If only if only the woodpecker sighs the bark on the tree was as soft as the sky why the wolf waits below hungry and lonely he cries to the moon if only if only
One time I didnât and I was broke for like a month but the next time I seen it I rebloged it and a bitch just got 500 out the blue and a 20 gift card
âââ maybe it would be all worth it in the end
frat!lando norris x fem!reader
warnings; nsfw!! minors dni!!! [includes p in v, oral-- m & f receiving, fingering- f receiving, unprotected]
 2:43 AM. The time on your lockscreen is blaring, it embarrasses you and almost makes you go to bed.Â
Almost.Â
â Lando 2:43AM
Are you on your way?
You bite down on your bottom lip, gaze switching from the text and your reflection in the mirror. You were ready to goâ youâve been ready to go. Yet, your bottom is still glued to the edge of your bed and your eyes on your reflection. You stare at yourself, weigh your options, make a mental pros and cons list about driving over to a fraternity house in the early hours of the morning. And when it comes to Lando, the cons list always seems to run longer than the pros. Itâs a sign, you shouldnât go.
Your phone pings with another text from Lando.
â Lando 2:44AM
Just lmk so I can go wait for you downstairs.Â
Youâre not this girl. Youâre not the hook up type, the âgo see a boy at three a.m.â type. Youâre not this girl, not the one contemplating the idea of the boy who only seems to remember you when heâs lonely. No. Youâre the type to be in bed at three a.m., the type of girl to stay in and watch a movie at three a.m, than to meet a boy. Youâd much rather meet a boy at three p.m.Â
Though admittedly, you hadnât been that girl much either.
Your phone pings again.Â
â Lando 2:44AM
Or if not Iâll just go to bed.
But please come.
The message makes the guilt creep up on you, eat you up and reason with you. It erases all the cons on that little mental list you made earlier, and all because he said please. You sigh softly, giving in to him like you always do. You slip on your shoes, throw your bag over your shoulder, before walking out of your room. Your fingers tap away at a response quickly, hitting send before you get to your car.
â You 2:45AM
Omw. Be there in 5
â Lando 2:45AM
Okay. Drive safe.Â
You bite down on your lip when you read his notification, fighting back a smile. Itâs stupid, it shouldnât affect you this much. But it does. He cares, you mock yourself. You put your phone in the cupholder, letting your music shuffle as you pull out of your parking spot. The drive turns out to be eight minutes thanks to slow stoplights and the one pedestrian that decided to run across the road. But you make it to the house in one piece, parking on the unusually quiet street, between a gray Lexus and a white Camry.Â
â You 2:53AM
Here
â Lando 2:53AM
Door is unlocked
Pit pat pit, your shoes smack against the three steps up to the front door. True to his word, the door knob twists all the way and allows you into the sleepy house. You wish you could say youâd never seen the house like this, quiet and void of some sort of gathering. But that would be a lie because you have seen it this quiet. Youâve walked into the house many times before, quietly and secretly, always to meet the same boy.Â
Lando doesnât look up from his spot, leaning against the arm of the couch in the living room as he stares at whatever illuminates his phone screen. Heâs clothed in a gray hoodie, hood pulled over his hair, and black sweatpants. You shut the door quietly behind you, whispering a soft hey as you take the short steps over to him. He finally looks up, smiling briefly before leaning down to peck your lips.Â
Itâs sickening how naturalâ how normal, it all feels. It shouldnât.Â
âHow was your drive?â He asks, stuffing his phone in his pocket before slinging that same hand over you. His arm weighs warmly on your shoulders, pulling you into his side.Â
âTâwas okayâŠâ you answer, looking up at him, âI think the pothole on University Drive got bigger.âÂ
He doesnât return your gaze, acts as your eyes instead as he leads you through the house. But he smiles at your comment, wide enough that you can see the crinkles by his eyes. âYeah⊠it probably did.âÂ
Landoâs arm slips from around you when you reach the foot of the stairs. He gets up about two steps before you follow behind him. Your footsteps are muffled into the carpeting, and there is a soft glow that comes from the second floor of the house. At the top of the steps, on the wall to the left sits the fraternity composite from the previous school year. Landoâs photo is on the fourth row, third from the right. He has a charming smile, and eyes that laugh. He looked so good.Â
âWhen are you guys updating that?â Lando turns around when you ask, staring at the obscurely large photo framed on the wall. It takes a couple of seconds, you see the gears turning behind his green eyes.Â
âUh⊠maybe next week? Canât remember when Pierre said it would be.â He rubs his eyes, fighting back a yawn before he waves you over to follow him.Â
Itâs a fairly quiet walk to his room. The house is fast asleep, though not necessarily dead silent. You can still hear shows playing and music changing behind the doors of each room. Each individual sleeping habit becomes clearer in the short walk to Landoâs room.Â
His door is already opened, letting out cold air and the smell of alcohol and cologne. Calvin Klein â the same bottle of eau de toilette you bought him for his birthday last year. And Old Spice, though you have the deodorant stick left on the nightstand, cap off, to blame for that. You crinkle your nose at the scent, setting your bag down on his desk before slipping off your shoes.Â
âUhâŠâ Lando rubs the top of his hoodie, pressing it down against his curly hair, âSorry. I spilled vodka on my floor earlier. It still smells.âÂ
You hum, nodding as you walk across his room to close his deodorant. Lando reaches around you, swiping the tube as the cap clicks, walking it over to his dresser and placing it next to his rings and the cologne. He apologizes, cheeks hot and the tips of his ears red.Â
His room is still as messy as you remember it. Laundry hanging precariously over the hamper and there are more empty hangers in his half opened closet than used ones. His letters are hanging over the back of his desk chair, and his bag is leaning against the leg of it. Itâs zipped open showing off three crinkled papers and two folders. One red one, one blue oneâ both empty. A bright orange t-shirt hangs out the side of it, just barely covering his black water bottle stuffed into the designated pocket. By his bed, his nightstand holds a lamp with no bulb and three vapes. His sheets are undone, obviously lived in and if you know Lando, you know he hasnât made his bed in a week.Â
âWhy were you drinking in your room?â You finally ask, crawling onto the bed and over to your side of it.Â
âJust because.â He shrugs, walking over to the door to push it shut. He pinches the lock between the side of his index finger and the pad of his thumb, twisting it locked. âWhy, you want to take one?â
You scrunch your nose at the offer and it makes him laugh. âItâs three a.m.â
Lando smiles knowingly, hands coming up to grab onto the back of his hoodie. âWeâve done worse things,â He says, pulling the white material over his head, tossing it on the floor and leaving his torso bare. His finger flicks off the lights, but the room is still dimly lit by the warm streetlight outside his window. You watch him climb into bed, walking on his knees the short distance to you before he dips his head and presses a rough kiss against your lips. His hand holds your cheek, the ends of his fingers just dipping into your hair.Â
You smile as you kiss him back, blowing an amused breath through your nose. âAlmost like you miss me,â you tease between kisses. He laughs, breathy and smelling like minty toothpaste, as he pulls away. You can see the way he looks at you, eyes filled with a kind of fondness that makes your heart melt and believe in something just a little more.Â
âI do miss you.âÂ
You give him a look, a playful non-believing one. Wide eyes, raised brows, and a puckered lip that asked him oh really? It makes him do another one of those breathless laughs as he adjusts himself in front of you, right arm taught to hold up his body while his left palm curves over your right knee, pushing it further from your left.Â
âLet me show you how much I do.âÂ
Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes watching as his fingers grip onto the waistband of your sweats. He tugs them down your legs, over your knees, and off your ankles in one swift, eager movement. You watch as he lays on his stomach, left arm fitting snugly under your thigh. He licks his bottom lip before tugging it between his teeth, eyes stuck on the baby pink underwear that heâs left you inâ particularly the little bow that sits on the waistband, just below your belly button. Thereâs a crooked smile on his lips as his right hand comes up, index finger and thumb picking at the little thing, using it to pull the waistband of your underwear back before letting it snap against your skin.Â
âCute.âÂ
âShut up.â
A low chuckle vibrates in his throat. He leaves the bow be, leaves the teasing words up in the air. But his fingers, his fingers are just ghosting over you, over the pink fabric. His fingers do what he wonât say with words. His long, slender, middle finger traces lines over your clothed slit. Up and down, up and down. You canât breathe, anticipating the relief heâd surely give you if youâre only patient enough.Â
The streetlight outside is orange and obnoxiously bright. You complained about it every time, begging him to get a curtain or buy new blinds (Oscar destroyed his old ones several parties ago, and he had yet to replace them). Itâs been months and a handful of sleepovers and his only compromise was switching places in bed with you. But tonight, tonight you love that street light. You love the warmth that bounces off his skin, the way it allows you to see the freckles that litter his shoulders. But perhaps your favorite part of it all, the part that gets you the most, is the light cast over half his face. The shadows contouring him perfectly, and the light kissing the most prominent part of him. And that light allows you to see his eyes flick up towards you, a burning gaze as you feel his thumb pull your panties to the side.Â
He looks down at your cunt with blown pupils and a hungry stare. âMissed your pussy.âÂ
A second. And another. And then his tongue is lapping you up and tickling your clit. You squirm beneath him, gasping for air as he wraps his lips around your nerves. It sends tingles through your skin, shoots pleasure into every nerve ending and pulls your back off the bed. You whine, begging for more more more. He rumbles against you, humming contentedly as he flicks his tongue against your core. Landoâs right hand grips the top of your thigh, pads of his fingers pressing against your flesh and leaving imprints of him. He eats your pussy like a man starvedâ tongue desperate to taste every inch of you.Â
Lando, Lando, Lando, you chant softly. You pick up your head, abdomen tense as you begin to feel your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach. Youâre standing at the edge, on the tips of your toes, waiting⊠waiting for him to push you over the edge. You moan quietly, fingers frantically searching for him and finding refuge in his curls. You feel every strand, every curve and twist of his hair against your fingers as you grip onto them to pull him closer to your cunt. You beg a whiney please⊠Iâm so close. You breathe, gasping for air when you feel his middle and ring finger curl into you. His mouth continues to trace shapes and figures against your clit as his fingers pump at an unforgiving pace. Itâs there, youâre right there.Â
You lose the sensation of his lips, replaced instead by his warm breath. And your eyes are screwed shut otherwise youâd see the way he looks up at you through his lashes and that knowing smirk on his lips. âYou gonna come for me baby?â he taunts, âmake a mess all over my fingers? All over my face?â
You whimper, âAll over your pretty face.â you confirm, looking between your legs.Â
Lando smirks, âYeah⊠yeah baby. Come for me,â he encourages, quickening the pace of his fingers and curling them. You could scream, you want to. But the house is so quiet, so fucking quiet. âCâmon baby, give it to me.âÂ
Your moan is broken by the gasps, broken by pleasure shooting through your skin. Your legs shake, clench around Landoâs head who doesnât let up, who returns his mouth onto your cunt, tongue flicking and fingers squelching into you. You buck your hips against his face as you chase your orgasm, and he chuckles into you. You can feel his smile against you and thatâs just enough to bring you over the edge. You picture it, the knowing smirk that heâs got you right he wants you. Lando savors every second of your pussy pulsating around him, your arousal coating his chin. Itâs only when you stifle a giggle, when palms are against his forehead and pushing him away from your sensitive cunt does he finally stop. You feel empty when he pulls his fingers out of you, you feel almost⊠incomplete.Â
Lando sucks on his fingers, humming around them before releasing them with a pop. You push yourself up, hand reaching out to pull the boy over you and smashing your lips against his. You can taste yourself mixed with his spit, your sweet arousal on his tongue doesnât bother you nearly as much as it used to. You press your palm against Landoâs chest, push him down onto his side of the bed and find your place between his thighs. You can see his hard dick pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants, and you waste no time tugging the material down his legs with his underwear, with just as much desperation he had with you.Â
âAlmost like you miss me,â Lando teases.Â
You bite back a smile, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you pull his bottoms over his ankles, discarding them to the floor. âAlmost.âÂ
You level your head with his cock, quick to press your tongue flat against his shaft to lick a long stripe up his length. Lando hisses and its music to your ears. You do it again before wrapping your hand around him, sucking in your cheeks before releasing a ball of spit against the head. You use your palm to spread the wetness up and down his length, eyes flickering up for a bit of approval. Lando nods, breath stuck in his chest while he reaches over to you. His fingers comb through your hair, pushing your locks over your shoulder before resting at the base of your neck. He doesnât need to say a thing, just has to push your head down gently, to encourage you where he wants you.Â
You start at the head, tongue swirling before licking along the top of it. The skin is taught, sensitive, housing nerves you set ablaze with just a flick of your tongue. Slowly, you allow more of him into your mouth until he just begins to fit snugly at the top of your throat. Lando groans, sings praises and coos over how well you take him. You force yourself to take more of him, allow his thick cock to fill your throat. You gag around him before finding the strength to swallow. The boy moans at the way your throat constricts around him, whines when you do it again. His fingers grip your hair tightly to alleviate the pressure in his chest. You come up for air, releasing his dick with a pop, mouth dripping with spit as you gasp for air.Â
âWanna fuck that sweet mouth of yours,â Lando breathes. âWould you let me do that?âÂ
You look up at him through your lashes, lowering your head to press a kiss against the head of his dick. You nod against him, mouth falling open once again and moving just low enough that if heâd buck his hips, heâd hit the back of your throat. Thereâs a moment of stillness, a moment where you begin to feel every little thing in the room. The cool air, the plush duvet, and your mouth watering over Lando. Anticipation drives you mad, makes you giddy and wet between your legs. Lando pulls all your hair behind your head, frizzy locks spilling over his fist. The ends tickle your back, the base of your neck. The side of his hand presses into the back of your head, guiding you down his length, pushing further and further into your mouth. Your nose flares as you try to control your breathing, throat relaxed and jaw slack. And just as his head begins to squeeze into the top of your throat, he pulls your head back up. He starts slow, eases your mouth up and down his cock, pushing further with every dip, until he hears the profane sounds of air and spit stopping him from continuing.Â
âGod,â Lando groans, âYour fucking mouthâŠâ
The compliment, whatever it was meant to be, is lost in the air as Lando throws his head back with another rough groan. You try to bob your head, swallow as much of him as you can. But your hair is bunched in his fist, tightly, rendering you still with your lips wrapped around him. You suck, swirl your tongue, do as much as your limited movement will allow, beckoning another sinful sound to fall from his lips. His fist only winds tighter, making the hairs on the bottom of your head ache.
He hums, the hand not in your hair tapping your jaw. Your lips are frozen, eyes flicking up to look up at him. Lando presses his lips into a thin line, suppressing an amused look, âSorry. Open. Just open your mouth baby.âÂ
You hum, complying with his request and letting your jaw fall slack. You press your tongue flat in your mouth and grant him the room he needs as he begins to thrust himself into your mouth. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat that makes your mouth water, the not-so-gentle assault making your arousal begin to spread to the inside of your thighs, a mess of desperation. Landoâs legs are bent just enough on either side of you so he could push his hips up. Heâs panting, moaning, a mess as he holds your hair tightly and pushes himself as far as your tight throat would take him. Your eyes water as you begin to choke around him, gagging and gurgling your spitâ making a fucking mess all over him. You miss the words that tumble past his lips, miss the compliments and praises of how well your taking him as he fucks your mouth. All you could focus on is breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat as you accommodate his size. Lando pulls out of your mouth completely a moment later, fingers releasing your hair and finding your jaw instead. His four fingers hold onto your face, forcing you to look up at him while his thumb swipes the saliva that covers your bottom lip and chin. You blush but he smiles, guiding you over him so he can kiss you again.Â
Landoâs hands trace your curves, finding their way to your hips. His grip is warm, the pads of his fingers pressing into the flesh of your love handles as he guides you over him. The kiss grows eager, heated by the proximity and your slick cunt just barely brushing his stiff cock. The playfulness dissipates and is replaced by desperation. Your knees are on either side of his hips, and your lips part from his as you reach for his dick behind you, pulling it up as you rub the head against your pussy. Landoâs lips latch onto your nipple, sucking the bud between his teeth. You hiss at the sensation, throwing your head back as you press his cock against your entrance. Slowly, deliberately, you lower yourself onto him. A groan bubbles from Landoâs throat and it vibrates against your skin.Â
You whine when he bottoms out in you, whine at the fullness you feel when heâs pushed all the way inside you. âFuck LandoâŠâ You breathe, gasping for air.Â
He nudges his nose against your jaw, encouraging you to tilt your head away from him to kiss you where you like to be kissed. His lips are soft, wet, gentle as he begins to kiss your neck. They lick and suck that makes the hairs rise on your skin. Slowly, you push yourself up on your knees before sinking yourself back down. The grip on your hips grows tighter, encouraging you to move quicker, to bounce on his cock faster. But you choose to savor the fullness, to savor the minutes that pass you both by. You didnât mind taking your time chasing the high, you knew youâd get there eventually.Â
You try to build up to the moment, swiveling your hips around him as you move yourself up and down. You feel every bit of him inside of you, moaning at how he stretches you when heâs all the way in you. Youâre Landoâs hands squeeze your hips, hold you up so that only half of him is exposed. And then he thrusts up, sheathing himself in you completely. You nearly topple over at the force, hands quick to press against his chest to find your balance. The new angle has moans bubbling from your throat with ease. Youâre desperate for more, pushing back against him as he continues to thrust upwards.Â
Lando is impatient. Heâs desperate, horny, and just vexed enough to flip you both over so that your back is against his mattress and heâs sitting over you. He pulls your right leg over his shoulder while he pushes your left thigh down into your chest. He mumbles under his breath, none of which you can make sense of, especially when he bucks his hips against yours, hard. You arch your back, head digging into his flimsy pillow and engulfing you in the scent of his shampoo left in the threads. Your senses are on fire, nerves overwhelmed with pleasure. Moans escape you, whiny and desperate with every stroke of his cock.Â
âYou like that?â Lando breathes, âLike when I fuck you like this?â
You nod, whining a pathetic yes. You do, god of course you do. There is no other reason, nothing more enticing than a three a.m. text message, it's truly the biggest reason you dare make the drive to a stupid frat house in the first place. You likeâ no love how Lando fucks you. You love the way he makes you feel, how he sets every nerve on fire and blurs all your senses so that all you feel is him. Him, him, him.Â
You look up at him, see the cocky smirk curved into his lips as he continues to fuck you into the bed. Thereâs a sheen of sweat that coats his skin, the warm light of the streetlamp glistening against his toned chest. You reach up, fingers inching up from his chest to his neck, pulling him back to you into a heated kiss. Always a mess of teeth and tongue, mixed with desperation and the need to be as close to the other as possible. Lando filling you up, fitting himself in your warmth, doesnât feel close enough. You moan into his mouth at the new sensation, the feeling of himâ every ridge and vein, all of himâ and the way he begins to fuck into you. Youâre a mess, unable to keep up with the kiss, to keep up with the boy fucking you.Â
âLando,â You breathe against his lips
Lando pulls away, forehead resting on yours as his right hand comes up to cup your jaw. His thumb presses against your lips, pushing past them and resting on your tongue. Almost instantly, your lips wrap around his finger and sucking. His eyes go dark, the bright green gone from the lust that takes over his gaze. He savors the feeling of your tongue, soft and wet against the pad of his thumb. Flashes of the moments not too long ago make his cock twitch and he swears he could finish in that moment. But he pulls his thumb from your mouth, hand finding its place above your crotch to place the slick digit against your clit. You gasp, head thrown back into the pillow and the moans begin to choke you. Youâre struggling to breathe as pleasure creeps up your bones, prickles at your skin one nerve at a time.Â
âOh god,â You breathe, âIâm gonna come.âÂ
You regret saying it because the moment you do, Lando stops. His hard cock, still inside of you, and your orgasm withering away. You whine in protest, turning your head into the pillow to hide the displeasure woven into your face. You could scream at the way he laughs above you, the soft coos of your name and the light hearted teasing that you didnât get to finish. But before you could retaliate, to let your irritation get the best of you, Lando flips you over onto your stomach. His hands, planted firmly on your hips, pull them up. You feel his hands spread your ass, squeezing and then his lips against the skin.Â
âDonât worry baby,â Lando mumbles against the flesh of your bottom, âI got you.âÂ
A beat and then his tongue is on your pussy again. He licks a stripe, and another, and once more before you can no longer feel his warm breath. Thereâs a mumble of compliments, none of which you manage to make out between the rustling of the sheets and your left ear buried in the pillow in an effort to take a peek at him. Youâre panting, waiting, anticipating him. And when he pushes in deep inside of you, you feel whole again. Your fingers grip onto the sheets, eyes screwed tightly shut, as Landobegins to fuck you over and over, skin slapping and the sloppy sounds of your arousal coating his dick. Your lungs shake on inhale while your exhale is throaty and desperate. Your body shakes with the bed, with every thrust, banging the bed frame against the wall.
Landoâs fingers weave their way into your hair, gripping at the roots to pull back, upright, and as close to his chest as far as your body allows. His breath is hot against your cheek.Â
âYou feel so fucking good.âÂ
âGod Lando.âÂ
His free hand comes up, sliding along the curves of your torso and cupping your breast before finally finding their place around your neck. And when his hand finally resides above your collar bones, he releases your hair. You reach behind you, fingers combing through his curls as you search for a bit of stability in the new position. Lando bottoms out in you with every thrust, his movements rough yet persistent. You feel the sweat of his chest against your back and your arousal sliding down the inside of your thighs. And then itâs thereâ your orgasmâ a growing bubble in the pit of your stomach. You donât dare say a word this time, just moan a little louder and throw your head back against his shoulder.Â
Landoâs grip tightens around your neck. Your eyes roll back into your skull. He whispers dirty words in your ear, words you wouldnât dare repeatâ words only uttered in the quiet of the early morning. He says just enoughs, does just enough, to push you over the edge for the second time tonight. Your pussy pulsates, clenches and unclenches around Lando as your orgasm washes over you. Youâre panting, whining, fingernails clawing at his arm thatâs lain across your chest. Landoâs lips are curved into a smile as he presses a kiss under your ear, can you take one more?, he asks.Â
Youâre a mess, but nod anyways. Thatâs my girl, Lando mumbles as he pulls out from you. Itâs sick how you find pleasure in the way he pulls out, enjoying the slow and languid movement he makes before he guides you down on your back. The duvet is soft, warm, plush, against your back. You were spent, eyes drooping, and if it werenât for his presence above you, you would surely drift to sleep in a matter of seconds. Landoâs lips attach to your neck softly, leaving a trail of wet kisses along the length of it. Itâs almost sweet, the way he takes his time with you. A ghost of a smile curves onto your lips as you turn, pressing yours against him. The kiss is slow, sensualâ like time has stopped for the both of you and allowed a couple moments without worry. You almost let yourself fall into that fantasyâ that truly in the moment it was only you and him. Landoâs hand comes up to cup your face as he presses deeper, tongue tracing along your bottom lip. You allow him way, and your tongues push and slide against each other. You moan softly, needy, as you slide your legs open so he can come closer. Lando accepts the invitation, shifting on the bed so that his chest is pressing against yours. Your hands scramble around him, one through his curly hair and the other pressing against the soft skin of his back to bring him even closer to you.Â
Want you, he breathes. Need you, you whine.Â
Lando pulls his lips from you, craning his neck as he grabs onto his hard shaft, sliding it along your wet slit slowly. You hold your breath in anticipation, a shudder running up your spine at the teasing movement. Up⊠then down. And then heâs pushing into you so agonizingly slowly. You whine softly, hands moving up to his face to bring his lips back to yours, desperate to relieve yourself of this feeling churning in the pit of your gut. Lando kisses you feverishly as he bucks his hips against you, chasing a high he had yet to find for himself. You hold onto him, failing to keep up with him as he fucks you harder and harder. His pace is slow but the thrusts are deep, calculated, once again pushing you towards a cliff youâve jumped twice tonight already. Youâre a whiney mess, begging for more after every profane word that falls from his lips. Like when I fuck you like this? You feel so good baby. Youâre made for me. Iâll never get enough of you. Youâre fucking mine.Â
You were. Noâ you are. You canât remember life before Lando, before the yearning and the need to be as close to him as you could be. Even under the guise of uncaring, behind the fake ânothing he does affects meâ facade you put up, there is always a little twingeâ a fray in nicely kept threads. Deep in your heart, guarded by self-preservation and ego, you know that if Lando said jump youâd always ask how high?Â
His thrusts become sloppy, desperate, as he begins to chase his own high. Iâm gonna come, he mumbles against your lips. A soft moan rumbles from the back of his throat, vibrates against your lips as you swallow the sounds of pleasure. Your fingers intertwine with the curls on his head, gripping tightly as you feel your own release begin to wash over you. Your orgasm grips every nerve, lights your skin on fire and suffocates you in the best way. Youâre forced to rip your lips from him so you can gasp for air. Your gasp turns into quiet cries as your pussy pulsates around him. Lando is not far behind, his hips quickly pulling out of you and spurting hot cum on your lower abdomen. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, turning your head so he can kiss you once more.Â
âYou okay?â He finally asks, warm breath fanning over your skin as he carefully pushes the hairs from your face. Youâre spent, more than okay, and so with droopy eyes and a lazy smile, you nod. Mhm.Â
Lando rolls off of you, sitting up and walking towards the opposite side of the room. He bends over to swipe a towel off the floor before sauntering back to bed and swiping the material along your belly. He cleans the mess, half amused, before bending down to give you another sweet peck. You hum contentedly, hands outstretched for him to pull you up. Landoâs hand grabs yours, pulling you up and off the bed with ease. You navigate through the dimly lit, messy bedroom in search of your clothes. You manage to find your panties and hoodie before rolling over to your side of the bed and under the covers. The duvet smells lived in, with a hint of Lando and all his vices.Â
With boxers over his hips, Lando climbs into bed next to you. His arms are quick to wrap around you, head finding refuge in the crook of your neck. Itâs quiet now, the world fast asleep and patiently waiting to join. But as spent as you are, as much as your body begs for rest, your mind reels. Itâs easy to forget about sleep when anxiety begins to weave its way into every thought.
You feel stupid again. A bit of self loathing and a sprinkle of heartache courses through your veins. You told yourself that you wouldnât give in, that if Lando wanted to see you again, that heâd have to make an effort to do so. You were supposed to make him make the late night drive, that heâd have to walk up to your dorm all alone and sneak out again the next morning. You promised yourself to make him work a little harder and yet, all he had to do was say please and you jumped on the opportunity to see him. Like âpleaseâ excuses the fact heâd only see you when everyone was fast asleep, that heâd only hold you and kiss you and call you his when no one was looking.Â
You settle comfortably, regrettably, in Landoâs arms as he wraps them around you. His lips are warm against the top of your forehead, then against your cheeks, and finally against your lips. The gesture is reassuring, tying you to a bit of securityâ the kind youâll look back on and wonder if it was real. The mental list of cons you had contemplated earlier in the night had made it to the forefront of all your thoughts. Itâs a long list, extensive and albeit a little overdramatic. But that the top, enumerated number one, reads the same line that pierces your chest time and time again.
He isnât yours.
Itâs a sick thought, a taunting realization that you have in the dull moments of your day. So as you lay wrapped in him, you are forced to reckon with the fact that he isn't yours. How you feel about him, differs vastly with how he feels about you. The scales are tipped in his favor of his ego and pride.Â
You shuffle out of his hold, and he doesnât seem phased as you slide out of bed. Youâre slipping on your leggings, stepping into your runners and reaching for your bag. He doesnât so much as flinch until he hears the aged brass door knob squeak at your turn.
âYouâre not staying?â You look up, stare right at his back as he begins to shuffle deeper into the covers. His shoulders and all the little freckles on it are left exposed under the warm light bleeding into the room.Â
âNo.âÂ
The air in the room is thick, but you wonder if youâre making up the discomfort in your head. Lando has yet to turn, yet to respond, yet to react to the palpable tension in the room. But his shoulders only rise with his breathing, slow and steady.
âWhy not?âÂ
Because I wouldnât be able to fall asleep anyways. Because it isnât a good idea. Because if I stay, I think Iâll fall in love with you.Â
You shrug, âJust wanna be in my bed. And plus I have an early day tomorrow, so Iâd rather be home.âÂ
âThatâs not a very good reason.â Lando turns over, eyes half open and tongue poking out to wet his lips. âJust stay, Iâll make sure you wake up in the morning.âÂ
You bite down on your bottom lip, mind reeling for another excuse, another out, just about any reason to give him so you could go home and drown in your misery. But before you do, Lando sits up. He reaches for his phone and swipes along the screen. He hums softly, tapping three times before flipping his screen around for you to see. Three alarms setâ 6:05, 6:15, 6:25. There, he mumbles, now come to bed.Â
Youâd be lying to yourself if you said that the gesture didnât make your heart do flips. The gestureâ though maybe nothing to himâ is a little more than something for you. It shows he cares. It shows that he wants you there. The gesture is enough to dissolve the walls of doubt youâd built for yourself. All it took was three alarms and the boy pulling back the covers for you to return to your place in bed. You bite down on your lip, bag sliding off your shoulder and dropping to the floor with a soft thud. You were never good at standing your ground anyways. You kick off your shoes, set them by the door, before crawling into the empty space by Lando. Heâs quick to pull the covers over your bodies before his arms are around you and pulling you against him.Â
âMissed this,â Lando mumbles softly into your hair, âmissed you.âÂ
You hum softly, toying with the edge of the duvet. âOh yeah?â
Thereâs a beat of silence much louder than your breathing. Youâre too focused on the loose threads on the duvet, the feeling of the clumps of stuffing caused by a cheap dryer, much too focused on the less important things to see the way Lando raises his brow.Â
âYeah,â He replies, matter of factly. âDonât believe me?âÂ
You shrug, poking your chin up as you stare at him. His eyes scan you, looking for a quiver of a muscle, something to tell him that youâre only poking fun at him. Instead, he sees the bit of heaviness in your eyes.Â
You donât believe him.Â
There are questions that hang in the air, conversations that are much too honest for four in the morning. Neither of you pull the trigger on it, instead lay quietly by each other, soaking in the distrust and disbelief. But what was new? It has always been this way, this was you and Landoâs normal. Living a never ending cycle of doubt and mistrust, all the pushing and pulling, of fights left unresolved and conversations never had. Being with Lando meant living with uncertainty. Being in love with Lando meant wishing away that cons list and pretending that it doesnât exist. Because at leastâ the very leastâ youâre here.Â
Lando falls asleep moments later, snoring softly and holding you firm against him. He smells like soap, fresh linen, and just a hint of you. His skin is soft, littered with freckles and moles and the memory of the night behind you. You stare for a bit, count the lashes that lay on his cheek, pass the time as you debate in your mind if sleeping here was worth the way you would feel when he inevitably shows you out the next day. But then he squeezes you tighter. You feel his nose nuzzling into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. His body relaxes against you, and you suddenly feel whole. You feel like you belong. Maybe it was worth sticking it out. Maybe things would be different in the morning.
You fall asleep, regrettably comfortable and your heart relying on the maybes.
d rambles. . . i have wrestled with this fic for months because i honestly was trying to do way too much with it so i figured i'd post this and then post pt2. so this fic is p with very little plot- the plot to be found in the next part (hopefully). anyways i hope you all enjoy this and as always feedback is greatly appreciated. smooches!
Landoâs colour evolution over the course of this video needs to be studied and his little voice crack at ~0:45 like âWeâve gođt this oneâ is so endearing to me
GUYS the little feet taps?? Donât touch me Iâm soft đ
Me watching this video like same Lando sameâŠ
How did they not get cow from milk and horns?? but oh well papaya twins operate in ways we may never understand đ
The way Oscar just progressively got more and more stressed as Lando got more and more giggly, I love these fools đđ§Ą
Important - Bc there seems to have been some miscommunication, if there's any confusion on an aesthetic, please feel free to literally go over to Pinterest and just give it a quick search. There was definitely some confusion around Oscar (that's why the edit is there clarifying it's not goth).
Lando - Golden Retriever
Max - Black cat
Oscar - Dark Feminine
Carlos - Old Money
Lewis - IT girl
Logan - Light Feminine
Charles - Star girl
Mick - Beach bum
Daniel - Orange cat
Fernando - Hyperfeminine
Jenson - Vanilla girl
Seb (Aston Martin era) - Clean girl
Yuki - Wellness girl
Kimi (McLaren era) - Stockholm/Scandinavian aesthetic
Might have to shift Logan or Oscar bc the contrast of light and dark feminine for their girlfriends words so well for them as friends.
Warnings: Mentions of deteriorating health, swearing
Maverick sat at the bar, cool beer in hand. Some aviators chittered around him, back by the pool table, some by the dart boards Penny kept having to replace, and some just scattered throughout. His phone was cool in his hands, not being used and most certainly not on Pennyâs bar top, never in a million years would he forget about that, nor would his savings recover.
âLong day, pilot?â Penny asked, already knowing what happened during todays class. Maverick gave her a tired look, all telling. âWord travels fast in the Navy, Mav.â She offered him a smile, then got back to tending to her patrons at the bar. Maverickâs phone buzzed, the screen lighting his palm. After a sigh and some contemplation, he looked at the glowing screen. Lo and behold, it was none other than Admiral Kazansky, or outside of work, Ice.
âI need to see you.â Of course he did. After the burnout today during training, what higher up wouldnât want to see him.
âNot a good time.â Because of-fucking-course it wasnât. All Maverick, in his self-proclaimed old-age-but-letâs-not-act-like-it, wanted to do was go home and sleep like the old man he kept getting told he was.
âI wasnât asking.â One thing Maverick had learned in his lifetime, is that Tom âIcemanâ Kazansky was absolute shit at asking people nicely. Maybe thatâs why he had climbed the ranks of the Navy as quickly as he did, but boy did it get beyond annoying. Maverick wanted to slam his head on the bar top, but he had a feeling if he did so it would be against one of Pennyâs not explicitly written rules, and he did not want to risk spending his savings on Navy-menâs beer. Again. So, it looked like he would have to make the nearly three hour drive to Iceâs abode. His phone dinged again, so he looked at it with a sigh full of annoyance, but it wasnât Admiral Kazansky, it was Quinlan.
âSrry 2 bother, u heard anythn frm Rooâ The way kids typed always confused Maverick, full words were not that difficult.
âIm driving, don judge me, I can feel the old mn judgmnt frm hreâ Adding to his annoyance, Quinn was texting while driving. âOh joy, how did one of the pilots under your supervision die? Not mission related? Crazy.â Maverick could already see the headline. To keep her off her phone, Mav decided to call.
âSup, Mav.â Quin tried to sound less tired than she felt, not wanting her mentor to know the real strain the training was having on everyone, or more so not wanting him to ask her about it.
âCas, donât text and drive.â Mav sighed, âSo you think calling me, when I drive a 1972 Impala, is any better?â The sarcasm her voice held was immense.
âJust keep your eyes on the road.â Maverick put his hand on his head, slightly massaging his temples. These kids were going to be the death of him. âWhy do you think Bradley would talk to me, Casper.â By now, Maverick had made his way to the back deck of the bar, everything less loud, also leaving money on the bar for Penny.
âLong-shot guess to see if heâs contacted anyone⊠Mav he isnât home and isnât returning anyoneâs calls.â She had a worried edge to her voice, which Mav completely understood because he had felt just like she sounded.
âSo you text me, because you are worried?â He honestly felt a little bit of joy, knowing at least one of the aviators he taught didnât hate him in totality after today.
âShut up.â Quinlan grumbled, barely audible over the noise from her driving and from the bar behind Maverick.
âIf I hear anything, Iâll let you know, kid. Where are you even driving to atâŠâ He looked at the time, his phone displaying 9:47 shining in pale bolded numbers. âJesus, at nine forty at night.â
âHeaded home to see some familyâŠâ Quin was never very forthcoming with personal information, but this was indeed a start. At least to Maverick it was. âThanks for the day off, Mav.â And with that, Quin hung up and continued her drive.
 She was about two and a half hours in, about thirty minutes to go, and Quinlan couldnât be more ready to get out of her car. The rumbling of the old engine was making her hands numb, all her muscles already sore and tense from training. The drive to Santa Monica was one she had only ever made with Emmelyn. Although Quin and Emmelyn didnât share the same dad, Quinâs always treated Emmelyn as his, well, that being after he found out about Quin. A DNA test right before entering the Navy found Quinlanâs still very alive dad, contrary to what her mother had told her.
âDid ya get the results yet?â Emmelyn called through the kitchen. Quin, not knowing much about her lineage, or anything about her father for that matter, had decided to complete a DNA test that included health risks along with the family tree. Every time she had brought it up to her mom, she got told no, but now she was eighteen and had her own money from working at the local supply store.
âJust came in the mail, Em. Whereâs momma?â Quinlan did buy the kit with her motherâs knowledge, but she still felt guilty opening her results if she were home.
âSheâs out at the Codyâs. Think Diane invited her.â Quin nodded, if her mom was at Dianeâs house, sheâd most certainly be gone for a while. Oh, how mothers could talk.
Quinlan peeled open the envelope, Emmelyn over her shoulder the whole time. First on the paper was the list of genetically predisposed illnesses and her likelihood of getting them. Mostly everything Quin was low risk for, thankfully. Further down was her mothers relatives, which she slightly knew, at least by name, each having a âlivingâ or âdeceasedâ label next to them. And on the back? Her father. Looking down the list from double great grandparents and down, apparently her grandfather was alive. Quinlan paused, eyes hovering over the name of her father. She had known his first name, one night when her mom had a little too much Rye Whiskey and slipped up, but never his last. Next to his name was the label âLivingâ.
âWait, didnât momma say Daddy died?â Quin took a minute to respond, Emmelyn still hovering as closely as ever, unsure of the true weight of her statement. âYeah, she did.â Quin read the name at least five times. Well this was going to be a fun conversation.
And that was the first time Quinlan learned her father was actually living and breathing. The following conversation with her mother, while her mother was unfortunately a bit tipsy on whiskey, went just as well as one wouldâve hoped, full of tears and misspoken words. That fight, words never being able to be taken back, is was led Quin to reach out to her dad. Maybe he didnât know about her beforehand and was slow to warm up, but Quin was beyond glad she had found him.
âUh⊠Hi. My name is, uh, is Quinlan Emai. I received some results from a DNA test, and it uh, it told me youâre my dad? Shit, this is so weird. Jesus this could have been an email, Iâm one of those people. Um, I donât really know what the fuck else to say, soo⊠Call me back when you get a chance? Maybe? Jesus- sorryâ After that voicemail to one Navy man, Quin honestly thought about throwing herself off a bridge. This guy was stationed in Cali, Quin living in a small Texan town near the coast. She was hoping, at the least, the man would not return her call. But alas, a few days later, a call from an unknown number.
âHello?â Quinn held her phone, expecting whoever called to be spam.
âHi, this is Tom KazanskyâŠâ Quinlan froze at the name, âYou, uh, you called about a week ago?â âOh, shit. Uh, hi?â Quin responded after a moment of phone static. Both sat in silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say.
âFuck, sorry. Youâre probably wondering who my mom is. Sheâs uh, her name is Cecilla Emai. Weâre, um, Weâre in Texas.â Another few moments of silence followed, Quin could hear the gears in his head turning.
âOh, beginning of â86?â Quin assumed that was when they met. âWell, would make sense. Was born October 1986.â Quinlan honestly didnât want to talk about her conception date.
âI⊠wow. Sorry, I uh didnât expect to have a kid.â Quin chuckled,
 âYeah, and I didnât expect to have an alive dad. Momma always said you were dead.â A small noise of surprise escaped Tom.
âShe told you I was dead?â the surprise was as clear as day.
 âyeah, said you died so I shouldnât go lookinâ. Guess she was ashamed to have a kid without a dad so she told everyone he was dead.â
âShe never even tried to tell me, if she told meâŠâ Tom trailed off, âYouâre in the Navy, and I donât think there is anything that would get momma to leave.â Quinlan did truly wonder what life would be like if her dad was around.
âI at least wouldâve given her money⊠How is she?â Quin gave a disappointed laugh, âusually drunk or not at home. Two kids take a toll, especially when the father of the second is a known felon.â At that, Tom Kazansky was officially speechless.
âHey, I guess wanting to be a pilot runs in the blood. I just got my naval academy acceptance letterâŠâ Quin trailed off, not knowing why she was telling a man she just honestly met.
âWhatâre you going in for?â A new form of excitement filled his tone.
âPilot. Air Force wouldnât accept the condition of me being my sisterâs caretaker.â They proceeded to talk for at least thirty minutes about Tomâs declassified missions and tips from him.
âWhoâre you runninâ up that phone bill with, Q.â Cecilla asked, more of a way as telling her to get off the phone.
âTake a wild, guess momma.â Quinâs voice was edging towards sharp, her mom narrowing her eyes. âWho is it?â Cecillaâs tone matched Quinlanâs.
âMy dad. Would you like to say hi? Since, ya know, he isnât dead.â Quin still held fire from their earlier argument, Tom sat on the other line awkward and unsure of what to do.
âQuinlan Daliah Emai, get off the damn phone right now.â Cecillaâs tone was final, but Quin always had a rebuttal. Afterall, she was the daughter of a stubborn Texan and The famous Iceman.
âYou havenât paid the phone bill since you spent all the cash you got, which wasnât hardly any, on liquor. Canât tell me to end a phone call when I pay the price.â Quin sounded nonchalant, her voice matter of fact. Her mother only stared, Tom Kazansky awkwardly trying to find an out from the call.
âIf you donât hang up that damn phone, I will find a way to pull your application.â Cecillaâs voice held the same calmness, which Tom could only guess was terrifying in person.
âIf you werenât so drunk off your ass, Ma, you would know Iâve already been accepted. Now if youâd excuse me, I have a previously absentee father to get to know.â Quinlan shut the pocket door to the kitchen, done with the soon to be argument with her mother.
âI⊠is that, is that normal?â Tomâs voice sounded incredibly unsure, unaware if that was even appropriate to ask.
âThe truth? Yeah. As song as Em isnât home.â Quinlan did everything in her power to not fight in front of her little sister, even if her mother provoked the living hell out of her.
âI assume Em is your sister?â Tom questioned lightly, gently.
âYeah, her name is Emmelyn Rose Emai. Momma has a thing for flower middle names. She is eight. Thinks we have the same Dad.â Quinâs tone edged towards sadness at the last statement, wishing Em was her full-blood sister, but she still treated the kid with every intent that she was.
âWell⊠I would say Iâm slightly better than a convicted felon.â Tom huffed a laugh, and so did Quin, âHonestly, Iâd love to get to know you more, and Emmelyn for the matter, sheâs young enough to still have a childhood with a Dad.â To say the least, Quin was shocked. She expected him to either say nothing, or say hello and move on, but she certainly wasnât ready for this.
âShit, youâre serious?â She was dumbfounded.
âI mean if you are open to that. In my family, we take kin very seriously. Iâve missed eighteen years, why should I miss any more?â Tom sounded very sure, which calmed Quinâs mind a little bit.
âQuinlan Emai, Iâve given you five minutes, now get off the damn phone and go get your sister.â Cecillaâs voice yelled through the shut door, muffled and barely recognizable over the phone.
âFuck, uh sorry, I have to go get Em, momâs had too much to drive. Bye!â Quin quickly hung up, ending her first ever conversation with her very much alive father.
           As far as first meetings go, Quinâs very much couldâve gone better. But, it led to having a relationship with her Dad, and Emmelyn having one too. That phone call turned into summer visits, and a place to stay for them both once their mother passed two years later. Quin pulled up to the personal housing of Admiral Tom âIcemanâ Kazansky, the place she called home even despite her rural accent. She turned off the trembling engine, hands finally free of the incessant buzzing sensation. Quin decided to park around the back of the house, opting to surprise her siblings in the morning, having seen their cars in the driveway. Quin got out of her car, grabbing her back up travel bag from her trunk as quietly as possible.
           She walked up to the back door, unlocking it with her spare key she kept on her keychain escribed with her callsign. A gift from Rooster, no less. She had texted Ice previous to her arrival, not wanting to scare him by showing up at random. The light shown through the door of his office, surprising Quin that he was still awake. At 61, being awake after 9:30 was definitely a large feat. She padded lightly to the office, knocking on the door lightly before stepping in.
           âHey, Dad.â He turned his head at her voice, meeting her soft, but nonetheless tired, smile. He returned it with his own, although not quite reaching his eyes like it did just a few years before. Ice was bad about voicing his problems, something Quin learned was hereditary and compounded from his years in the Navy. They stared at each other for a few minutes, then she realized he wasnât speaking, the white cursor on his monitor blinking as the black screen remained bare.
           âFuck.â Quinâs whispered curse was the only sound in the air. Ice turned to type and with her increasingly watery eyes, quin watched the screen.
           âIâm fine, you have other things to worry about.â The white words stared back like little knives picking her tear ducts.
           âYou say that as you are, quite literally, my dad.â Quin huffed a laugh, although pained by the fact of his health.
           âCome sit.â Quin pulled up a chair, facing him as he cleared his screen.
           âHowâs Bradley.â Quin just looked down at her clasped hands, shaking her head.
           âHavenât heard from him since before I left. Didnât even see him after Seresin outed his death wish.â Quin looked up from her hands, Ice looking at her expectantly. He knew the hurt and the issues they had faced, firsthand for that matter, but he also knew she miraculously still cared.
           âJust talk to him.â Ice kept the same stare. âReally Dad, how am I supposed to talk to someone who doesnât acknowledge my existence?â Her face was tired, not wanting to have that conversation at the current moment in time. Ice didnât type anything new, nor did he delete his previous words. A low cough left his being, hurting Quin to hear.
           âGo to bed, kid.â His voice was gravel-filled and quiet, displaying his pain. Quin looked at him for a few more moments before standing up and leaving his office, but not before throwing in a small âgoodnightâ. As she made her way up to her bedroom, quietly passing her siblings rooms, she couldnât wait to lay down and knock out. The days problems would just have to wait till tomorrow.
Summary: Time for critiques... Those should bode well, right?
Warnings: Swearing, fighting, mentions of death
Maverick stood in front of the lot, all eyes on him, but the emotions those eyes held varied. From confidence to anger, indifference to hate. âFirst up: Phoenix, Bob and Coyote.â He spoke strongly, voice firm. The only way to break the attitude of an aviator was real life consequences, or the implication of it.
âNow, why are they dead?â Some shifted or made some sort of discontent noise, but Maverick stood unanswered.
âWe broke the three-hundred-foot ceiling. The SAM took us out.â Phoenixâs tone was weary, unsure of what was going to follow her response, finally speaking up after moments of silence after Maverickâs first question.
âNo. Why.â He paused, âAre they dead.â The experienced Captain knew how to break a manâs spirit, losing those close to you was something he had been through enough to know it affected oneâs perception of reality. Affecting their response, and their actions. This idea was something that was required to be drilled into the twelveâs minds even if it was the last thing Maverick did. This wasnât just a mission for the sake of blowing shit up, this was a mission where the chances of losing a life were almost assured.
âI slowed down and I didnât give her a warning. Itâs my fault-âCoyote was cut off, âWas there a reason you didnât communicate with your team?â Maverickâs voice was sharp, urging Coyote to continue, âI was focusing on-â
âOne that their family will accept at the funeral.â After the day they had just had, everyoneâs mood had already soured, emotions ready to tip the pot and spill their boiling contents to anyone who poked the bear hard enough, so hearing those words only added fuel to the fire. In this case, highly flammable jet fuel to the grease fire.
âWhy didnât you anticipate the turn?â Maverick paused, giving a second to make Coyote think he had to respond before he continued, âDonât tell me. Tell his family.â Maverick spoke while pointing at Bob. Quinlan grimaced at the slaughter of egos she was witnessing, a pit in her stomach at the critique she was going to receive. There was also an underlying anger, maybe it was at herself, maybe at the situation at hand but no one ever said military-folk thrive in the dealings of the emotions department. Although, she couldnât wait to see how Hangman would hold up. A woman like herself could only hope to see him fall. Maverick turned to Hangman and his group.
âWhat happened?â Mavâs voice held the same edge as before, but Hangman didnât budge.
âWell, I flew as fast as I could, kinda like my ass depended on it.â Hangman said with an air of calmness surrounding him paired with his signature smirk. This guy seriously wouldnât quit, even at the prospect of dead teammates.
âAnd. You just put your team in danger and your wingmanâs dead.â Serious Maverick was an interesting sight, but what he was trying to do just wasnât getting through to the cocky aviator that was Hangman.
âThey couldnât keep up.â The smirk never left his face, aggravating Quin to no end, adding fuel to the emotional volcano about ready to burst for more than just herself.
âAssholeâŠâ Quin whispered, generally to the people around her, maybe hoping Mav would hear, but all the response she got was an intense, single nod from Rooster. At least he was acknowledging her now, right? Next on the unfortunate list of slander; Quin, Omaha, and Fritz.
âWhy is your wingman dead?â She knew what was coming, and she already had a response.
âI slowed down without warning, the boys almost hit me. Seems like weâve both had close calls, Mav.â Maverick knew was she was implying, and by some dark force, she got the feeling Hangman did too.
âYa know, maybe your callsign should be frosty. You seem to like you enjoy being a cold-hearted bitchâŠâ He trailed off momentarily before adding his signature, âNo offense, babe. Just stating what I see.â Hangmanâs toothpick rested on his lips, idly twisting.
âThat toothpick is going to go through your skull.â Quinlan didnât even spare him a glance with her words, but it did earn an âenoughâ from Maverick. Those emotions Quin had locked away since she arrived back in California were making an ugly appearance whether she liked it or not. Thankfully, the small verbal war that was just beginning to rear its head distracted Maverick from slandering her too hard as he proceeded to move on. Next up was Rooster.
âWhyâre you dead?â And a pause for dramatic effect⊠âYouâre team leader up there so why are you, why is your team, dead?â Mav held his firm tone, but Quin knew how much it stroked Roosterâs undeniable anger issues as it seemed Maverick used harsher words with worse connotations to specifically just Rooster.
âPardon, Mav. He is the only one who made it to target.â Mav looked over to Quin, not expecting the direct eye contact she used so forcefully. Usually, Quinlan disliked direct confrontation, keeping her words to herself, those seldom few who knew how to read her knowing what she was thinking. But not today. Today she was ready to, both metaphorically and literally, fight the world. And right now, that world was Maverick egging Rooster on.
âA minute late. He gave the enemy time to shoot him down. He is dead.â Maverick continued the stern, harsh nature of his words but quite a few of the aviators were no longer having the new, and not so improved, Mav.
 âYouâre not flying fast enough. You donât have a second to waste.â Hangman added, voice nonchalant. Rooster gave hangman a side glance,
âWe made it to target.â His voice was akin to venom. âAnd a superior enemy aircraft intercepted you on your way out.â Quin, and probably a few others, could feel the tension, the building anger within Rooster, maybe even the mischievous intent that was the entity sitting off to the side called Jake Seresin.
âThen itâs a dogfight.â The frustration, anger, and pure spite seeped into Roosterâs words, sentences short. âWith fifth-generation fighters?â Mavâs voice was incredulous.
âYeah. Weâd still have a chance.â Rooster shrugged while Quin just watched, waiting for something to snap. âIn an F-18!â Now even Maverick was feeling the frustration, ditching his stern, serious demeanor for a more argumentative one.
âItâs not the plane, sir. Itâs the pilot.â Each word was spat out like little balls of fire, housing Roosterâs anger like a full can of biscuits ready to burst.
âExactly!â Quin knew what Maverick meant, everyone did. But what they didnât know was its effect on the pilot next to her. Quin waited with baited breath, the silence palpable as Rooster thought.
ââŠThere is more than one way to fly this mission.â And with that, Rooster looked away from the captain in front of him, even just the sight of him making him want to smash in his face.
âYou really donât get it.â Hangman huffed some form of an antagonizing laugh, âOn this mission, a man flies like Maverick here, or a man doesnât come back.â He glanced to Phoenix and Quin, âNo offence, ladies.â He winked towards them. Bob leaned forward, his glance at Hangman sharp,
âYet somehow, you always manage.â Quin let out a sharp exhale from her nose, remembering to thank the wizzo later for his quick comment.
âLook, I donât mean to criticize. Youâre conservative, tsâall.â The Texan drawl Quinlan so unfortunately shared with Hangman was ever present in his tone, showing the true care-free attitude he possessed near constantly. Maverick gave a warning, a quick, sharp âLieutenant.â
âWeâre goin into combat, son. On a level no living pilotâs ever seenâŠâ He motioned his head towards Maverick, âNot even him. Thatâs no time to be looking in the past.â The smirk on Hangmanâs face managed to grow, seeing Roosterâs reaction. Quin remembered the day outside the locker rooms, Coyote and Hangman looking at the Top Gun graduatesâ photos. Quin could only sit and watch it all unfold with internalized fear.
âRoostâŠâ Quin placed her hand lightly on his arm, a small voice of warning, but not to her surprise, she was ignored.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â The calm of his voice was eerie, maybe not to everyone, but definitely to Quinlan and Phoenix. The two women shared a glance, ready to pounce if necessary. Even Maverick provided a word or warning, but if Rooster wouldnât listen to Quin, he was not going to listen to Maverick.
âI canât be the only one that knows Maverick flew with his old man-â
âHangman, thatâs enough.â Maverick tried to keep his tone strong, but it wavered ever so slightly. An edge of fear to his attempt at command. Quinlan had to give it to the man, he sure had to have balls if he was gonna continue.
âOr that Maverick was flying when his old man-â
âLieutenant that is enough!â Somewhere between the two pilots words, Rooster lunged, meaning Quin, Phoenix, and Bob went after him. Phoenix had his right arm, Quin his left, and with surprising strength, Bob had his shoulders. During the commotion, the âHangman defenderâ named Coyote, plus Omaha and Yale had grabbed a standing Hangman, the other three dividing themselves between the two groups.
âYou son of a bitch!â Rooster once again tried to lunge, ready to commit a crime. âBradshaw, cool it.â Her grip tightened but voice remained calm, because fighting fire with fire was never a good idea, but the look Hangman received from the female pilot was enough to make him almost shudder in fear.
âIâm cool, Iâm cool. Hey, hey hands off.â That god-awful crooked smile still resided on his face as he brushed the hands of those around him off his shoulders. Maverick stood in between the two overgrown children, his shorter stature making him look exceptionally small, and adjacently powerless between the two six-foot men. And once again, Maverick uttered his favorite word of the day, âenoughâ.
âHeâs not cut out for this mission.â Direct eye contact with Maverick, an attempted power play on Hangmanâs end. âYou know Iâm right.â
âAnd neither are you, dipshit. Itâs a team mission and all you know how to do is fuck someone over and get them killed.â Quinlan paused, all eyes on her, her inside thoughts making their way outwards. âEnjoy having the blood of someoneâs child on your hands. I bet the familyâd love to hear the excuse you used today at the funeral.â Her facial expression, a mix of firm anger and disappointment in the antics of Navy men, Quin let go of Roosters arm, but still hovered close.
âYouâre all dismissed.â Maverick spoke, just sounding tired. His energy gone, mostly on account of remembrance for a dead friend. Hangman breezed by the group, Rooster going the other direction.
âShouldnât you go find Rooster, Cas?â Phoenix was still on edge, Bob subscribing to her idea with a nod.
âIâd rather not get verbally abused right now, thanks.â Quinlan felt as drained as Mav had sounded. She passed Phoenix, walking to the locker rooms. She didnât even have the energy for a long, hot shower today, so a quick shower and long drive home it was. Not to her semi-secluded condo, but home. On her way out of base, Hangman leaned on his car, eyes up at the clouds, he looked weirdly contemplative, a state not natural to the care-free Texan. And of course, Quinâs car was between the two, probably, most difficult men in the Navy, although Roosterâs Bronco was long gone by now. As she neared her Impala, Hangman looked over to her.
âLook, sunshine, Iâm not getting anyone killed.â She expected his voice to be full of anger, but it was more worry than anything else.
âSeresin, your flying says otherwise.â For a minute they both just stared, contemplating what to say next. âYouâre a good pilot, but your reputation can only grow if you work with those around you. Not even Maverick has accomplished something alone. So, as a suggestion from a..â God, did she not want to say friend, but it gave the emphasis she needed.
 âFrom a friend, Seresin, get your head out of your ass and stop worrying about the opinions of others.â She put her hand up, âDoesnât warrant a response, Flyboy. Think about it. Thatâs all Iâm askin, Jake.â And with that she got into her car and as it rumbled to life, she saw the small nod Hangman had given her. With a small text to her Dad, she began the three hour drive home. With little to no thought, she called Rooster. Without surprise it went to voicemail.
âHey Roost⊠Shit, well ok. I know Iâm probably one of the last people you wanna talk to right now, but after what happened today, Iâm here if ya need to vent. Look, I get it, Hangmanâs an asshole, but he isnât entirely wrong. And before you stop listening to this voicemail out of spite, itâs the past, Bradley. Mav did what he thought was right in the moment. Fourteen years ago, B. Fourteen. Get your mind outta the past, man. Itâs only hurting you. Iâm surprised if you listened to all that. Iâm still here for ya, even if youâre a lil bit of a shit. Dog tags are still in commission, Rooster.â Uncomfortable voicemail over, thank god. Being completely honest, she had no clue why she added that part about their split dog tags. One of hers, one of his, one chain. Maybe out of spite to make him feel bad, or maybe to let him know she still kinda gave a shit about him. She hadnât yet decided. Nor did she need to quite yet. Â
Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it's his apartment.
tangentwithtanner
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
prguitarman
