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leclsrc · 8 months

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wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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2-braincells · 23 days

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had some very interesting experiences with men and fiber crafts today.

at lunch i was embroidering some cute flowers on a pair of jorts and a male friend of mine came over and was like "omg u can knit??!" and i was like. "uhm. no. i can embroider tho." (i didnt know how to knit at the time)

then later, once a friend had taught me how to knit for the play were doing, my male teacher saw me knitting away and was like "oh! u were sewing while getting your hair done? awesome!" (were figuring out hairstyles for the play and are time crunching) and again i was just like. "erm no i was knitting." my teacher was like "its a gender thing. us guys cant tell the difference" (he was joking. probably.)

then when i was telling these stories to my mom after school, my dad yelled from the basement that he knew how to knit. later, when i was ranting abt how different the crafts are, but how i could understand some being mixed up, he was indignant. so its not a gender thing.

anyways i perhaps could understand crocheting and knitting being mixed up. and maybe embroidery and sewing if u really know nothing. but both these guys got a yarn craft and a thread craft swapped 😭

#rain's brain #anyways i can now sew embroider knit and crochet.#im collecting them like thanos collecting infinity stones #fiber crafts #knitting #embroidery

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faetreides · 2 months

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i cant stop thinking abt yan boyf!sej :(

hes so awfully lovetsruck its actually quite sickening, its vomit inducing. like hes calling u the most awful pet names, begging for your attention like some starved dog in the streets and do not mention when u talk to people!! he isnt coryo level insane in the possessive or deadass murdering people way but hes just a lovestruck puppy boy :(

(he called u his little cream puff after he came in u)

No because he'd be such a puppy bf like :(

You could be in public, and he'd actively have to hold himself back from humping your leg and whining to get your attention. He cuts it close though, crowding your space at an Academy Party or a Gala of some sort and gluing his front to your side. He'd lean in and straight up pant in the crook of your neck, gritting his teeth and covertly wiggling his hips against as much of your ass as he can reach. The idea of trying to be good and keep it in his pants loses its' appeal rather quickly, so he concentrates on lapping his wide tongue over your pulse point. He knows perfectly well that the man who you are trying (and failing) to talk to hasn't left, he just doesn't care. Plus, don't think he hasn't noticed how friendly you've been getting with him at other events.

"Babydoll, do you think it'll be much longer? I'm tired, let's get outta here."

Cries like he's about to be hanged when he cums and slobbers all over your tits as he babbles out a stream of "Thank you" 's. You have to tell him that he can stop thrusting, his brain having melted so much that his puppy brain makes him chase another orgasm despite being in so much pain. It's automatic for him, you're just so warm and wet and silky that he forgets that he has other things to do with his life besides making love to you until his heart gives out.

Even when you finally get him to snap out of it, he'll trap you in a messy kiss that's more about swapping spit than anything else and weakly pump his hips. He just thinks you'd look sooooooooo pretty with a swollen belly, his whines about he'd such a good pa are almost worse than his usual dirty talk.

You'd be walking anywhere in the capitol and you wouldn't go too long without hearing a "Wait up, honey bun!"

You don't have the heart to find a way to ditch him when you see how deep and wide his smile is, how his cheeks must hurt from the pure joy he gets from doing literally anything with you. He's glowing, you're sure he'd be kicking his feet and giggling if he wasn't too busy racing to catch up with you.

Falls over himself in his rush to hand you a pen when you say to yourself that you've forgotten one. He nearly trips and falls onto another student, but you can't help but mirror the bashful grin he tosses your way as he hands you his pen. He makes your fingers touch for too long before he lets go but he's screaming gleefully on the inside. Presses the softest kiss against the lock of hair he nabbed when class was over, the newest addition to his collection.

Modern!Sej would 100% have "cream puff" as your contact name.

faetreides 2024.

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wenutted · 2 years

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SAGAU and co-oping w/ your friends

Because I can't write anything unless it's mildly chaotic.

[Reader isn't a god in this scenario, the characters are simply just aware of yours, and their existence.]

[TW/CW; swearing, bad grammar, my brain kind of just melts halfway through the first sentence]

How had this happened, again?

Diluc had been battling against some hilichurls, an energy that felt like they were boring into him guiding his movements. However, after a moment the world seemed to pause, and the 'eyes' that circled him swiftly turned their attention towards something else.

Diluc peeked towards you, ---- who was messing with the menu -- before turning his attention to the motionless hilichurls.

Suddenly all of Teyvat snapped back a few moments, three more figures -- and by extension, three more mysterious voices -- appearing.

"OH EM GEE, HI GUYS :D"

"omg deeluc. so hawt"

"HIIIIII"

"U all cant retrain your excitement, can you?"

"You *"

"Restrain *"

"****"

"st.fu"

"LMAOOOO"

From that point onward, everything went downhill.

You and your friends had swapped to a team of him, Kaeya, a member of the Fatui, and a middle aged man.

"AYYYYOOOOO, WHAT UP? IT'S YA BOI, CHILDEEEEE"

Diluc never liked the Fatui. Or your friends.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There aren't many things that can scare Aether

But the three Lumine's, who are all circling him like some type of cult?

That terrifies him.

He doesn't even know where these sadistic beasts came from.. they kind of just appeared, each being followed by another being, like how you'd follow him.

These voices began yelling out profanities as soon as they appeared, swinging their vessels' blades directly through him.

You would scream and strike back, but after a bit, you had suggested dueling against Andrius.

This appeared to have appealed your comrades, as they all quieted down, agreeing.

Although it didn't last long, as they soon directed their attentions towards the Wolf of the North.

"AY AY AY AYA AY DUDE STAY BACKPLEASEMYPOORBABYHASLIKE2HP" "**************************"

"lmao just get better at the game"

"tell that to ur lvl 12 xiao"

"dont talk to me or my son ever again"

"HAH"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#genshin impact sagau #sagau #genshin impact #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin x reader #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #tartaglia #childe #kaeya alberich #zhongli #aether #lumine #traveler #xiao #crack

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kyber-crystal · 10 months

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For requests, maybe something with rooster where you like to play little tiktok pranks on him. like imagine telling him you paid $200 for premium air in your tires or supergluing a jar and he can't open it lol 😭😭 I just think he would have the best reactions to all of them

HAIJHSOJNSOJXN I JUST BUST OUT LAUGHING READING THIS (also despite being on tiktok i’m not super up to date on all the pranks bc they haven’t shown up a lot on my fyp. but i HAVE seen some stuff here and there so i will mostly be going off that haha). anyway i’m so sorry this was genuinely so cringe bc i haven’t done headcanons in a while but i hope it makes u laugh anyway :)) i have a better one shot coming your way i promise

rooster is the prankster of the group

but there’s only one person that can outdo him: you

this man practically falls to his feet when he sees you and worships the ground you walk on and somehow YOU CANT SEE IT

what this basically means is he will literally drop whatever he’s doing to listen to you

miraculously, cyclone is in a good mood, and thus decides to grant everyone three days off

this is the perfect time for you to mess with little rooster’s head :)

you know you go to the beach to play volleyball every friday. and this friday is supposed to be the hottest day of the month

this means that rooster will burn almost as quickly as he tans

while he’s busy chatting up some “game plan” with coyote, you swap out the sunscreen spray in his jacket pocket for baby oil

SO THEN he comes over to put it on, and not even ten seconds later he’s all shiny and sparkly and you try your hardest not to laugh (and gawk a little bc holy that man is TONED)

you’re able to get about 2 rounds in when he notices

“why do i smell like i just waltzed through a lavender field.”

“hmmmmmmmmm no idea” you smiled at him innocently

“it was you, wasn’t it” and he goes chasing after you as you shriek at the top of your lungs

(he managed to tackle you down and although you get a bit sand in your mouth and hair you count it as a win because you took him completely by surprise AND you got to see his bare chest but you wouldn’t fucking dare admit that to him, his ego is big enough as it is. rooster 0-you 1)

ok later that evening @ the hard deck, he’s on a phone call with one of his old college friends. for this one, you team up with hangman to hand him some of the most random things while he’s talking

you start off normal at first, like with a beer, then your hair tie (he always wears at least 3-4 of these on his wrist bc you always end up needing one at some point in the week.)

then hangman hands him a cube of ice. literally a cube of ice. but rooster barely reacts to this and just pops it into his mouth

then a lightbulb goes off in your head

knowing that rooster has an irrational fear of ladybugs, you quickly go out to the back to find one

then you come back and hold your hand out to him

and rooster, being rooster, LOVES physical contact (especially if it’s from you), and takes your hand in his as he continues talking

but then the bright red ladybug crawls onto his wrist and he almost immediately hangs up, drops the phone, and SCREAMS in the middle of the bar

you and hangman share a secret high five at this

but ALSOOO you kind of feel bad for scaring the shit out of the poor guy

that night you’re too lazy to walk back to your place so rooster offers to let you stay with him

and duh you say yes (it’s def bc you’re getting extra opportunities to pull pranks on him and not bc you have a fat crush on him and are hoping he’ll notice even though you’re the least obvious lil shit and prefer to show you care ab him by asking if he wants anything from costco or his fav restaurant down the street)

he ends up sleeping in the next morning, and you’re up pretty early, so you decide to make breakfast

you make a mental note to yourself to go on a grocery run together next week bc you were almost out of strawberry jam

he comes downstairs w/ messy hair and sits down at the counter

and he tries to open the jar of jam

but it won’t budge

he keeps trying for a minute straight but then gives up

so his eyes immediately go over to you and you play dumb

“i didn’t do anything i swear!”

“y/n.”

“i’m innocent!”

“y/n.”

he suddenly brushes your cheek with his thumb and you find this a bit strange since it’s so sudden. and still, your heart does that annoying thing where it skips a beat every time he touches you

“superglue…” he murmured. “i wonder how that got here?”

hahahahahahahaha you sure wonder. it’s not like you stole it while he was sleeping one night

anyway

later that night you ask him if he wants to go for a drive down by the coastline and he says yes.

“yknow, i paid $200 to get premium air for these bad boys!” you told him as you started the engine.

“you…what…”

“for my tires!”

he looks flabbergasted

“y/n, i think you got scammed”

“ok”

you keep driving anyway, the car did NOT feel any different like the mechanic promised it would

but you were no way in hell about to admit that to an already smug looking bradley bradshaw

rooster has finally, FINALLY started to catch onto your antics

so he starts scheming all week to figure out how to get back at you

during this week you’re extremely busy flying back and forth with payback, lessons with maverick, and staying up way too late with phoenix to talk about the latest season of your favorite show

so you don’t even notice that he hasn’t been around for a hot min

then one thursday afternoon right after you got out of the shower, you get a text from him that tells you he’s grabbing some fancy dinner with the guys in an hour and to dress fancy

this has you SCRAMBLING to change bc the place he’s referring to is absolutely legendary

so you show up to the restaurant all polished up and find him in a private booth in the back

“hey…”

rooster is suddenly speechless bc when he told you to dress nice, he didn’t expect you to look like an actual angel

“y/n…you look beautiful”

“thank you…but hey, where is everyone?”

“running a bit late, they should be here soon”

so you order first and wait. and wait. but nobody else shows up

and suddenly the space between you two felt like it had been chopped in half and now you were sitting a lot closer than you remembered

“okay i lied, i’m sorry” he says all of a sudden and you’re like huh tf u talkin ab “i never asked them to come. this is a date. we’re on a date.”

“we are?”

“yes”

so in the end…it’s ultimately you who gets pranked :)

:) :) :) :) :)

…

taglist (add yourself here!): @uwiuwi @queenbbarnes @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @and-claudia @bittergomez @julia-marshal @elenavampire21 @totomoshi @lyn-lc @lunamoonbby @paintballkid711 @yeehawnana @hazelgirl355 @spawn0fsatan @teacactusworld @icemansgirl1999 @cherry-waved @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @hoedameronsworld @aerangi

also quick PSA: my taglist spreadsheet hasn’t been updated in a while so this list may not be completely accurate, sorry for any inconveniences : ‘/

#top gun: maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun imagine

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mngo-jii · 10 months

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UM!!! hiii im kinda new to this but if requests are open and its cool w you (im sorry if you had a list of what you were and weren't willing to write i couldnt find it 😭) i'd like to request daniel page x male!reader where they've been dating for a while but have been rlly lowkey abt it and their friends find out and are surprised but also not surprised at all

totally fine if you cant though! have a good day!

“ A LITTLE DISCREET. ” d. page x m! reader

wc: 963

letter ✉️: i’m alive... god i’m alive... hello male readers, time for dinner. sorry food today is a little mushy and moldy, mother is trying her best 🙁

“[MC] and Daniel? Ah! Such good friends, they are!” — Lottie, answering about you and your boyfriend.

Without a doubt, you and Daniel were good friends, absolutely. I mean, you two were always side-by-side. Arms linked, shoulders glued to one another, teasing remarks thrown at each other.

You two even shared a dorm. You and Daniel were good roommates, for sure. You two would often study together on the dorm room table. Textbooks stacked up, several notebooks open, concentrated faces, and scribbling quills.

On top of that, you and Daniel’re also good classmates. Always pairing up with each other, sulking when you aren’t.

Always saved a seat for the other, sneaked answers scribbled on a small torn paper, passed notes to one another... The like.

Lottie is definitely right. And everyone could see it; even the teachers, the paintings, a few house elves.

...However, for a pair of good friends, you two seem to be closer than Robyn and Kevin... Well, with your faces slightly flushed and your fingers wandering in hopes to find the other’s. With lingering glances at one another and content expressions relaxing on your facial features.

Each and everyone’s Hogwarts uniform isn’t all the same—of course, that goes without saying when it comes to everyone’s body proportions.

Though sometimes you could even identify your own necktie from another’s, even in the same house. It might be a small odd spot on the material that’s color is a little off from the rest, or maybe a rather short thread hanging out from the hem...

However, you stare at you and your roommate’s necktie placed on the dresser in the morning as you prepare, one is shorter than the other. You don’t even think about which one is yours, grabbing which your ‘gut’ tells you is so—which just so happens to be Daniel’s.

And the next morning you pick up his again, and the morning after, and the morning after... Not that any of you would notice.

But sometimes it might not be an accident, sometimes it might not even be your tie.

Like times where he’d lend you his robe when you forget your own, or when you lend him yours.

Sometimes none of you had even forgotten your robes—you simply swap. And for what?

Well, none of you really had the chance to establish the answer. Not when no one asked, anyway.

It’s rather ironic, though? One moment, you and your roommate are deeply delving into the pages of your textbooks, and then you’re leaning towards him, pressing your lips against his, the next. Daniel’s hand grabs a fistful of your shirt, yours grip on the arm of his chair.

Not to mention the fact you and your classmate hold hands under the table during class. Oh, well.

Ah, the flushed look on your faces when Professor McGonagall offers you—“A reminder that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits. I know its mystery and secrets may tempt you. But trust me. Only danger and peril will await those foolish enough to enter.”

And you and Daniel nod as if you didn't just share a kiss in that same exact ‘off-limits’ location last night.

At one point you and Daniel have grown on edge of whether or not your friends had found out.

So you were a little befuddled to see the astonished look on their faces when they caught Daniel—leaning over to place a quick peck on your lips before hurrying to class.

Of course, there was no reason to further keep your relationship a secret, so you tried to unravel the truth as casually as possible.

“Oh. Daniel and I are dating.”

There’s a mix of distinct reactions on their end—surprise, betrayal, aloofness? They’re either too dramatic or too indifferent. But it’s only for a mere second.

Lottie thinks back on the numerous times you and Daniel had acted a little odd and the realisation hits her like... A gust of wind.

Because if she were to be honest, she saw it coming from a mile away. I mean, what else would explain the way she’d doodle you and Daniel together?

That one painting with you and Daniel on one of the benches, fingers intertwined, faces inches away from one another yet you two were only merely having a chat? Well, there’s your explanation.

Ivy titters out loud, a wide smile spread across her face. “I knew it!”

Kevin takes a moment to pause and decides that it wasn’t really much of a surprise, yet he questions why you didn’t tell them sooner—s’well as Robyn, who runs her fingers through her hair with a rather agitated face. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“—Well,” she cuts herself off before you could reply, “I kind of already knew, so. I just needed confirmation.”

You blink. “You did?”

“Oh come one, what pair of ‘good friends’ sneak out into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom to kiss anyway?” Robyn eyes you as she places her hand on her hip.

...Perhaps you and Daniel weren’t so discreet after all.

It's rather ironic though, isn’t it? Because despite you and Daniel being boyfriends, you still act like you haven’t escaped the puppy love stage. Maybe you never will. Not with the dopey grins you exchange from across the room.

Not with the way your hearts still feel like they’re beating out of your chests as you latch onto each other, nearly out of breath from how bad you’re laughing.

The blush forming on your cheeks as you stop momentarily and get a glimpse of his euphoric face, with the same smile you just can’t get enough of.

Or when he crawls into your bed instead of his as you stare at your ceiling, softly rambling about how nice it would be if you and him went outside right now and flew around the castle. Daniel isn’t listening unfortunately. He’s staring at you.

Not when he still gets surprised at the way you suddenly grab ahold of his hand with a grin on your face. A grin that tells him everything he needs to know—that he’s safe. That he’s home. He furrows his eyebrows at the ground with a poorly fought-back smile.

a/n: im falling off so bad aghh jesus take the wheel. anyway you when you and your homie go from delving into textbooks to study to delving into each others lips

#(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ— written by lnr #hpma x reader #daniel page x reader #hogwarts magic awakened x reader #daniel page x male reader

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