” He said with a wink, turning to leave. You laughed as he walked out the door.

“Have a good day, Jack.” You said, holding the door open with one foot.

“You too, get some rest. Call me if you need anything,” He said, turning to walk away. You closed the door behind him, and then realized you still had his jacket on.

You contemplated opening the door again, but you opted to keep it for now, he could get it back later— right?

#the pitt #jack abbot #the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you

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faithsmadhouse · 16 days ago

Note

streamer!max who lets lando record you and him fucking.

Smile for the Cameras||Streamer!Max Verstappen x Reader (feat. Lando Norris)

Summary—max like showing you off and you like that attention.

Warnings: Voyeurism, filming, degradation kink (light), praise kink, oral (f receiving), rough sex, possession kink, implied masturbation (Lando), intense eye contact, verbal control, aftercare

Word count—1348

A/n finished this three days ago forgot to post it

The apartment’s still bathed in the soft glow of Max’s RGB stream setup when he closes the door behind him. The air hums with leftover energy—electric, sharp around the edges. One of Max’s arms loops around your waist possessively. The other hooks into Lando’s hoodie and tugs him forward like he’s reeling in a fish.

“I said you could watch,” Max mutters, voice low and hot against your ear, “but only if you film it right.”

Lando stumbles into the room, awkward and flushed, his usual cocky smirk nowhere in sight. His eyes flick from you to Max to the bed, like he’s not sure where to land. His mouth opens—maybe to ask a question, maybe to back out—but no sound comes.

Max doesn’t wait. He grabs the camera from his desk: sleek, expensive, something he only brings out for certain content. He hands it over to Lando like it weighs nothing, but the way Lando’s hands fumble says otherwise.

“This isn’t a stream,” Max adds, almost casual. “No chat. No subs. No filters.”

He steps behind you, large palm sliding up your stomach beneath your shirt, dragging it up until your ribs are bare and your breath hitches.

“This is for me. And for you,” he adds, tossing Lando a loaded glance. “So don’t fuck it up.”

Lando’s voice finally cracks out of him, thin and unsure. “Are you—are you serious right now?”

Max just laughs under his breath, mouth brushing your neck. “You think I’d let you through the door if I wasn’t?”

He grips your chin next, fingers firm but careful, and tilts your face toward his. His gaze is heavy. Not possessive yet—but close.

“You okay, baby?” he asks. The kind of question that sounds like a command. “Need you to say it. Loud enough for our guest.”

You nod first. But then you speak.

“I want it.”

Max smiles. Not soft. Crooked. Dangerous. His thumb brushes the side of your throat as he kisses your jaw, then turns to Lando.

“You hear that?”

Lando nods. Wordless.

Max’s smile sharpens. “Then start filming. Or get the fuck out.”

Lando jumps a little, the camera clicking on with a faint beep. He raises it like it shields him, holding it between his hands like it might bite him otherwise.

“Focus on her,” Max says as he guides you toward the bed, letting you sink onto the edge. “Keep it steady. I don’t want that shaky Twitch bullshit.”

“I—okay,” Lando mutters. He’s already red from the neck up. His gaze flicks over you, then snaps back to the camera’s tiny monitor like that somehow makes it less real.

Max starts peeling off his shirt, slow and unhurried, watching both of you with the same lazy intensity he gets when he’s ten rounds into a shooter and already winning.

“Jesus,” Lando mutters under his breath. “This is fucking insane.”

Max chuckles, tossing his shirt aside.

“You’re not backing out, are you?”

Lando doesn’t answer right away.

His eyes lift, meet yours for a beat. Something flickers in them—not just arousal, but a question. A plea for reassurance that he’s not crossing some unspoken line.

You give him the smallest nod.

And maybe that’s all he needs.

Max sees it, too. He watches the quiet exchange with a tilt of his head, then steps in between your legs and rests his hands on your thighs.

“See that?” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. “She wants you to watch.”

He leans in, brushing his lips over your ear, voice darker now. “She gets off on it.”

You shiver under his hands.

“She’s mine. But she likes to be seen,” Max continues, like he’s explaining how you work. For the camera. For Lando. For himself. “And I like letting people know what they can’t fucking have.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. Then another to your mouth. And when he pulls back, his voice is soft—just for you.

“You’re still good?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Color?”

“Green.”

Max smiles again. “Good girl.”

Then he looks at Lando, and the softness vanishes.

“You better be filming.”

The camera clicks into sharper focus. The tension breaks into heat.

And the show begins.

Your back hits the mattress, and Max is on you in seconds, dragging his shirt over his head, eyes locked to yours like he’s daring you to look away. You don’t. Not when he spreads your legs. Not when he kneels between them and drags his tongue slow and firm through your folds, growling against you like he needs it more than oxygen.

“She’s already wet,” Max murmurs, voice rich and smug for the camera. “Are you watching this?”

You moan, high and open, hips bucking up—but he pins you down with an arm over your stomach, glancing back toward Lando.

“She’s so fucking needy. Always like this when someone’s watching.”

Your thighs shake when he sucks your clit between his lips, relentless and messy, groaning like he’s trying to swallow every sound you make. You grip the sheets, eyes fluttering shut.

“Eyes on him, baby,” Max warns, dragging two fingers into you with a wet snap. “Look at Lando while I make you cum. Let him see how pretty you break.”

It takes everything in you to lift your head, to meet Lando’s eyes behind the lens. He looks stunned, stiff as a statue, face burning—and fuck, it only makes it hotter.

You cum hard and fast, with Max’s name spilling from your lips and Lando’s breath hitching audibly. The camera dips, like his hands are shaking.

Max pulls back, mouth and chin slick with you, wiping it off with the back of his hand like it’s nothing. He gets to his feet, strips the rest of the way down, and fists his cock—already hard, red and leaking.

“She cums so easy for me,” Max tells him. “And I’m not even inside her yet.”

When he presses into you, it’s all at once—deep, possessive, overwhelming. You cry out, clinging to his shoulders, and Max groans right into your mouth, biting at your lip as he starts to move.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he breathes, snapping his hips. “Say it for the camera.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper.

He fucks you rough, steady, one hand gripping your jaw so tight your bones ache, the other sliding down to rub your clit again.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Max pants, voice hoarse and drunk on you. “Fucking tight. Takes me like she’s made for it.”

The bed creaks beneath you. Sweat sticks to your chest. You’re drowning in him—his weight, his words, the heat of his body—but the camera never leaves you. You feel Lando’s gaze like it’s physical, like it’s burning your skin where the lens touches.

Max grabs your face again, forces you to look up. “You think he’s touching himself?”

You whimper.

“He’s gonna cum to this for weeks. Knowing he watched me wreck you first.”

You spiral, eyes rolling back, and Max groans your name like a prayer.

“That’s it. Cum for me. Let him see.”

You break on a moan so loud it drowns everything else out. Max fucks you through it, unforgiving and breathless, before he finally shudders, curses, and buries himself deep inside you with a growl.

The room is silent, heavy with sex and sweat and heat.

Max leans over you, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then your mouth—gentle, grounding, his hand brushing damp hair from your face. “You good, baby?”

You nod, spent. Barely able to speak.

Lando is still standing there, camera hanging limp in one hand, the other clenched in a fist at his side.

Max glances over, smirks.

“You wanna see the footage?” he asks, lazy and smug. “Might have to make you film the next one too.”

Lando swallows hard.

And doesn’t say no.

#f1 smut #f1 x you #formula one x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula one x reader #f1 x female reader #formula one x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #faiths inbox #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x you

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mead-iocre · 5 months ago

Text

Housemates | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: just platonic housemate things x

warnings: kind of suggestive

word count: 1.9k

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You couldn't sleep.

You have been lying in bed, in the dark, for the past hour just staring up at the ceiling. You tried to distract yourself with your phone, scrolling through tiktok for a few minutes before you eventually got bored and decided the silence was better company.

But now the silence was too much.

Shaking off your duvet, you heft yourself out of bed, mentally cursing the cool rush of cold air. You debated slipping on a pair of pyjama pants, but decided against it. You only ever went to sleep with an oversized t-shirt. Braless, and pants-less.

You don't even bother slipping on your slippers, opting to just tiptoe your way out of your own room. Feeling for the doorknob, you twist it open.

A dull, gray light filters through the windows, a weak moon casting long shadows across the living room as you dart past, tiptoeing across marble floors. You regret not wearing your slippers.

You squint in the dark, recognising the faint outline of the sofa, its upholstery frayed in places. Next to it the dark wood surface of the coffee table is engulfed by lingering shadows. You couldn’t even guess the time— if it was late night, or early morning.

Your footsteps were unhurried and confident as you climb the stairs, step by step. It was almost like you were in a trance. The short journey was natural, instinctive— habitual, almost.

There were definitely perks to having such a great housemate. When you first moved to London, you weren’t expecting to live with a footballer. Your older sister had told you that an old friend of hers from sixth-form had a spare room to rent out, and you immediately jumped at the chance to live in central London for a really, really good price.

You certainly weren’t expecting the old friend to be Leah Williamson, captain of the women's national team.

Making your way to the only room in the second floor, you push the door open with zero hesitation, as if opening the pages of a well-worn book, already prepared for what you were about to see behind the doors.

You see a mass of dark hair peaking out of the covers first, dark and inviting.

The only light that spills into the room is faint. Shadows of moonlight peek through the edges of the curtains. It enters the room, pooling into the corners, tracing the outlines of the furniture in ghostly, quiet silver. The streams of light touch the edges of the bedspread and trace the curves of the headboard, highlighting the subtle grain of the dark wood interior.

Tiptoeing over to one side of the bed, you clear your throat loudly before you shake the figure awake.

“Wake up.”

A quiet moan sounds from beneath the covers. You roll your eyes, already annoyed at the extra company. You’ve done this routine far too many times at this point. You feel for a bony shoulder and nudge it again, a little harsher this time.

“Oi. Up you get, c'mon” You raise your voice a little louder. Since when did scaring random women out of your housemates' bed become your part-time job?

The stranger finally wakes up. She opens her eyes, squinting up at you, a look of annoyance written all over her face.

Sadly for her, you could not find it in you to care one bit.

She was pretty, to be fair. Minus the smudged black eyeliner decorating her face and the pillow lines across her cheeks.

Must've been a wild night then.

You ignore the sudden twinge you felt in your chest.

The mystery woman speaks. “w-whats going on?”

Good thing she’s not a screamer like some of the others.

"Did you not hear me the first time? Get up and leave"

The woman turns to Leah who is still fast asleep and nudges her, as if asking for help. These woman are all the same. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, shifting on your feet. The floor was cold and you’d ideally like to be underneath warm covers right now.

"L-Leah..." All she gets is a groan of annoyance. The woman in question shifts further away from her bedmate until she is nearly at the end of the bed. You couldn't help but chuckle, quickly masking it with a hand over your mouth when a noise unintentionally escapes your lips.

Unfortunately for you, this one was stubborn and desperate.

She fishes her arm out from under the covers and shakes Leah’s shoulder even harder. When she realises that her one night stand wasn’t budging, she finally sits up against the headboard.

The blanket falls slightly off of her frame, exposing one bare shoulder.

There’s that weird tight feeling in your chest again.

You advert you eyes to the sleeping blonde with her back turned towards you. You were tempted to grab a pillow and start smacking her until she woke up. The annoying fucker.

"Who even are you?" The woman pipes up, her voice scratchy, like nails on a chalk board.

"Her fiancée."

You could've cackled straight to her face at the way the woman's eyes widen like saucers, looking back and fourth between you and the blonde’s back.

But then you hear a low chuckle from the other side of the bed.

Thank god.

“Leah, tell your little friend here to leave”

The Lionesses captain rolls over to face you the both of you, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes. She raised her arms up to stretch, giving you a peak of a black Nike sports bra.

The small smile she gives you is full of Williamson snark, as if she fully anticipated the sight before her. You weren't new to kicking her one-night endeavours out of her bed, and it's almost as if she found some weird enjoyment out of this.

Finally she address her new buddy. “You should go”

“Excuse me?” The audacity of this woman.

“You heard my fiancée, get out.”

The woman doesn't wait a minute longer. She huffs, throwing off the blanket muttering under her breath. You swear you heard her utter “bastard” somewhere in there.

Luckily, she was semi-dressed, wearing a strapless bra and a pair of underwear. You had seen far too many naked bodies before and you would ideally like to not see any more.

She grabs her clothes littered all over the floor, half-assedly throwing them on as she fumbles with buttons and zippers. Her movements were sharp, impatient, as she darts all over the room. Without a glance back at the two of you, she scurries out, slamming the door behind her.

Turning back to the blonde, you find her sitting up and already staring at you. Seeing her one-night stands run around like headless chickens the morning after was the norm for the blonde. While she explicitly states that she’s in for a good time, not a long time, others do still like to push their luck.

Luckily, you’re there to snap them back to reality.

"Well...she seemed nice"

The England captain rolls her eyes, flopping back on the bed. "You scared her off"

Scoffing, peeling back the covers and slide in the now empty space beside her. The spot has been kindly warmed up for you, how nice. “Want me to call her back in here then—?”

You make a move to get back out of bed, but Leah grabs your wrist, tugging you down and draping the covers back over you.

“Nahh, I’ve got you now. Can’t sleep?”

“No.” You sit up, leaning half of your body up against the headboard. You’ve been in and out of sleep the past couple of hours. “That’s why I’m in your bed”

“To talk?”

You side-eye her, sensing an accusatory undertone. “Yeah. To talk”

“Besides,” You poke her on the arm. "I’ve got to keep my fiancée in check"

You share a laugh.

"Wasn't as bad as the time I called you my wife" Leah chuckles, low and breathy. She turns to you, sharing a smile as you both reminisce the pure look of horror on that poor woman's face.

Fun times.

Before you could say anything else, Leah moves over, laying her head on your chest and getting comfortable again. She had the worst case of bedhead, you think to yourself as you look down at the mess of blonde locks.

You smile as you run your fingers gently through the soft strands of blonde.

She hums at the action, her body visibly relaxing. She seemed to take it as a sign to scoot closer to you, so she does. She drapes an arm across your waist, dragging you closer to her own body, snuggling further into your side. The blanket wasn't the only thing offering you warmth right now but you ignore that fact for now.

You both bask in the silence for a minute. While you were preoccupied, trying to comb through her hair, you failed to notice sly fingers curling under your oversized t-shirt.

Your breath hitches as a warm finger strokes the skin by your hip. For a split second you freeze, but then you remember it's just Leah.

It’s just your housemate.

Her finger continues to caress the lace resting on your skin before she makes a humming sound again, to herself, as if in deep thought.

After a while, she speaks again. Her finger not having left your skin. "This is new”

You hum in agreement. It was indeed new. A cheeky little purchase from Agent Provocateur, a gift to yourself after the shitty week you’ve had.

“It's lace,” a finger hooks into the band, pulling it away from your skin briefly. "…and satin, huh"

Her fingers dance across the scallop lace details by your hips, caressing the material like this is a normal occurrence between housemates. The air between you is thick with the weight of what isn’t being said.

You let her, selfishly enjoying her delicate touch against your skin.

"yeah," clearing your throat, you squeeze your legs together for a moment, praying she didn't notice. But you doubt that when the gentle touches move down to your bare thigh, massaging the tense flesh.

You try to ignore the urge to keep your leg still instead of pressing it further into her palm, a greedy little thing. Her touch is soothing and natural. As if this is all a regular occurrence. You continue, "It's from their new collection— it’s pink”

You're not sure why you felt like you had to share that information. It's almost as if you were tongue-tied and can only focus on the fingers still tracing patterns on your skin.

Leah shifts slightly, squinting up at you. Pretty blue eyes meet yours, scanning, searching for something. The air between you thickens, charged.

"yeah?" she murmurs, her voice low and husky. Traces of sleep still linger in her voice and you find yourself oddly lulled by the sound of it.

You nod, adverting your gaze. Lately, you've found yourself unable to meet her eyes at times. You focus on combing her hair back, the bangs she had cut short a few months ago now long enough that it drapes over her eyes.

She continues to look up at you, cerulean blue eyes almost yearning for your attention again. You couldn't ignore them from your peripheral, so you will yourself to meet them with your own.

Whatever she sees in your eyes seem to dictate her next move. She drops her gaze to where her fingers are slowly pulling up your t-shirt, exposing bare skin, until they grant her a peek of magenta pink lace.

“oh yeah,” She agrees, more to herself. As if it was necessary for her to see it with her own to eyes.

She smirks that annoyingly attractive smile before she lets the shirt drop back down over your hips. You can almost taste the air she breathes, a sharp sweetness that clings to your tongue. “s’nice, baby.”

Leah runs her hands over your hips, above the shirt. She’ll keep the memory of pretty pink against your bare skin tucked safely in the back of her mind; cradled in the quiet, sacred corners of her thoughts, where nothing but longing stirs.

She then slides her fingers back under the material again, keeping them there, her touch less hesitant and firmer this time. You won’t be surprised if you find finger marks around your hips and thighs tomorrow morning.

You feel her thumb start to rub circles on your bare skin again, moving greedily against the lace. Her breath fans your neck, close enough that you could just about feel her lips, whispering a secret only meant for you. “I like those on you"

oh to be platonic housemates with a hot football player (who also happens to notice when you’re wearing new underwear) x

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

#leah williamson #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine #my fics #woso one shot #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson x you #spoiled!reader #spoiled!reader stories #leah williamson x reader

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silkensago · 3 days ago

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a package deal

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ dick grayson x fem reader. fluff. — 2.7k words ⭑ haley’s the sweetest dog you’ve ever met. her dad’s… pretty cute too, you guess. not that you’re thinking about him. a lot. or at all. he only hired you to dog-sit. but he keeps asking for you back, even on nights he stays home. and when nightwing starts showing up, you don’t realize you’ve been falling for the same man twice.

You sit cross-legged on the hardwood floor, sunlight streaming through the loft windows, brushing down the back of Haley’s fur in long, gentle strokes. She makes a soft huffing noise of contentment and flops onto her side, tail swishing.

“Perfection,” you murmur to her, scratching behind one of her soft ears. “That’s what you are.”

“I know,” comes a smug voice from behind you. “She takes after me.”

You glance over your shoulder. Dick Grayson is leaning against the doorway with a mug in hand and that ever-present glint in his eye. He’s in a loose henley and joggers, his dark hair still slightly damp from a shower. Completely unfair.

“You’re too cute for your own good,” you mutter.

He raises an eyebrow, looking almost proud.

“Thank you. I’m blushing.”

“I could not have been more clearly talking to the dog.”

He walks past you to set his mug on the coffee table, reaching down to ruffle Haley’s head. “We’re a package deal.”

You bite back a smile. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shutting up now.” He bends down and kisses your cheek like it’s nothing. It doesn’t make your heart stutter slightly in your chest. Totally. Not. Because you’re super professional and it doesn’t matter how handsome or nice to you Dick is, it’s just… routine. Absolutely nothing more. Just business as usual.

Haley stretches out with a yawn and rolls onto her back, begging for belly rubs.

“Haley,” You whisper conspiratorially. “I think your dad needs to get his hearing checked.”

She lets out a soft sneeze that feels a little too much like agreement.

Later, Dick finds you in the kitchen, struggling to twist open a stubborn jar of pasta sauce.

“Need some help?” he asks, appearing behind you. You jump and nearly drop the jar. This man was sneakier than a shadow sometimes.

You glance over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes. “Why should I listen to you? Last time you tried to help, you almost broke the blender making smoothies for Haley. I still don’t think she’s forgiven you.”

He shrugs, grinning. “I’m her dad. Of course she does.”

You roll your eyes and hold the jar tighter. “Do I have to let you do it?”

He leans in, flashing his dimples at you. Ugh. Of course he has dimples. “Yes. Because I’m ridiculously handsome and impossible to resist.”

“Excuse me?”

“You were staring.”

“I was squinting. Glaring-adjacent.”

“Still counts.”

He leans in just a little, and you catch the faint scent of his cologne—clean and warm, with a subtle hint of vanilla and citrus. You hate how much you like it.

Without a word, you hold out the jar.

Dick takes it and opens it in one smooth twist, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Show-off.

—

The night you stay over, you’re tucked into his ridiculously soft guest bed, wearing a tank top and cute, tiny pair of cotton shorts. Haley hops up beside you, pacing once or twice before settling at your feet like a miniature guard dog with fierce loyalty.

You hear a soft knock at the door.

“You decent?” Dick’s voice filters through, lazy and amused.

You crack the door open just enough to peek out. “Define decent.”

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, a fond smile playing on his lips as he looks you over. Your insides squirm from the attention.

You scoff and reach down to scratch under Haley’s chin. “Your dad is—”

“Trouble?” Dick finishes for you with a raised brow.

You nod solemnly. “That.”

He chuckles quietly, eyes flickering to the tank top you’re wearing—his logo clear and unmistakable. Cute.

“Nightwing fan, huh?” he asks, amused.

You shrug. “Who isn’t?”

For a moment, his usual confident posture falters—his gaze drops briefly, and there’s a faint flush coloring his cheeks before he clears his throat and looks back at you.

He chuckles quietly, breaking the moment. “I asked you to stay tonight because Haley gets anxious when I’m working late or on those random emergency calls. I know she’ll be okay with you here,” he says, voice softening. “And honestly? I don’t mind the company either.”

He’s never mentioned work in front of you before, and you’ve always wondered what his job was. Maybe a firefighter? Modeling? You’ve definitely seen him on a few magazine covers, and you’ve only known him a few months, but somehow, you’re convinced no normal job could fully contain his personality. You glance up at him, surprised by the honesty.

“Besides,” he adds with a crooked grin, “someone’s got to keep me from binge-watching bad crime dramas all alone.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “So I’m just your dog-sitter slash bad TV watchdog?”

He shrugs, stepping back with that familiar cocky grin. “Yup. Lucky you.”

“Don’t be silly,” you say, nudging the door open a little wider. “I’ll watch them with you.”

He blinks, just once, like he hadn’t expected you to say yes so easily. But then that grin of his deepens—real, quiet, warm. You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.

Haley’s already curled up and snoring like she owns the place, and you realize that maybe this night, awkward or not, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

—

A few days later, you’re walking Haley around the block just after sunset, the sky still streaked in fading purples and deep blues. The air is warm, the quiet hum of cicadas buzzing in the background as you tug your hoodie tighter around yourself. It was supposed to be a short stroll, just some light post-dinner exercise. Haley’s trotting happily beside you, leash slack in your hand, until–

A hand clamps over your mouth.

Your heart spikes as arms hook around your waist and haul you backward. You try to scream, but it’s muffled against a gloved palm. Haley barks as you drop her leash, sharp and feral, No, no, let her go!, her nails scrabbling against the pavement as she tries biting at legs that you can’t see, but you’re already being dragged toward a dark van parked just out of view beneath a flickering streetlamp.

You hear her soft whines fade as you’re dragged away, and you clench your jaw angrily.

They picked the wrong dog sitter.

You’re shoved into a dark van under a streetlamp that flickers weakly, like even it knows something shady’s going down.

The guy in the passenger seat pulls out a phone and dials, practically giddy. “Yeah, we got her. The girl. Pretty one with the dog. Yeah. Nightwing’s girl.”

You blink, disoriented. “Wait—what?”

He covers the phone, peering down at you. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not playing,” you say, still trying to orient yourself. “Is this about the one time I accidentally shoplifted, like, twenty packs of mozzarella string cheese from Trader Joe’s because I forgot they were at the bottom of my cart?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“What?” says one guy. The other just stares at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“I went back the next day and paid for them, by the way,” you add, because, even under the threat of possible death, your moral compass refuses to shut up.

“No,” the first guy says slowly, like you’re the idiot here. He lifts the phone to his mouth again and mutters under his breath, but still loud enough for you to hear:

“Yeah… Nightwing’s girl is kinda stupid. Real cute, though.”

You blink. “Wow. Rude. And for the last time—I’m not Nightwing’s girlfriend!” you shout, equal parts annoyed and terrified, somehow still managing sarcasm from inside a van that looks like it moonlights as a mobile organ-harvesting operation.

“Wait, you’re not?” one of your kidnappers asks in confusion.

“She’s not?” echoes another, the disbelief so stupid it almost makes you laugh.

“Never mind, you can shoot me now,” you mutter.

Except you don’t give them the chance.

You drop your weight low, twist your hips the way you learned years ago in that self-defense class, and drive your foot between the leader’s legs with more precision than a brain surgeon. He drops like a stone.

The van door bursts open in the same breath, a crack of air and motion colliding as a streak of blue and black descends from above.

Nightwing lands in a crouch and as he stands up his hand flies to his mouth, the white eyes of his mask widening to a comical degree while surveying the scene of three grown men groaning and curled on the floor around him.

His gaze lands on the one gasping for air with his hands between his legs, and then on you—panting, but standing tall.

“Ouch,” he mutters under his breath, blinking once. “Even I felt that.”

Afterward, you sit dazed on the curb, wrapped in a blanket courtesy of some poor local EMT. Nightwing crouches beside you.

“You did good,” he says, voice lower than you expect. Kind of familiar even, but there’s no way. That’d be weird. Your head is just jumbled up from being kidnapped earlier. “Quick reflexes. Nice kick.”

He pauses, voice softening. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

Your eyes widen as panic suddenly strikes you. “Wait—Haley. Where’s Haley? Sweet little pitbull, big blue eyes, softest ears—please tell me she’s okay.”

Nightwing’s lips twitch into something between a smile and a smirk. “I checked. She ran all the way to the nearest police station. Smart girl. She held her own.”

Relief rushes through your chest so fast it makes you a little dizzy. “God. I can’t believe I left her—”

“You didn’t plan on getting kidnapped,” he says simply, his tone steady and reassuring. “She’s safe. You’re safe. That’s what counts.”

Then, as if on cue, Haley barrels into view, leash trailing behind her, tail wagging wildly as she launches herself into your lap.

“Haley!” you gasp, practically crushed under the weight of her excitement as she covers your face in frantic, sloppy kisses. You laugh, blinking through tears. “Okay, okay, I missed you too—”

“She’s the reason I found you so fast, by the way.” Nightwing adds, standing beside the two of you now. “Not that you needed me.” He grins sheepishly, scratching his cheek.

Haley lets out a happy little huff, tongue lolling out as she turns to Nightwing expectantly. He crouches down and pats her head, and she melts into his hand like she’s known him forever.

You squint at the sight. A weird wave of deja vu washes over you. Like you’ve seen this scene before. But no, that couldn’t be. This is the first time either of you have ever met Nightwing. Then again, Dick did say she loves everyone. Even strangers.

Still. The way she looks at him—tail wagging with a pat-pat-pat against the ground, body relaxed, happy—it scratches at something in the back of your brain.

But you’re too tired to chase it. For now.

He offers you a lollipop, holding it out with a small, boyish smile.

You blink at him. “Do you always carry candy in your utility belt?”

“Usually for kids,” he says, voice softer than usual. “You earned it.”

You hesitate, but take it from him. Your fingers brush his glove—warm, steady—and it lingers just a second longer than necessary.

“You calling me a baby?” you ask, popping the lollipop into your mouth. Yum, strawberry.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “If the shoe fits,” he murmurs, voice rich with something unreadable.

Your pulse stutters and you smirk, trying to shake it off. Haley wags her tail faster, sat between the two of you. “That supposed to be flirting, or are you just bad at compliments?”

His lips twitch as he raises a hand to scratch Haley behind her ears. “Why can’t it be both?”

—

You’re in your kitchen, the warm smell of chocolate chip cookies filling the air as you carefully pull a tray from the oven. Tonight, you’re bringing them over to Dick’s place. It’s a small peace offering—or maybe just an excuse to see him.

Before you can wipe your hands on a towel, a familiar voice comes from the doorway.

“Ah, love that smell,” Nightwing says, leaning casually against the frame like he’s done it a hundred times.

You freeze, eyes wide. “Dude. Did you just break into my house.”

He shrugs sheepishly, an infuriatingly charming smile playing on his lips that was unfortunately working on you. “Can’t a guy visit his baby?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

You flash back to that night — the rush of adrenaline as he dropped from the shadows, the men who grabbed you, Haley’s sloppy kisses on your face, the sweet taste of strawberry candy, his voice low and steady as he told you you were safe now.

He winks. “I remember how much you liked my lollipops.”

You blink as your cheeks warm. The sheer audacity. “Okay, first of all, gross. Never say that again. Second—what?”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he says, wandering over like this is normal behavior and not highly illegal. Guess rules don’t apply to superheroes when they're too busy fighting people who break them. His gloved hand reaches toward the tray of still-steaming cookies.

“Do not touch those, they’re—”

“Hot, hot—!” he yelps, shaking his hand after you, predictably, let him grab one. He blows on the cookie dramatically, then takes a bite. “Mmm. Five stars.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to smother a smile. From the way his eyes twinkle and the not-so-guilty grin on his face, you can tell this isn’t his first time pulling this exact stunt. You shake your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

He beams at you, still chewing. “If you give a mouse a cookie…”

You sigh, jug in hand already pouring. “...he’s gonna ask for a glass of milk.”

Nightwing accepts it with a chuckle and a soft thank you, the sound warm and achingly familiar.

Something akin to home.

—

It happens slowly, like the puzzle’s been coming together in the background without you even realizing.

The lollipop.

The voice.

The subtle bruises he brushes off.

The way Nightwing always shows up when you’re in trouble.

The way he takes off during weird hours of the day, calling you if you could watch Haley for him while he’s gone.

You lie awake that night, staring at the ceiling.

You hear movement from the living room.

Quiet footsteps. A rustle of fabric. The soft click of a window closing.

You sit up.

Your heart pounds.

You step out and see him standing by the window, pulling a hoodie on over—

Blue.

Black.

Gloves.

His hair is mussed. His cheek has a shallow scrape. He freezes when he sees you.

“…Oh,” Dick says.

You blink.

“No,” you whisper, realization blooming like a sun flare behind your ribs. “You’re Nightwing?”

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “In my defense… I never said I wasn’t.”

Your jaw drops.

“You absolute—!”

“Before you yell,” he says, hands raised in surrender, “I’d like to remind you I just saved your life. Again.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

You stalk toward him and jab a finger into his chest. “You flirted with me as Nightwing.”

“Technically, I flirted with you as me. You just didn’t know it was both. Also,” He grins, “Doesn’t my ass look great in spandex?”

You groan. Then collapse against his chest.

You can’t even fight back at that.

“…I’m going to kill you,” you mumble into his hoodie. He smells so good. Too good. Damn him.

“Please wait until after I take you to dinner.”

You shove at him. He laughs.

Later, curled up on the couch in his arms, Haley snuggled happily between you, you stroke her velvet-soft ears. The movie's long forgotten, the room washed in the warm, quiet hush of almost-sleep.

“Has there ever been a time when you didn’t expose me to danger?” you murmur.

Dick hums thoughtfully. “About... eighty-seven?”

You elbow him. “I’m thinking of a number between one hundred and infinity.”

“You wound me mortally,” he says with a grin, voice lazy against your hair.

Then he adds, “What about that time I tried to make pancakes and accidentally set your smoke alarm off three times in one morning?”

You lift your head just enough to glare at him. “That counts.”

He chuckles, smug and unrepentant.

You smile drowsily and nuzzle into his shoulder again, Haley’s soft snores grounding the moment.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, brushing his lips to your temple. “We’re a package deal.”

You glance down at Haley, who kicks in her sleep, then sighs with the contentment of someone deeply loved.

You snuggle closer. “Works for me.”

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #dc x reader #dick grayson x female!reader

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cooltechgulfsblog · 8 months ago

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Protecting Your Cooling Tower: A Filter's Tale

Anything that uses cooling systems would be good to invest in a cooling tower side stream filter. These filters provide a high return on investment by lowering maintenance costs, protecting equipment from damage, and enhancing water quality. https://livepositively.com/protecting-your-cooling-tower-a-filter-s-tale/

#cooling tower side stream filter

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pitlanepeach · 1 month ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, so much fluff, strong language

Notes — This is my favourite chapter so far. Out of all 32. It's also a long one, so grab a snack and send me your thoughts!

2023 (Belgium — Japan)

The light in Nice always felt soft, like it was passing through a filter of sea salt and old stone. The sun hadn't reached its full height yet, and the market was still in that gentle hum of mid-morning, not too busy, not too still. Just alive enough.

Lando walked half a step behind Amelia, letting her pace guide them through the maze of stalls and awnings. She wasn't a talker in the mornings, not really, and that suited him just fine.

She stopped at the long flower stand, fingers trailing over a bunch of pale yellow ranunculus. He didn't say anything, just watched her examine the petals with her usual precise sort of softness. Then, after a pause, she looked back at him and tilted her head slightly.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a crumpled bill, handed it to the vendor without a word. Amelia's lips curved just a bit.

Two stalls later, she passed him a tiny basket of sliced figs drizzled in honey. He didn't ask where she'd gotten it or how much it cost. He just took it and pressed a kiss to her temple, because of course she would know he was hungry before he even had a chance to say anything.

They moved like that; in orbit, but in sync.

At one point, a vendor selling lavender soap called out to them in a thick accent, something about being a "cute young couple." Lando smiled, striking up a polite conversational exchange. Amelia didn't say anything. After they passed the stall, she reached down and laced her fingers through his, without looking.

She didn't do that often — didn't like to be the one to initiate physical contact, especially in public.

He felt it in his heart every time she did.

They stopped near a stall selling fresh olive bread, and Amelia pulled out her phone, tapping something into her notes app. Lando leaned over.

"What's that?" he asked, voice low and warm.

"List of food I like," she murmured. "Reminding myself."

He nodded. She paused, then handed him the phone wordlessly. There were twenty-seven bullet points. He scrolled through them.

"You liked the brown seeded rolls yesterday too. With the chilli jam," he said. "I'll add that."

She didn't reply. Just looked at him for a long second, then blinked, slow and deliberate. That was the silent Amelia version of I love you — subtle, but unmistakable.

They wandered on.

At the end of the market, they sat at a chipped café table and shared a small tart filled with goat cheese and roasted tomato. Amelia leaned into his side without thinking, her head resting on his shoulder as she chewed, still watching the crowds drift by.

Lando let his hand fall into her lap and tangle gently in the fabric of her skirt. Hers moved to rest over his without needing to look.

They didn't speak much.

And that was the thing with them. It wasn't just that they loved each other — it was that they understood how the other one loved. In gestures. In silence. In half-smiles and shared fruit and shoulders leaned into shoulders in beautiful, morning-sleepy cities.

—

The MTC sim room was cool and quiet, lit by the blue glow of monitors and the soft hum of tech. Amelia stood with her arms folded, watching the data stream from Oscar's run, her expression intensely focused. She didn't speak until the run ended and the rig slowed to stillness.

"Turn 7's still sloppy," she said bluntly.

Oscar pulled off the headset and blinked at her. "Define 'sloppy.'"

"Four degrees too aggressive on throttle reapplication. You're losing rotation mid-corner, which is fine when tyre life doesn't matter, but it will in Spa." She passed him a tablet with the graph already up. "Look."

Oscar studied it. "You memorise this?"

"I don't memorise, per se. I just... know it." She paused. "I'm pattern-oriented. You keep breaking the pattern. It's very irritating."

Lando, seated cross-legged on the floor beside the second sim rig, laughed. "She's not wrong. You are driving like a goat on ice in that sector."

Oscar shot him a look. "You crashed in Miami trying to out-brake a Williams."

"Shut up, mate." Lando stood, brushing imaginary dust off his joggers. "Alright, my turn. Fix me, genius wife."

Amelia arched a brow. "You want feedback?"

"I'm asking for it, yeah."

"Good luck," Oscar muttered, climbing off the rig.

They traded places, and Amelia slid the headset onto Lando with surprising gentleness, muttering something under her breath that only he could hear. Whatever it was made him grin.

Lando's sim run was cleaner, smoother — but not perfect. He clipped a curb on Lap 3, losing the rear slightly. Amelia exhaled loudly through her nose.

"You always hit that curb," she said. "Every year. Just lift earlier."

"I'm trying. The curb keeps coming at me," he groaned, throwing her a grin through the screen.

"Don't be stupid," she shot back.

Oscar snorted. "She's brutal today."

"She's always brutal." Lando sighed. "But it's helpful, so..." he shrugged.

Eventually his run ended. Amelia crossed to his console and tapped a few notes in; suggested setup tweaks, minor aero preferences. Lando watched her hands work.

"You're so smart, baby. How do you do it, hm?"

She didn't look up. "I watch. I notice things. I write them down. Easy"

He smiled. "You're like a high-functioning racetrack AI."

Oscar added dryly, "That occasionally hits things when she's angry."

"That too," Lando agreed, with a lopsided smirk.

Amelia looked up at both of them, expression unreadable for a beat. Then she said, very softly, "You're idiots."

Oscar grinned. "That's a compliment from you."

Lando moved to nudge her shoulder, but she stepped out of reach — except not out of irritation, just anticipation. She knew exactly what was coming.

"You're going to try to gang up on me now," she stated.

Lando blinked. "Why would we—"

Oscar pounced first, grabbing her wrist and lightly jabbing at her side. "We would never," he said with mock innocence.

Amelia shrieked and jerked away, but Lando joined in, carefully — always mindful of her reactions, but not holding back so much that it felt patronising. His fingers found her ribs, tickling just enough to get her laughing — real, loud, unfiltered laughter.

"Stop! I hate this!" she wheezed, kicking at the air as she twisted out of reach.

"You're smiling," Oscar said.

"That's involuntary!" She yelped, breathless.

They finally relented, letting her drop onto the padded bench near the wall, still catching her breath. Her face was flushed, her hair askew, and she looked... radiant with happiness.

"Jerks," she muttered, but her voice was light.

"You love us," Lando said, crouching beside her.

"Only sometimes," she said flatly.

Behind them, just outside the glass-panelled door, Zak stood watching.

He hadn't meant to intrude. He'd only come by to drop off a briefing packet. But when he'd seen the three of them — his daughter, laughing and safe, surrounded by two young men who not only respected her mind but held her heart with equal reverence — he'd stayed where he was.

He didn't move. Didn't interrupt. Just watched for a little while longer.

Amelia, who'd grown up unsure of where she fit. Amelia, who used to hide in closets with puzzle books. Amelia, who didn't make friends easily but somehow had forged these bonds — raw, steady, honest — with Oscar and Lando. A best friend and a husband.

Zak blinked hard.

When Lando looked up a few minutes later and spotted him, he just gave a little nod. Not a word passed between them.

Zak nodded back and slipped away.

Inside the sim suite, Amelia stood again, brushing herself off.

"Back to work!"

Lando and Oscar groaned in unison.

"Fine," she said. "But if either of you miss apexes like that in Spa, I'll point and laugh at you on live television."

"You'd love that," Oscar said.

"She would," Lando added. "Humiliation. She likes embarrassing us."

Amelia just smirked, already queuing up the next run. "Well. I'm not ruling it out."

And as the next session loaded, the screen filling with the digital outline of the track, she brought her hand up to apply a heavy load of pressure to her hip.

Grounding. Safe.

—

Later, much later, the sim rigs had powered down for the night.

Amelia sat alone on the low bench, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Not in discomfort; she wasn't overwhelmed. She was just... processing.

Oscar had ducked out a few minutes earlier, mumbling something about protein bars and his "cramped spine." Lando had promised to bring back coffee. That left her here, in the comfortable lull, with space to think.

Oscar.

It had taken her a while to really begin to understand Oscar Piastri on a personal level. He was quiet, like her. Dry, like chalk. Flat-voiced in a way that people often mistook for aloofness. But Amelia had recognised it immediately — that instinct for silence. The calm observation. The way he didn't try to fill air that didn't need filling.

He had become somewhat like a younger brother to her — not in the way people throw that phrase around when they mean someone's simply "less experienced," but in the very real, familial sense. She worried about him. Checked his telemetry obsessively. Snuck 'drink water/have a snack' notes into his strategy folder. Looked for signs of overwork in his eyes before every qualifying session.

And he, in the way Oscar was able, quietly looked after her too.

He never flinched at her directness. Never called her intense or difficult or cold when she snapped out instructions without pleasantries. In fact, he appreciated it. He understood that when she called something "icky," it wasn't a personal attack; it was an opportunity for precision.

After a race where she'd gotten particularly sharp with him over comms, he'd found her in the engineering room, dropped a packet of salted pretzels on her desk, and said, simply, "You were right. I just wasn't ready to hear it in the moment."

And that was all.

That was the kind of person Oscar was. He saw her and he didn't need to explain that he did.

And then there was Lando.

The loud to her quiet. The warmth to her ice. The one person on earth who could decipher her entire emotional state by the mere shape of her shoulders, or the angle of her fingers curled around a water bottle.

They were married now, still new enough to feel surreal when people called her "Mrs. Norris" in emails, but the foundation they stood on had been built long before the vows. He was the only person she could touch when her skin physically hurt from overstimulation. The only one who could joke with her during a meltdown and have it feel safe instead of cruel.

Lando understood her chaos. He never tried to change her, only to interpret.

Like when they were in the grocery store, and she couldn't bear the way the overhead lights buzzed, and he just... squeezed her hand once, without saying anything, and then diverted them to the sunglasses section and slid a funky pair onto her nose.

Or tonight, when she'd needed the sim session to be productive, and he'd let her lead, followed her notes, asked questions only when her tone said she was open to them.

And then — when she was finally starting to relax, he'd poked her ribs and made her laugh until she curled up on the floor.

Lando gave her a kind of emotional mirroring she'd never thought possible. Like her feelings were real and reflected, but never judged. He loved her not just in spite of who she was, but because of it. Bluntness, hyper-focus, sharp tongue, and all.

Very quickly, Lando and Oscar had become one of her safe zones.

One was home. The other had become family. Both made the world feel a little less jagged.

She rested her cheek against her knees and exhaled.

They didn't tiptoe around her needs. They didn't act like they were noble for understanding. They didn't talk about her like she was a puzzle or a pet project. They just treated her like Amelia; sharp, driven, autistic, brilliant, flawed, enough.

It was rare to feel seen. Rarer still to feel seen and protected.

The door eased open then, and Lando returned, holding two takeaway cups. He handed her one wordlessly, sat down beside her, and bumped her knee with his.

"Hey, baby. You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." Her voice was soft. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

She smiled. "I'm just feeling grateful, actually."

Lando tilted his head. "For?"

"You," she said simply. "Oscar. All of it."

He didn't tease her this time. Just leaned his head against hers for a second, warm and grounding.

"You're my person," he murmured. "My wife. My love."

She nodded. "I know." She whispered. "And you're mine."

—

Spa

The rain hadn't started yet, but it always smelled like it was about to in Spa. The mountains curled thick and green around the paddock, clouds hanging low. Amelia tugged her Quadrant hoodie sleeves over her hands and squinted at her tablet. Oscar's long run data looked steady, rear temps maybe a touch high, but manageable.

She heard the approach before she looked up. Soft-footed, deliberate. Someone in flats, not heels.

Oscar appeared first. Then, behind him, a woman with the exact same eyebrows and the same unbothered stillness in her eyes.

"Amelia," Oscar said, ever direct, "this is my mum."

Nicole Piastri smiled. warm and unfussy. "Nicole. It is so lovely to finally meet you."

Amelia didn't immediately move. Not because she didn't want to, but because her brain caught on the sudden shift in social rules; the expectation to greet, to be personable, to be human-shaped instead of work-shaped. She blinked once, then reflected the woman's smile as best as she could.

"Hi," she said. "Sorry. I was looking at tyre deltas. My brain's still... there."

Nicole just smiled. "Oscar warned me."

Amelia turned her head. Furrowed her brows. "Warned you?"

"He said you'd be brilliant but a bit intense. That I'd like you." Her tone was easy. No condescension, no forced warmth. Just observation.

Oscar folded his arms. "Didn't say 'a bit intense.' That was Mum's addition."

Nicole raised a brow. "You said she made a Ferrari engineer cry once."

Amelia blinked again. "He ignored my pit safety brief three times."

Nicole laughed, not unkindly, and that was the moment Amelia relaxed, just a fraction.

"I like your son," Amelia said simply.

"I'd hope so," Nicole replied. "You're guiding him."

Amelia nodded. "He listens. He understands things without needing them repeated. He's good."

Nicole gave her a look. "He's also stubborn and sometimes pretends he isn't tired when he absolutely is."

Oscar made a wounded sound. "Mum."

"True," Amelia said, folding her arms. "I've started watching for the eye-rubbing thing. It's his tell."

Nicole grinned. "Exactly."

There was a beat. A moment of quiet. Amelia stepped back slightly, giving herself a little more breathing room from the interaction. Nicole didn't follow, didn't press. She just let the silence exist.

That, more than anything, made Amelia feel at ease.

"You're welcome to come sit in for the long-run review," she said. "If you want."

Nicole's eyebrows lifted. "You'd let a driver's mum sit in?"

Amelia shrugged. "If it were any other mum, maybe not. But you raised Oscar. And he doesn't let nonsense slide. So I assume neither do you."

Nicole beamed, warm and wide. "You really are as blunt as he said."

Amelia nodded. "I'm autistic. Directness is safer for everyone."

Nicole, without missing a beat: "Well, I'm Australian. Directness is our native language."

Oscar looked between them, then shook his head with a half-smile. "This is going to be terrifying."

"Don't be dramatic," Amelia said, already turning back to her screen.

Nicole patted Oscar's shoulder, but her eyes lingered on Amelia with quiet gratitude.

She saw it.

Not just the brilliance, but the care.

And for a mother watching someone else guide her son at 300 km/h, that mattered more than anything.

—

It had rained sometime during the night — Amelia had heard it, soft and steady against the hotel room window, the kind of sound that settled right into soul and lulled her into deeper sleep. But now the world outside was damp and quiet, and inside, everything smelled like Lando: clean cotton, a little citrus, faint cologne lingering from yesterday's press outfits.

She was already awake. Always woke up earlier on race days.

Propped against the headboard, hair still messy from sleep, she had her iPad balanced on her knees — telemetry overlays already pulled up from FP3, tyre strategy notes highlighted in orange and blue.

The bed shifted as Lando stirred beside her.

"Mm... it's so early," he mumbled, voice rough and slow. "Why are you working already?"

"I'm not working," she replied, glancing down at him without shifting her hands. "I'm just reviewing."

He cracked one eye open. "That's working."

"I'm not writing anything new," she said. "I'm checking the data I already have. That can't be classed as work."

Lando groaned dramatically and rolled onto his side to face her. One arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back down into the pillows, iPad and all.

She made a small protesting noise, stiff in the unfamiliar position, but didn't push away.

"You're not a robot," he murmured against her shoulder. "You're allowed to spend your morning being sleepy and stupid—like me."

"I know," she said. Bbut being still had always been difficult. There was always something to check, a variable to account for. "But I always feel better when I've gone over it one extra time."

He was quiet for a moment. Just breathing. Then he kissed the bare slope of her shoulder, soft and deliberate.

"Alright," he whispered. "One more time. And then you let it go for an hour. Just long enough to have breakfast. With me."

She didn't answer straight away. He felt her fingers tap lightly against the back of his hand — the same rhythm he'd learned years ago. The one that meant she was thinking. Processing.

Then, finally, she turned her head and nudged his forehead with hers.

"Okay," she said. "One hour."

He smiled, satisfied.

They stayed like that for a while. Her eyes flicking between data points. His thumb tracing lazy circles against her hip beneath the blanket. They didn't need to speak — didn't need to fill the air with reassurance. That was the magic of it, really. They understood each other in silences too.

Eventually, Amelia closed the iPad with a decisive click.

"Tyre data's solid," she said quietly. "Oscar'll be fine. Track temps are stable. We're good."

Lando pressed a kiss just beneath her ear. "You always say that. And you're always right."

"I'm not always right," she replied, voice flat but self-aware. "But I am today."

He laughed and leaned up on one elbow, eyes crinkling. "God, I love it when you sound like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you believe that we're going to win."

She blinked, then tilted her head a little. "You are going to win. Or close to it. I can feel it."

"Feel it, huh?"

"Yes. Based on my extensive logic and my faith in both of you."

"That's a dangerous combo." He grinned, then leaned down to kiss her — soft, not rushed. The kind of kiss people only share when they've been through everything together and still feel like choosing each other again in the quiet moments.

When he pulled back, her hand was resting lightly against his jaw.

"You good?" he asked. "Like... really good? For today?"

She thought about it. Then nodded. "Yeah. I'm regulated. My head's clear."

He smiled at that — the way she named her emotional state like an engineer running diagnostics. He loved that about her. Loved that she'd learned to say it, and that she trusted him with the truth.

"Then let's go race," he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.

And for a few more seconds, they just breathed, tangled together in a warm, sleepy cocoon, before the noise and chaos of race day swept them back into the world.

But for now, in this tiny window of stillness, they had each other.

— The air was heavy. Dense with mist, thick with tension, and wet enough that Amelia had already pre-loaded five different strategy trees before the lights went out.

Oscar had out-qualified Lando again.

She was laser-focused on Turn 1. Always Turn 1. Always La Source.

Amelia's fingers hovered over her tablet. Not touching—just tapping in the air beside it in a rhythm: four slow, one sharp. Then again. And again.

She didn't have to think as she walked Oscar through the formation lap. It came to naturally now, like a dance you couldn't forget.

Lights out.

"Oscar launch good," came one of the spotters in her ear.

She blinked. Tracked the orange blur to the inside line.

Then a flash of red, Sainz's Ferrari. sweeping across far too aggressively.

The sound in her headset crackled with team chatter, voices overlapping. She tuned most of them out and locked in on Oscar's feed just in time to see his onboard camera jolt. Not a bump. A collision.

The screen stuttered. Then black.

"Yellow flag. Incident Turn 1. Piastri, Sainz. Debris."

Amelia didn't speak.

"Amelia?" It was one of the performance engineers. "Oscar's saying steering is compromised. Damage right side—maybe suspension."

Still, she didn't speak. She tapped once against her palm. Hard. Her throat clenched. The pads of her fingers tingled like they did when she short-circuited.

She hit the comms.

"Oscar. Talk to me."

"Yeah—um—something's broken. I can't turn right properly. Think it's done."

And it was. Less than a lap.

She closed her eyes, just for a second, trying not to fall into the spiral. Not here. Not now. There was a job to do, Lando was still out there, but Oscar was her driver. Her ducky. He trusted her implicitly. And now, for no fault of his own, he was crawling back to the garage with a wounded car and nothing to show for it.

The red mist tried to rise in her chest—anger first. Not at Oscar. Not even really at Carlos. Just at the sheer waste of it. The injustice. The gut-punch of preparation ruined by recklessness. The voice in her head hissed, He finished the sprint in P2 yesterday. He deserved better than this.

She pulled her noise-cancelling headset tighter. The extra pressure helped, grounding her in physical sensation. She curled her toes in her shoes and focused on her breath.

Lando's voice broke through on the other channel, calm despite the chaos.

"Hey—did Oscar retire?"

Will gestured for her to respond.

"Yeah," she said, quietly. Then louder, "Yes. First corner damage. Focus up."

"Copy." A pause. Then softer, "That sucks."

It did. It sucked.

But Amelia didn't get to crumble, even though every part of her was fraying. She was still on the pit wall. Still working. Still leading.

Oscar's car was pushed back into the garage. She caught sight of him from across the paddock—helmet off, jaw clenched, walking quickly past the media scrum with his shoulders stiff. She didn't call him over. Not yet. He needed a minute. So did she.

By the time Lando crossed the line in P7, she was steady again. Not okay. But functioning.

—

Oscar was sitting on a flight case, race suit peeled to his waist, water bottle tucked under one knee. Amelia sat beside him without asking.

"You alright?" She asked.

He gave a dry laugh. "I made it fifty seconds. New record."

She didn't try to make him feel better. That wasn't her way. Instead, she said, "You made the right decision boxing the car immediately instead of dragging a damaged car around the track. Steering arm was shattered. You did everything right."

He nodded, but his mouth was tight.

She nudged her elbow against his.

"Still proud of you," she said.

He finally looked at her. "Even after I didn't finish a lap?"

"Especially then," she replied. "You stayed calm. You brought it back safe. You're my driver, Oscar. One racing incident that ends badly for us doesn't erase that."

His eyes softened, just a little. "You're getting sappy."

She rolled her eyes. "No I'm not. I don't even know what that means."

That made him laugh, a small honest noise, and she counted that as a win.

—

They had a brief respite in Monaco before heading to Zandvoort.

They looked at a few apartments. Didn't like any of them.

When they arrived at Max's place for dinner on the Wednesday, he took one look at their downtrodden expressions and laughed. "It is always more difficult the second time."

—

Zandvoort

The race at Zandvoort was marked by unpredictable weather. Lando finished P7, while Oscar managed to finish just inside of the points — P9.

Amelia saw it all unfold from the pit wall, her eyes scanning the monitors. The intermittent rain was a nightmare.

After the race, she found Lando in the garage, reviewing data.

"You did well," she commented.

He looked up, surprised. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "You adapted to the conditions very well."

He cracked a smile, pulling her into a brief embrace. "Thanks, baby."

That night, as they lay in bed, the sound of rain tapping against the window, Amelia whispered, "I'm really, really happy, Lando."

Lando tightened his hold on her.

—

They escaped to Lake Como for a short break between race weekends.

On the first morning of their mini vacation, they took a boat out onto the lake. Amelia sat at the bow, the wind tousling her hair.

"This place is so beautiful," she said. "Everything looks like something you'd see in a movie. Or on Pinterest."

Lando was steering the boat. He glanced at her and nodded toward his disposable camera, "Take some pictures, baby."

She picked it up and brought it up to her eye, squinting through the mini viewfinder.

He watched her fondly.

—

Monza

At Monza, Lando finished P8.

Things didn't go so well for Oscar.

Amelia let her head fall into her hands as the confirmation of the penalty came from the FIA.

"Shit," she muttered.

Her dad gave her a sympathetic grimace.

—

Japan

Amelia's fingers were a blur. Tip of her pen flicking rapidly against the plastic corner of the radio console. Three taps, pause. Three taps, pause. She hadn't even noticed the motion — her go-to stim when her body couldn't contain everything pressing up behind her ribcage.

Oscar was crossing the line. P2. Behind Max, of course; but ahead of Charles, ahead of Lewis.

And Lando... Lando was P3.

"Piastri, across the line — that's P2! Double podium for McLaren!"

The garage exploded; engineers leaping into the air, radios dropped, shoulders clapped, bodies turned into celebratory chaos.

But Amelia stayed locked in her seat at the pit wall, still staring at the screen, her breath stuck like static in her chest.

She couldn't move. Not yet.

Oscar's voice cracked through her headset, just the barest edge of disbelief in his normally even tone.

"Holy shit. Amelia. We did it."

She exhaled sharply, finally, a sound like relief and triumph tangled together.

"You drove it," she said, her voice clipped but shaking. "You followed every direction. Managed the tyres well in every stint. Well done, ducky."

"Wouldn't have got here without your mad plans." He was laughing, light and breathless. "Tell me I wasn't hallucinating this whole race."

"You weren't," she said, and suddenly her throat closed up, emotion catching on the edges of her usually flat tone. "This is real."

Will's hand landed on her shoulder, not jarring, just grounding, and she blinked up at him, eyes wide and wet.

"You can go," he said softly. "Garage's already heading to parc fermé."

She stood on instinct, legs shaky. Her hands were flapping now — the stim automatic, rapid-firing like her brain needed somewhere to put the excess. Pride, relief, noise, lights — it was too much. And it was perfect.

—

The second she caught sight of them — Lando and Oscar, helmets off, both laughing like kids who'd just stolen something valuable, it hit her like a gut-punch of joy.

They'd done it. Both of them. Her husband. Her driver.

Oscar caught her first, jogging toward her as the crowd swelled behind the fences.

She barely got a word out before he threw his arms around her.

It wasn't their usual style; they weren't overly physical, weren't the sentimental type. But she folded into it with a small, shocked laugh, her hands fluttering uselessly against his back.

"You really are mine now," she mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm not letting anyone else engineer you ever again."

Oscar pulled back with a crooked grin. "No complaints here."

And then she saw him.

Lando, weaving through the throng, his eyes locked on hers even before she noticed he was moving.

He reached her in four long strides and didn't say a word — just pulled her in, full-body, sweaty, burning fuel smell and all. His arms wrapped around her waist, grounding, safe. "You did this," he whispered into her ear. "You did this."

She shook her head, face pressed to his shoulder. "No. You and Oscar. You drove so, so well."

His hand was in her hair now, warm against her scalp. "You made the car better. You kept Oscar calm. You brought us here. You're the one who held it all together."

And suddenly, she couldn't stop the tears.

Not loud or dramatic — just silent, uncontainable release. Her body started rocking a little, barely perceptible — a comfort motion, side to side, tiny and rhythmic. She pressed her face harder into Lando's shoulder, hiding it the way she always did when the emotions got too big.

Overwhelmed. Elated. So proud she could barely breathe.

Lando didn't flinch. He just held her tighter and whispered, "I've got you, baby. It's okay."

Oscar was still hovering nearby, giving her space now, but watching with a half-smile, the kind that said he understood. And in a small way, he did.

Because Oscar had learned her tells. Her voice drops when she's overstimulated. Her stimming when she's overwhelmed. Her flinch when unexpected noise hits too hard. And still, he trusted her implicitly. Trusted her to guide him through a Grand Prix like Spa, where one mistake could end everything.

And now they were here.

P2. P3.

Double podium.

Amelia finally looked up, eyes shining, flapping her hands once more to bleed off the weight. Lando caught one, laced their fingers, and kissed the back of it without a word.

Zak was there too — in the background, watching. And for a moment, he didn't see his driver or his race engineer or the numbers on the screen.

He saw his daughter, overwhelmed but alight with joy, held safely between two young men who'd become her fiercest allies. Her husband, her teammate, her family.

He smiled to himself. He didn't say a word.

She didn't need him to.

—

The post-race buzz was elevated. Team shirts were drenched in champagne, and the McLaren hospitality tent was buzzing with an electric excitement.

Amelia didn't usually do broadcast interviews, that was more Lando's territory. But this time, after this race — a double podium, both drivers flawless, Sky had requested her by name.

The paddock mic stand felt too tall. She adjusted it twice.

"Amelia Norris," the reporter began brightly, mic held between them. "First of all, congratulations. Double podium for McLaren — Lando second, Oscar third — how are you feeling right now?"

Amelia blinked. Twice. She hadn't stopped moving since the chequered flag. Still hadn't properly eaten. Still had telemetry fragments dancing in her brain. She opened her mouth, paused, and then nodded slowly.

"I feel... good," she said honestly, voice low and a little clipped. "A bit overwhelmed. But proud. They both drove amazingly today. Especially Oscar. He nailed every brief."

There was something endearing about her calmness — like she was one breath away from shutting the whole operation down to explain exactly how Oscar had maximised delta windows through Sector 2.

The interviewer smiled. "And fans have been picking up on your dynamic with Oscar, especially from the radio. You called him 'Ducky' today — again. Can you talk us through that? Where did the nickname come from?"

Amelia blinked again, then huffed, not irritated, just... caught slightly off guard.

"I give people nicknames when I trust them," she said simply. "'Oscar' is what everyone calls him. 'Ducky' is mine."

There was a beat of silence, the reporter briefly stunned by the directness. But it wasn't defensive or awkward — just the truth, laid bare like everything Amelia said.

"Well, it's clearly working," the reporter recovered, grinning. "Because his defending against Perez and Charles today was phenomenal."

"Yes," Amelia said. "Because we planned for it. He did exactly what I asked of him."

"Did you expect a podium today?"

"I expect possibility," she said, quick. "Expectations are dangerous. But the data said we could be there. And then Oscar delivered on it. So did Lando. That's why I build cars. That's why I stay up all night running simulations. For this."

Her hands moved a little as she spoke — stimming subtly, thumb flicking against her palm. But her voice was steady.

"Would you call this the best day of your season so far?" The interviewer asked, lowering the mic slightly.

Amelia took a breath. Looked out toward the pit wall, where orange and black were still gathered like a tide of fire. Lando was being hauled in a bear hug by one of the engineers. Oscar was still helmeted, leaning back against the barrier and grinning in that quiet way he always did when something mattered to him.

Then she turned back to the camera, deadpan:

"Yes," she said. "But I plan to beat it."

The interviewer laughed. "Love it. Thank you, Amelia. Congratulations again. And give our best to Oscar and Lando."

She cracked a tiny smile, adjusted her headset, and turned back toward the garage, already thinking about what she'd tweak for Quatar.

—

They were supposed to be taking a break from apartment hunting.

It was a quiet, post-race Monday. The heat was clinging to the Côte d'Azur like a second skin.

And sure, their little two-bedroom near the Port had started to feel a touch claustrophobic. Not because it wasn't nice — it was. It had been their first proper home. But between Lando's racing gear, Amelia's engineering schematics, and the six different pairs of shoes he was tripping over daily, the place was bursting at the seams.

Still, they weren't in a rush.

Until Lando had said, offhandedly over breakfast, "Should we just go see that listing from yesterday? The one with the big balcony and the weird layout?"

She had blinked, then nodded. "I did like that one."

"And?"

"Okay. Sure. Let's go."

So they did.

They ended up viewing three places that day. One was too sterile, the kind of cold marble and glass aesthetic that made Amelia feel like she'd been dropped inside a very expensive hospital. Another had a stunning view, but a persistent echo in the living room that made her skin crawl. It was the kind of sound most people didn't even notice. Lando did — but only because he noticed her the second she tensed up.

Then came the last one.

The agent had apologised in advance. "It's a bit... odd," he'd warned, as they stepped into the building.

Amelia, eyes scanning the corridor, shrugged. "So are we."

Lando grinned.

The apartment was on the top floor — a penthouse. A strange little split-level with slanted ceilings and sun that pooled in lazy patches across the wood floors. Amelia felt it first — not a lightning bolt, but a quiet hum under her ribs. She wandered through the kitchen, into the living room, and paused.

There was a swing.

A proper sensory swing — heavy canvas, anchored securely into a ceiling beam. It was suspended just off the floor in the corner of what looked like a reading nook, draped in soft light from a low window.

Lando stopped just behind her.

"Oh," he said, voice going quiet.

Amelia didn't speak. She walked straight to it, ran her fingers along the reinforced ropes, then sat down slowly. She shifted, testing the weight, and the swing gently curved to cradle her. The instant pressure across her hips and lower back was like flipping a switch in her chest — her breathing slowed, the tension in her shoulders eased.

It felt like being held.

Lando crouched in front of her, hands braced on his knees. "You like it?"

She nodded once. "It's perfect."

He didn't need to ask why. He already knew.

Amelia rarely explained her sensory profile to anyone. But Lando had learned it like a second language — not because she asked him to, but because he wanted to. He knew the way certain fabrics made her retreat, how sharp noises cut through her thoughts like glass. He knew the difference between her shutting down and zoning out. And more than anything, he knew what it meant when she found something that made her feel safe.

He tapped the side of the swing gently. "We could put a second one on the balcony. So you can stargaze."

She blinked. "You sound like you've already decided that we're moving in?"

"You decided," he said, standing up and offering her his hand. "You just didn't say it yet."

She took his hand. He pulled her up slowly, kissed her temple, and added with a smile, "You did say you liked this one."

—

They got home late. Amelia lay on the sofa, bare feet tucked under a throw blanket, Lando stretched out with his head in her lap. Her iPad was open beside her, a checklist of questions about the new apartment left half-ticked. But neither of them were talking.

They didn't need to.

Amelia was stimming softly, tapping the curve of Lando's shoulder in a light rhythmic pattern. He hummed when she changed tempo, like he could feel her thoughts moving.

"It felt right," she said, finally.

"I know."

"I don't mean just the swing. The light. The acoustics. Even the flooring. It was all right."

"I noticed," he murmured. "Your hands didn't twitch once while we were there."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "It felt like it was built for me. Which is statistically improbable. But still."

"Maybe it was waiting."

She looked down at him. "Places don't wait, Lando. They're inanimate structures."

"But what if this one did?" He said, eyes half-lidded. "What if someone built it weird on purpose so that one day a very particular girl with a very particular brain would walk in and go oh, this feels like home?"

Amelia blinked. Her mouth twitched. "That's not how architecture works."

"It's how love works, though."

She blinked again, slower this time. Then leaned down and kissed the side of his head.

When she pulled back, she whispered, "Let's make it ours."

NEXT CHAPTER

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