#interacial

What are you doing to me.

Jasper Hale x Black!Male reader

Religious trauma, slight internal homophobia, angst, MLM, vampirism, no slur usage, sexual tension, Jasper struggling with internal battle, mental picturing of gore and murder of high school students, car crash body gore, gay, reader “dies”

Part One (1/2)

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You’re new here. Forks High is smaller than any school back home, and the rain feels like it’s always just waiting to soak through your skin. It was constant, humid yet cold all at once. The basketball court beneath your feet is familiar, a patch of ground where you can forget everything else for a little while. But even that comfort is thin, frayed by the weight of your mother’s prayers, her warnings about sin and salvation echoing in your head.

“You know I want some grand babies after you graduated college.” “Baby why aren’t you dating, I’m sure someone at church got the hots for you.” “Imma hook you up with that Jasmine girl, she’s a good child of god.”

Ugh, it was exhausting. Why couldn’t you just play basketball and do what you wanted? It wasn’t always about her.

Raised by a strong woman in the South, you learned early how much love could hurt. Her faith was ironclad, but so was her fear, fear that her only son might stray from the path she’d set, fear that the world would take him and twist him into something she couldn’t recognize. She never said it outright, but you knew the silence carried the weight of homophobia, a shadow you couldn’t outrun no matter how fast you dribbled down the court.

It was free time in PE. Your team was practicing free throws, and others were walking around the gym and talking to their friends. You didn’t have friends. Yes, you had the team, but they weren’t considered friends yet. You were doing your own thing, using the free hoop and practicing free throws. That’s probably why you didn’t notice him.

Jasper Hale watches you from the benches, his expression unreadable. “Asthma” Is the reason he sat out, the other students think it’s that Cullen charm that gave them favoritism. The scent you carry…it was more than hunger, more than the primal call of blood he felt. It claws at him, fierce and unrelenting, stirring something buried deep beneath decades of control and old, harsh memories. It leaves his throat hot like flames, it leaves his mouth sopping with venom, and eyes dark like coal. A Confederate soldier turned vampire, he never imagined he’d be fighting these urges for a boy like you someone so alive, so painfully human and so full of resentment and sadness.

He felt you.

He studied you in that not-so-careful gaze, that gaze that Rosalie would roll her eyes at because he wasn’t being subtle in the slightest. He swallowed thickly as he forced himself to hold his breath, the mere scent of your sweat was overbearing, the pulse of your heart beat dominating the sounds of people and sneakers squeaking around him. You were dangerous.

Each day, he battles the pull, the violent want that his body screams for but his mind refuses to accept. And then there’s the unfamiliar ache in his chest, confusing and unwelcome.

Jasper wasn’t sure what scared him more…the hunger or the unfamiliar swell of feelings he’d never faced. He remembered Maria’s cold command, the countless newborns he’d trained to kill without question. Sometimes he wonders how long it would take. Maybe five minutes in total. His black eyes scan the gym in a careful primal way. Something he was ashamed to admit but he always did. Kill him, him, her… then her…those three right there and those five there, that wouldn’t take more than 10 seconds for their necks to be broken. Then that’ll leave you. Confused from the sudden quietness, but before you could see your classmates' head turned the other way…you’d be dead. And he’d take his time doing it. Savoring the flavor of your essence, the first taste of blood in 65 years. He swallowed thickly, before standing up to excuse himself to the locker room.

He couldn’t do that… you were…different. And so was he. What would Carlisle think? He thought to himself. Rosalie would kill him herself.

You didn’t see him depart, he was invisible. Exactly how it was meant to be.

You remember the first time he caught you off guard. It had been a long Sunday the day before. You were exhausted, and all you wanted to do was zone out during this free bell before heading to your next class.

Just outside the library, when your hands slipped, and coffee threatened to spill onto your new hoodie. His reflex was sharp; he caught the cup before it hit the ground.

“Thanks,” you muttered, your voice rough with fatigue and something else, something unspoken.

He nodded, eyes searching yours for a moment longer than polite before he turned away. You felt it too, the strange weight behind his dark gaze, like a question with no answer. You shrugged it off then before pushing the library doors open. Dude was weird. That’s what they were saying about the Cullens anyway. The weird siblings who looked pretty and isolated themselves. You wished you could say you forgot that interaction as soon as it happened. But that weird nagging guilt you felt…

You want to understand what’s stirring inside you, this pull toward Jasper that feels both terrifying and inevitable. Your mother’s words echo again, warning you away from this path, but your heart isn’t listening. You didn’t want to call it a crush, a deep disgust and anger filling you from even going that far… but you also weren’t blind, you saw the way he looked at you, the way he looked, smooth face, messy blond ringlets, dark eyes that looked black. He was…never mind.

The whistle blew, cutting through the thrum of sneakers on polished wood.

“Hit the showers! You all stink!” Mr. Rowly barked, you breathed out amusingly and some laughed.

You slung your duffel over your shoulder, sweat cooling against your skin, and made your way toward the locker room. Jasper was already there, somehow always ahead of everyone, already changed, leaning against the far wall with that unreadable expression. You tried not to stare.

Jasper, on the other hand, didn’t have the luxury of pretending.

He’d heard you coming before you even stepped inside, the slow, tired rhythm of your heartbeat, the faint shift of fabric against damp skin. He kept his eyes forward at first, willing himself into the calm he’d mastered over decades. But calm was a thin thread now, fraying fast.

You stripped your jersey, pulling the clingy fabric over your head in one smooth motion. The scent hit him first, salt, heat, deodorant, and something that set his throat ablaze. His mouth flooded instantly, jaw tightening as he forced the venom back. And then his gaze betrayed him.

You weren’t looking his way, focused instead on unlacing your sneakers, fingers moving quickly and carelessly. Every motion was too human; unguarded, alive, warm. Jasper’s eyes lingered on the slope of your shoulders, the way the light caught the sheen of sweat along your back before you turned toward the showers.

He told himself it was just the blood. Just hunger. That’s all.

And then you pulled your shorts down along with your boxers.

The air seemed to shift, his breath (what little he took) caught somewhere in his throat. His mind scrambled, trying to reconcile the sharp, instinctive pull toward your pulse with the sudden, equally sharp awareness of your body in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in… God, over a century.

You didn’t notice the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, or how he pressed his back against the lockers like distance might help.

No. He wasn’t that man anymore. He wasn’t the boy who’d stolen glances in barracks, burying those feelings under discipline and bloodshed. He was supposed to be stone. Unmoved. Untouched.

And yet.

The sound of water hitting tile filled the space, and Jasper found himself imagining—not hunting this time, but something softer, stranger, and far more dangerous.

He forced his gaze away, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He tried to listen to the conversations around them, for the hint of the bell even though it didn’t come for another 20 minutes. Maybe it was easier when all he wanted was your blood. Hunger, he could control. This… he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

The steam curls around you, warm and heavy, drowning out the rest of the locker room noise. You take your time, letting the water beat down on sore muscles. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know he’s still out there, leaning against the lockers like he always does, untouchable.

You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself he’s just another weird Cullen. But when you step back out, towel slung low around your waist, you catch the briefest flicker of movement, his eyes snapping away from you like you’d caught him mid-thought.

You ignore it. Mostly. Tried not to dwell on it, everyone glances sometimes.

Jasper’s fingers twitch at his sides as you pass. He tells himself he’s not following you with his eyes. He tells himself the water still clinging to your skin isn’t worth noticing.

But you smell like rain and warmth and life, and it’s too much.

So he speaks.

“Good game yesterday.”

The words are flat, almost awkward. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s said to you before.

You blink, halfway into pulling your hoodie over your head.

“…Thanks?”

It’s clumsy. You’re not used to him talking, and he doesn’t exactly make it easy.

You shove your things into your bag after swiping on some deodorant, but you catch him watching you again…subtle, but not subtle enough. The weight of it sits heavy in your stomach.

After that, it’s small things.

Jasper holds the door when your hands are full. You offer him a spare pen in history when his pen mysteriously “runs out” of ink. One day, when the vending machine eats your dollar, a bottle of Gatorade lands on the counter beside you without a word from him.

He never lingers long, but each interaction stretches just a second too long, enough for you to notice the way his gaze dips, like he’s cataloging you in pieces. It freaks you out in ways that’s not…normal. Were you creeped out that he watched you or were you flustered that he watched you…

By the second week, you find yourself sitting near him at lunch, not with him, but close enough. The Cullens keep to themselves, but Jasper doesn’t look away when you slide into the seat behind him.

You can’t explain it, but it’s easier to breathe there. Maybe because he doesn’t fill the silence with pointless questions.

Jasper notices the shift.

You’re not avoiding him anymore. And that’s…dangerous. You shouldn’t be close, not when he’s so hungry for you all the time. But he couldn’t be Edward, he couldn’t pretend to be mean and angst when all he wanted to do was be near…that’s it. That’s all he wanted to do, just.be.near.

He feels your emotions from across the room—frustration from math homework, the flicker of amusement when the science teacher mispronounces a word, the low hum of exhaustion you carry every day like an extra layer of clothing.

And sometimes… something else.

Not quite trust. Not yet. But curiosity. Interest.

It makes his throat ache worse than the hunger ever did. It makes him want to take advantage, just so he could be close…enough.

It becomes a pattern. Little nods in the hallway. Your eyes caught his during warmups in PE. The quiet, almost comfortable awareness that no matter where you are in the room, he knows exactly where you are.

You start to wonder what it would be like if he actually talked to you like a normal person. You tell yourself you’re just curious. That’s all.

But some part of you already knows that’s a lie.

You don’t even notice when it happens—when sitting behind him in history turns into sitting beside him. At first, it’s because every other seat is taken. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. But then you keep sitting beside him, even if your usual seat is empty. Over and over again. He doesn’t tell you to stop though, but little do you know you’ve died about 16 times in his head. But even with those dark stupid thoughts and the ache in his throat. He liked your presents, and he was gathering that you enjoyed his as well.

It’s weird. He’s quiet, yeah, but it’s not the kind of quiet that makes you uncomfortable. It’s… steady. Maybe it’s because he’s ironically the best conversation you’ve had since being there.

Sometimes you catch him glancing at the notes you’re taking, the neat loops of your handwriting. Once, you hear the faintest “huh” under his breath when you mutter an answer before the teacher says it out loud.

He’s close enough to feel the edges of your emotions now, even when you’re trying to hide them. The muted irritation when the class drags. The low hum of self-consciousness when someone makes a joke about the basketball team’s “new guy.”

But then there are flashes—moments when you look at him and something electric pushes against his control. Curiosity. A reluctant… warmth. It makes his chest ache in ways he hasn’t felt since before the war, before Maria, before he’d stopped letting himself feel anything human. When he was just a 19-year-old kid going into war(a questionable decision on his part), to get that taste of freedom and earn pride.

The week after that, you catch him waiting for you outside the gym.

“Need a ride?” he asks, casual like he has never said more than four words to you at once.

You raise an eyebrow. “You even got a car?” Of course he did, his dad was a surgeon. Yet you were still impressed.

His lips twitch something close to a smile. “Better than the humid bus.”

It’s stupid, but you say yes. You didn’t know it but this was the end of your yellow bus years.

He drives *too smoothly, like someone who’s never actually learned how to be in a rush. Not that you were in a rush, he can take all the time he wants, you didn’t want to go home to the nagging. The car smells faintly like leather and something sharp you can’t place.

The conversation is light at first, he asks about basketball practice, the weather, and you bring up the fact that you’ve already gone through two pairs of sneakers because of the constant damp, basically throwing away summer's earnings. But most importantly, you notice he listens. Really listens.

You tell yourself it’s just because you don’t have many people to talk to here.

Jasper doesn’t dare tell you that the car ride is torture.

Every inhale is fire, but not breathing would draw attention. So he takes shallow breaths, keeping his hands steady on the wheel, forcing himself to focus on your voice instead of the pounding in your veins.

And he likes your voice. More than he should. It keeps him… safe. Not exactly calm, but careful.

Over the next few weeks, you start to expect him. You start to subconsciously mold him into your schedule. On sunny days you knew he wouldn’t pick you up so you rode the bus or caught a ride from one of your teammates (you were getting close to them). On extreme weather days, you could guarantee he’d be there waiting for you after practice.

Sometimes he’s leaning against the wall outside class, other times he’s in the parking lot when you leave the gym. You don’t know what you’re doing, letting this happen, letting him in even a little.

But it feels good. Dangerous, but good.

For the most part, you just enjoyed having someone there, a new friend.

It clicks one late afternoon. A genuine conversation, nothing fancy, but something a little more intimate for some reason. More intimate than the car rides, even if they’re others there.

You’re shooting hoops alone after practice, the gym mostly empty, when he steps onto the court. No invitation, just moving into your space like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes he was too perfect, his walk straight and confident, his back almost too aligned for a teenager. But you never brought it up. Wasn’t important, you kept saying.

“You play?” you ask, bouncing the ball toward him.

He catches it like he’s done it a hundred times before, spinning it in his hands. “Not like you.”

He sinks the shot anyway.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Guess you’re full of surprises.”

He doesn’t say it, but so are you. And maybe it was because he’s choosing to bond with you through your hobbies, he’s getting to know you outside of dry weather conversations and weekend catch-ups. He knows you love ball, and he wants to play with you. It was…friendly on the outside view, two teens messing around, but deep down you knew that wasn’t the case. He was learning you. And fast.

This is where it starts to feel less like you’re avoiding something and more like you’re walking toward it.

It’s weird how quickly “seeing Jasper around” becomes “spending most of your free time with him.”

You don’t even talk about anything groundbreaking; half the time it’s music, food, dumb observations about people in the hallway—but it’s easy. He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to fix you or pry, just… exists with you.

He’s been to a couple of your basketball games now. You don’t know how he can sit so still for that long without getting restless, but you notice him in the stands every time, pale hair catching the gym lights. Watching you and only you. It felt like he didn’t care much about the game, not when his eyes rarely left you.

Jasper on the other hand doesn’t understand why he keeps. Showing. Up.

Every time, it’s a war with himself—how close can he stand without tipping over the edge? How much of your emotions can he let himself feel before it becomes too much?

But he’s addicted in more ways than one now. Not just to your scent, but to the flicker of life you bring into his otherwise stagnant existence. You don’t look at him with fear. You don’t know you should. You don’t know the things that go through his brain every time he sees you on that court sweatin', or just humming a song on the radio as he drives you home. You don’t know… You don’t know just how much danger you’re in just being around him. Maybe he should be glad you don’t… maybe he should be worried as well.

When the weekend comes—like usual the two of you don’t hang out. I guess the two of you weren’t exactly out of school friends just yet, and you were okay with that. You had to be okay with that. So instead, you get invited to a party. A house party. And like the kept in child you are… you say yes. It stings to lie to your momma, but it’s getting easier these days—maybe too easy. The closer graduation gets, the more you feel like your words can slide right past her without catching. Still, you weren’t expecting her to say yes so quickly. No suspicious squint. No drawn-out questions.

“Be back before eleven,” she warns, eyeing you like she can see every possible sin waiting for you outside.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, already planning to push it just a little.

You do tell her it’s some quiet movie night or bonfire. You don’t tell her it’s at your basketball captain’s place, where the parents are conveniently “away for the weekend.” You don’t tell her the music will be loud enough to rattle your ribcage and that the smell of cheap beer and weed will cling to your clothes like wet smoke.

When you get there, the air is thick with heat, perfume, and bad decisions. The bass shakes the floor under your feet. People you barely talk to are pressed together in doorways, dancing in the cramped kitchen, spilling out onto the back porch. You get handed a red cup before you even cross the threshold.

And for the first time in weeks…you let yourself breathe.

No sermons. No lectures. No constant, tight coil in your stomach every time Jasper’s eyes catch yours in the hallway. Just music, laughter, the slow burn of liquor sliding down your throat, and that sweet, dangerous taste of autonomy.

It’s messy and loud and a little too bright. But you feel… light.

Something was…off..

Jasper’s at home when it hits him.

That wrong feeling.

Your emotions—usually steady, maybe a little guarded—are muddled, erratic. Sluggish in a way that makes his jaw clench. You’re drunk. High, maybe. Out of everyone in that town—yours was the strongest, he could pick you out easily amongst the small thousands that lived in Forks.

And you’re far from home.

The moment he’s sure, he’s moving. Out the door, steps soundless on the porch, air sharp and damp against his skin. His siblings’ questions hang unanswered in the living room. There’s no time to explain—not when your presence in his head is flickering like a dying lightbulb.

He’s already half feral by the time he hits the road, tracking the faint scent of beer and smoke clinging to your skin even from blocks away.

By 10:30, you’re stumbling along the side of the road, hoodie zipped up against the damp night air. You’re buzzing, warm, not really caring where your feet take you as long as it’s vaguely toward home. The blacktop glistens under the streetlamps, puddles stretching like warped mirrors. Your sneakers scrape along the edge, your gait uneven. But you’re smiling. A dumb little, lopsided thing.. You felt happy. And free. You just hoped your momma was upstairs in her room getting ready for bed, or better yet already asleep. You didn’t want her seeing you like this, smelling like smoke and teenage sweat. She’d probably blow your high trying to pray away the sins you just committed that night.

The road is quiet except for the faint hum of a distant engine and the sounds of your feet dragging across the street. You squint, trying to place it.

Then—white.

Blinding headlights.

A horn, sharp enough to cut through the haze.

You freeze, just for a second.

And a second is all it took.

He didn’t remember deciding to move.

The night was slick and cold, the kind of early spring chill that clung to the ground and carried scents for miles. Your trail was easy to pick up—beer, weed, sweat, the faint tang of liquor sweating out through your pores. And underneath it all, that unmistakable thread of you.

He followed it without thinking, weaving between shadows and lamplight. He could picture you perfectly and he wasn’t a mind reader: hoodie zipped up and body flushed from the heat of too many bodies pressed together. That smile you got when you felt free—careless—just reckless enough to scare him. That same goofy smile you had on court

It made his jaw tighten.

He was moving faster now, too fast for human eyes, but not so fast he’d overshoot. Every second counted. He could already feel your emotions shifting again, something like contentment, hazy and unguarded, wrapped around the steady thump of your heartbeat.

Then, somewhere up ahead, another sound threaded through the night.

An engine.

Low at first, muted by distance. But getting closer. Too close.

His muscles locked for a fraction of a second. He could hear the rubber whisper of tires against wet asphalt. He could finally see the empty stretch of road meters away through the thick trees, could see you walking along the narrow shoulder without watching behind you.

He pushed harder. The trees blurred.

The hum became a growl, then a roar.

Through the darkness, the car’s headlights bloomed, twin suns tearing through the mist. They caught you in their path, and in that slice of a moment when his feet finally hit that gravel off road…Jasper saw everything: the way you turned your head toward the light, the slack, confused squint of your eyes, the way your feet faltered on the edge of the road.

Your pulse spiked. He felt it like a gunshot.

The horn blared—high, metallic, slicing through the damp night air—and for the briefest, most dangerous second, you froze.

He was close enough now to see the white gleam of your teeth in the reflection, your dumb, drunken little smile fading into a startled O. Close enough to see the shadow of the car’s grille rushing toward you.

He wasn’t fast enough.

He didn’t have time to process it.

The sound of a balloon, maybe the sound of a shotgun gun or the sound of fleshy solid slamming into a 3-ton 2005 Tahoe. He couldn’t save you, it was like life shifted into slow motion and before he knew it you were a solid 20 feet in the air already. He smelt the blood before you even reached the ground, you didn’t make any noise as your abdomen and lower half morphed into something broken and limp. And then you hit the ground.

He felt like he had no choice but to pause, to collect himself even as he watched you bleed out. He was breathing heavy but not from exhaustion. But hunger.

The scent of your blood floods him, and for a heartbeat, he almost loses the fight. This close, with you bleeding out, it would be so easy—

No.

The truck was already gone, the sounds of yelling and cursing in the car fading as they got further away.

Their scent was already memorized.

He drops to his knees beside you, hands hovering, useless, because no matter how much he wants to keep you breathing, there’s only one way to do it. He swallows thickly. Eyes flickering from your neck already slick with blood and sweat, then back to your flittering eyes.

The scent was suffocating, thick in the air, clinging to his skin, every fiber of his being screaming at him to give in. His throat burned, his instincts roared, but the man gasping in front of him wasn’t prey. He was his. You were his.

“Stay with me,” Jasper’s voice cracked, low and rough, almost like he could will life back into you. “You’re alright—just hold on.”

The male’s breathing rattled, a wet, gargled sound that made Jasper’s gut twist. You eyes half-lidded, glassy and bloody where the whites should be—kept trying to focus on Jasper, as if clinging to him alone could anchor him to the world. “Jas—” His voice broke, the word lost in a cough that painted his lips crimson.

Jasper’s hands worked frantically, pressing torn fabric into the wound, but it was useless. The damage went deeper—too deep. Your brown skin was paling from shock, your heartbeat fluttering, faint, like a candle about to go out. Jasper could feel it fading.

“No, no, no…” Jasper’s accent thickened, his voice slipping into something rawer, more human than he’d sounded in decades. “Don’t you dare.” He tried to shift him, to get a better angle, but the movement drew another sharp cry from the man’s throat. Then your eyes rolled back from the pain. Jasper froze, guilt and panic battling in his chest as he saw just how damaged you were, bleeding from your head, nose, mouth, and your stomach was gushing open, already bloated with blood trying to escape faster.

His mind scrambled for a different solution. A way—any way—to keep you alive without crossing the line he knew he couldn’t uncross. He could bite your wrist. He could change you. He could damn you. But the thought of it…of stealing the life you still had… it fucked with the part of Jasper that couldn’t lose you like this.

Your eyelids fluttered again, breath stuttering. “Mng…c-…cold...”

Jasper cupped the side of his face with a bloodied hand, ignoring the way his own throat burned hotter with every second. “I know… I know. Just… look at me, alright? Stay with me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, as if making it softer could keep the truth at bay. “I’ve got you. I swear, I’ve got you.”

But his hands kept slipping on the blood, the warmth already fading under his touch, and Jasper knew…deep down, that time was running out faster than he could hold it together.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…”

.

I hope that’s what whitebois think when they see my booty… 🤭

“Come over”

Jordan sits on his couch his legs spread wide open his half sleep while watching whatever plays on tv then “ding” he hears a notification from his phone it’s from Deb his heart races they had met while ago at a party they had gotten along and ended up exchanging numbers Deb of course it was her the woman he couldn’t get his mind off of the past week his been stalking her on all her socials from a burner account, he grabs the phone reading the text “wanna record a video with me”. Jordan eyes light up he he hesitates before texting back he couldn’t get his mind off of her what would he do when Deb was their right in front of his face turns red thinking of her then turns off the tv and quickly starts getting ready to drive over Deb’s house, for a while now Jordan his been infatuated with Deb he watched some of her videos on YouTube and thought she was in general a funny and beautiful girl so when he met her a party he knew he had to ask for her number and get to know her they had hung out after that but mostly to make videos after they were

done making videos his mind would wonder thinking deeply about her he knew he couldn’t keep hiding these feelings for her for long when they were done with this video he would ask her out on a real date. The drive felt like torment and was longer than it should have been. Every red light felt like an entirety. His leg bounced nonstop, his mind running through every possible version of how this could go. “What if I am awkward?” “What if I said something stupid?” “What if she didn’t feel the same way as me?”but he eventually arrived at her place he knocked on the door and Deb opens it with a warm smile on her face “come in I’ll tell you what I got planned” Deb exclaimed, but Jordan is so lost in her alluring dark eyes he stands their as if caught under a spell “Jordan, hello?!” His broken from his trance “sorry- uh -I zoned out what were you saying babe” he quickly blushed realizing he called her babe he thought “babe babe omg did I really just call her that I never call anyone babe she probably thinks I’m a giant fucking loser now” Jordan felt his face heat up and his body freeze then he hears Deb’s velvety voice a chuckle comes from her soft glossy lips she says “come in we got a video to make”she grips his hand pulling him into her place her apartment his breath hitches when Deb pulls him into her apartment that simple touch was making his mind go into overdrive if he was red earlier he was a even brighter-red now after this touch his want for her would be insatiable but he would have to contain himself until after the video he’d just hope that they wouldn’t be doing much touching in the video they both sit down on the couch when they sit

Jordan noticed it The faint smell of her perfume—sweet, warm, distracting. He shifted slightly, trying not to make it obvious he was losing his mind. Deb then places her hand on his shoulder

“So,” Deb said“for the video, I was thinking we bake something.”

He nodded, but honestly? He wasn’t paying attention at all to what was coming out of her mouth

she looks him up and down and leans in Jordan also lean in thinking “did she somehow read my mind finally I can taste her I’ve wanted to for a while now” the he feels Deb’s hand on his cheek he melts into her touch his eyes fluttering shut, leaning in closer to her lips he was inches away from them then he feels Deb wipe something off his chin “sorry if I was being too touchy you had crumbs on your face and it was bothering me”

Deb said

The moments shattered Jordan blinked as he snapped back into reality

“Oh yeah I was eating a bag of chips earlier” Jordan says in disappointment

Deb just smiles again, as if nothing happened

“So what do you think we should bake babe?” She laughs making fun of him from earlier

Jordan swallows hard trying to act calm he looks down smirking at her for him calling her babe by accident “well babe!” He says while chuckling he realizes that even though he may have feelings for her she is still his friend too so his mind calms a bit

“Maybe we should bake a cake and make it look like something real like a shoe or something”

“That sounds fun maybe we could try to make a fruit out of a cake like a dragon fruit or—” Deb responses but Jordan interrupts her Jordan sighs saying

“Could I talk to you before we start recording?”

“Uh sure of course” Deb says caught off guard by his sudden announcement

Jordan sat there his palms sweaty, he could hear his own heart pounding for God's sake these words this confession he had played in his head over and over had been stuck in his head ever since he got to know her but it was now or never

“Deb…” he states then he pauses hie looks down nervously then he runs a hand through his luscious blonde hair, letting out a shaking breath “ I’ve been trying to act normal but I can’t any longer”

She looks at his eyes filled with worry

“Deb I think about you all the time when I wake up in the morning, during the day, at night… all the time I like you I really do I love when I see your name in my notifications weathers it just says that you posted something or that you sent me a text message I hope this doesn’t make anything weird between us but I wanna get to know you more than just as a friend” he says looking at her longing for her response

“Jordan…” she whispers

“I kept telling myself that all that I was imagining was that you weren’t into me that I was being delusional that you didn’t like me back I feel the same way I like you a lot” she giggles and holds his hands

For a moment time stopped for them nothing felt real they both couldn’t believe they both had feelings for each other

Jordan's hand lifted to brush her braid from out of her face it was such a small touch but it sent heat blooming through him like wildfire

He couldn’t take this any more he couldn’t take her looking up at him with those sultry seductive eyes he gazes deeply into them then as quick as lightning, her lips meet

He pulls back after the quick kiss “I’ve been wanting to taste you” he whispers into her ear Deb wraps her arms around him as Jordan pins her down to her couch he stops before kissing her looking into her eyes he bites his lip “beg for it tell me you want it” he breaths heavily awaiting Deb’s response “please kiss me Jordan I need you” Deb says then Jordan smirks pressing his lips into hers sliding his tongue into her mouth as he does that his knee starts to press against her crotch he smiles into the kiss the he begins to kiss her neck Deb moans softly making Jordan want her even more Deb takes off her shirt revealing her Lacey pink bra he starts to kiss her collar bones then he drags his tongue to Her breast but before he could get to removing her bra a loud knocking sound disrupts them Deb is sadden that the fun had to end so soon but before she can go to the door Jordan stands up instantly heading over to see who’s at the door Jordan was definitely annoyed he opens the door to see a man holding a pizza he stares down at the man then grabs the pizza and shuts the door Jordan turns around to see Deb looking up at him shyly “I had ordered that for us earlier I didn’t know we’d me you know…”

Lando Norris X Reader Insta AU

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Amsterdam, Netherlands

Liked by Landonorris, Martingarix, ciscanorris1 and 45,678 others

@yourinstagram : Hey siri how do you say goodmorning in Dutch 🇳🇱

125,78 comments

@landosfloffyhead can Lando fight because…Dutch men are vultures 😭

@ynsno1stan oh she’s too gorgeous I can’t take it !!!

@ciscanorris1 after kings day consider yourself officially a Norris by BLOOD 🤭

@landonorris is your name amster ?? Because DAMN ❤️

— @yourinstagram thank god you’re handsome 😭 because baby that’s not…

— @landonorris can’t wait 2 see you <3

@martingarix i hope you have your uniform !!!

— @martingarix Orange isn’t my colour therefore I will NOT be attending the celebrations sarryyy 😋

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Liked by skysports, Romeo beckham and 379,876 others

@f1driversgossip : How it started 🆚 How it’s going….mclarens golden boy @landonorris seems to be letting loose this weekend as he parties all night celebrating kings day with famous Dutch DJ & Best friend @martingarix !! We’re unsure on how serious Norris’s injury is yet we’re also wondering where the drivers girlfriend @yourinstagram is seeing as she’s also in the country according to her recent post…🇳🇱 stay updated for more.

567,85 comments

@landoscurls BYEEEEEE Lando is a PR nightmare 💀

@ynsarmy does y/n even KNOW that her child is drinking

@lando04nation mr “I don’t drink” 🤨 beat his ass y/n !!!

@ln4loyalistt I’m sorry ? Is THEE Lando Norris… DRUNK 😭 this was not on my 2024 bingo card I fear

@yourinstagram so this explains why he hasn’t responded to me in hours 🧍🏽‍♀️

— @ln4whoree uh ohhhh 💀

@landosgoatee HELP NOT Y/N FINDING OUT THE SAME THROUGH INSTA LIKE US 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

@mclarensfirstwin I hope lando’s a fast runner because when y/n catches his 5’3 ass LMAOOOO

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Lando’s Instagram story

Yourinstagram story

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@landonorris : Paddle + Pizza + My Pretty Lady 🍕❤️🇳🇱Amsterdam you’ve been a blast …as for @martingarix you will pay for your crimes.

Liked by McLaren, oscarpiastri, Carlossainz and 78,890 others

@yourinstagram I love you stoopid head ❤️

@ln4 parents & paddle 🥹 love to seee it

@landosflooff *sighs* I just love them so much

@lando04loyalist she’s amazing and he’s there 🧍🏽‍♀️

@ynsupdates lowkey wish she grounded him 🫡

— @yourinstagram him and Martin are on time out from seeing eachother don’t worry !! Mum said NO 🫡

@martingarix same time next year ??

@adam_norris_pure_electric I think he got a smacked bottom folks lol !! Hope the nose is okay muppet son🥸

— @yourinstagram I made him sit on the naughty step too for not answering his phone.

@quadrantnation booo 🍅🍅🍅 put him in the dog house mother !!

@landonorris CAN EVERYONE STOP ENCOURAGING MORE PUNISHMENT !! I HAVE SUFFERED ENOUGH 🙃

@riabishh I say take away all his devices for underage drinking 👀 no 14 year old son of ours goes partying in the dam and gets away with it.

@maxfewtrell 🤣🤣🤣send him to the dog house !!! And throw away the key

Yaya Dacosta & Brian Tee as April Sexton and Ethan Choi