#“GET OUT! (But also… don’t leave me.)”

[abdalsalam2000]

Has any of you experienced your little one asking for a loaf of bread and standing there sadly, staring at their empty hands? Or your infant crying with hunger and you can't bring a single drop of milk to calm them down? Has any of you tasted the bitterness of standing in long lines just for a meal that barely keeps them alive? Has any of you experienced the feeling of living on one meal a day, divided among family members as if it were a precious treasure? This is our reality and our situation today. It has become a familiar scene to us, but it is met with cold international and global silence. How long, how long will we be left to face hunger and death alone? Wake up, dignity is being slaughtered here every day, and our hearts bleed in silence. How long will we remain afraid, displaced, hungry, besieged, and killed every day? How long? If hearts were made of stone, stones would crumble from the intensity of the pain and abandonment we are suffering. We hope that those with humanity and mercy in their hearts will support me and my family until we find something to eat and get out of here alive

Well all I ask is that you donate if you can and I really need this donation I need it badly don’t read and leave share also maybe someone will see it who can donate please sympathize with us and stand by us with your donation you are providing me with a lot and a lot of help please donate

[mihsella]

That other side of you.

Minors DNI!!

Bob Reynolds / Void x Female Reader

Summary: Void has been growing desperate, seeing how you and Bob fucked whenever you guys wanted to. He also wanted his turn with you, he wanted you to know how good he could make you feel.

Warnings: Shameless smut, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, dom and sub undertones (i think), rough sex, overstimulation (if you squint), small reference of substance abuse.

A little bit of cute romance Bob for like two lines lol!

————————————————————————

You had been dating Robert Reynolds for a while now. Ever since you first saw him, you felt pulled towards him, that weird gravitational attraction that you only get once in your life. His dark messy hair, his deep blue eyes, his charming good-boy smile, they melted your heart since day one.

You loved how he was when you two got intimate. He was soft, delicate, yet somehow desperate, almost submissive at times. He could be at your feet whenever you wanted him too, begging you to touch him, begging you for more. And you loved him like this, you loved how desired he made you feel.

You knew about the Void, he had told you about him after your first night together, expecting you to leave like everyone else did. But you? You stayed. You can't deny you were scared at first, you knew how hard it was for him to control it, to control him. Nevertheless, ever since he joined the Thunderbolts, things were actually looking brighter. Bob came into peace with Void, and Void came into peace with Bob. They even talked to each other and Bob even allowed Void to manifest himself and do everyday things. And whenever he did, he was surprisingly normal. You just chatted and kept him up with everything, he became like another friend to you, another version of the puppy eyed boy you loved.

You were already accostumed to seeing Bob speak to himself, you knew he was talking to Void. But lately he seemed jumpy, uncertain. Whenever he spoke to himself he made sure to leave the room, it was like he didn’t want you to hear him, to hear them. It wasn't until one morning, when you were sipping coffee, that your boyfriend approached you, eagerly sat down, and said;

"I want to talk to you about uhm....something."

"Oh, what is it babe? Everything ok? …..Is it something at work?" You asked shyly. His recent demeanor had you worrying that he may had relapsed, or had problems dealing with Void again.

"No, its just uhm. Its about Void" He said, fidgeting with his hands and avoiding your eyes.

"Oh. Is he making you upset again?" You asked, eyes widening.

"No, its not that its just. You know how he has feelings too and needs too, right? Like he is kinda human after all….I guess. And, you know, uhm, we are like at some level the same person, so if I like something or need something he tends to feel the same way. That's why I let him take the lead sometimes, and talk to you, and go for walks, and eat and stuff" He is jumpy, shy, acting like the first time he ever talked to you. You must admit it, Bob was extremely timid, but now, he looked almost ashamed.

"I know that baby. I get that and I've told you I'm ok with that. I understand." You look deep into his eyes, stretching out your hand over the table to grab his. You knew he was insecure about his "condition”, yet you had never seen him this way.

“It’s just well, he had this idea, well I guess we had it cause I agreed and all. You know I love you so I guess he loves you, so…”

“So…?”

“So….ugh how the fuck do I say this…god” He brought his hands to his head, and furrowed his eyebrows. “Uhm…well..”

“Bobby, babe, you know you can tell me anything. You know I am willing to help you as long as it means you can control him and you guys can be at peace.” You looked at your boyfriend sincerely, you were truly willing to do anything for him.

“Well, he wants to…uhh…..he wants to fuck you”

“Oh” Your cheeks turned red. “I…I don’t know what to say” You can’t say you hadn’t thought about it before. About knowing how this other side of your boyfriend was, how he would touch you differently, feel you differently. But it was always just a fleeting thought. You never thought Bob would allow something like this.

“I mean if you don’t want to it’s fine”

“No no… I’ll do it” You smiled at him.

“Oh thanks babe really, I can’t thank you enough. This guy, you know, he was driving me crazy” He stood up, reached over and kissed your forehead, cupping your face in his calloused hands. “I love you so much” He smiled, his eyes brightening.

“I know” You smiled back.

He reached for your lips, pulling you into a soft, delicate kiss. And suddenly, he stopped. His eyes, still blue, turned somehow dark, like if a fog had taken over. He pulled away, smiling, he was still Bob but, not your Bob. He smiled cockily, confident, and looked straight at your lips. “Hey there”

You stood up, now aware. “Void..?” You looked straight into his eyes.

“In the flesh, baby” He pulled you into a long, deep kiss. His lips grazed yours roughly, he was desperate, hungry. His tongue exploring every single part of your mouth. His hands were everywhere, he grabbed your hair, cupped your face, touched your waist. It was so different from Bob’s delicate kisses, yet just as delicious. You replied back, putting your hands on his torso and sliding down, keeping up with all that he was giving you. He was so rough, so desesperate, you felt your whole body aching for him, that familiar feeling building up between your thights.

Sloppily, in between kisses, you made your way towards your bedroom. Clumsily tripping over stuff as you did. You got to your bedroom and he stopped, looking into your eyes “You are so beautiful”. He hugged you and held you up as he kissed you, slowly moving towards your neck. His hot breath against your skin made you feel otherworldly, you felt his desire in every single kiss. You moved your hands towards his shirt, trying to take it off without breaking the kiss. He looked down at you and smirked “Pathetic..” He cockily took his shirt off with just one hand, and took yours off just as easily. (God, has he been practicing this??) In a couple of swift movements you were completely naked, and him in his in underwear, his torso glowing under the sunlight.

“so fucking pretty for me…” He whispered, out of breath as he laid you in the bed. He climbed over you, his eyes locking with yours as he trailed kisses from your face, to your neck, and then to your torso. “So, so fucking pretty” He said as he took his mouth to one of your breasts. He kissed it, sucked it, ran his tongue in slow, torturing circles around your nipple. Grabbing your other breasts with his free hand and pinching that nipple as he sucked. A moan escaped your lips as you felt his tongue in your breasts, alternating between each one, kissing and grabbing, making you feel so sensitive. You were sure your breasts were already sore when you felt him start trailing his kisses down, his hot lips grazing through your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good baby, you’ll forget you’re even dating goddamn Bob”.

He got to your clit and started kissing it, so slowly, yet it felt like so much. You looked down, into his sweet dark eyes, he looked beautiful. His long hair framing his face as he looked straight at you, face buried between your thighs. He went slowly on your clit, he wanted you to beg him, to make him know how hard you wanted him. “M…more”

“What was the baby?”

“More… please” You whined. You felt pathetic, writhing under this man. You felt his tongue slide through your folds, teasing them before he went all in, alternating between sucking and kissing your clit, and sliding his tongue through your folds. You moaned and whined, you felt it through your body, his tongue was hot against you. You felt yourself get wetter, you needed him, all of him, everywhere.

Almost as if he heard you, he suddenly added a digit into you, expanding and pumping. You couldn’t keep up with everything, his finger reached deep, into that sweet spot your boyfriend would always reach. Instinctly, you reached down, grabbing his soft hair and pushing him deeper towards you. He looked at you and smiled, he was so fucking cocky and you hated it, yet he made you feel so good, so used.

He inserted another digit and you felt your boyfriend’s cold rings against your entrance, his fingers curling as his tongue kept torturing your clit. Your moans were almost pornographic at this point. Loud, whiny, pathetic sounds came out of your mouth. “Those sounds baby, keep making them.” He said as he smirked at you, fingers pumping in and out of you mercilessly. You felt the heat quickly building up, like you were about to spill in any minute. “M’gonna…gonna cum..” you managed to get out in between your moans. He smiled, and started sucking harder on your clit, keeping the same pace with his fingers. You quickly felt your core tensing, and with a moan came undone into his hands, breathing heavily and writhing from the pleasure. Your mind was foggy, and you saw stars.

“So good for me baby, aren’t you? Such a good girl” He took his hands towards your waist, and started trailing them through thighs, kissing them and caressing them. “That was so much..” You said, still slurring on your words. “Oh but it wasn’t enough for me baby.” You heard the smile in his words as he took off his boxers, carelessly tossing them to the side.

He climbed on the bed and aligned himself with your entrance, sliding his cock through your folds. You were so sensitive that it already felt like too much, and he hadn’t even entered you yet. He looked at you, grabbing your face as you felt him go in, causing you to moan. You were so wet for him that it just slid in, no pain. You were already used to your boyfriend’s dick yet seemed to always forget how utterly big he was.

He gave you a moment to adjust to his size, and started pumping into you slowly, his eyes praising you as he did. You felt him him hitting deep into your core. Slowly, torturing you, making you feel each and every trust. He slowly kissed your neck, leaving marks all over you as he steadily increased his pace. You felt how much he filled you, overwhelmed by how his cock felt against your folds, and how his mouth was nibbling the skin of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you dumb” he shamelessly whispered against your ear as he quickly started on a pace, going harder and faster into you. You were already so sensitive and now just felt completely cockdrunk. You couldn’t control the moans that were escaping you, and couldn’t even keep your legs straight, going limp under him, completely vulnerable to his touch.

He took notice of your reaction, and moved his hands towards your waist, pinning you down into the bed as he mercilessly fucked you. Each thrust leaving you out of breath and making your mind foggier. You could only feel him, it was so overwhelming yet so good. You could only feel him going faster, harder, giving you everything he had. You closed your eyes, unable to handle everything he was giving you. “Open your eyes, I want you to see this” he said, as you looked up and saw his hair framing his beautiful face.

His pace quickly became erratic, small moans escaping his lips as you felt that familiar feeling growing inside of you again. He kept holding down your waist as you whimpered, choking out every single time he hit that spot. He looked down on you, mouth open as he fucked you. Then, with one last long thrust, he came undone into you, filling your insides so perfectly. And so did you. Feeling your mind go completely blank and your body get overpowered by that heat, legs shaking with one last, loud moan. He collapsed on top of you, rolling over as he took deep breaths.

He looked at you. Your mind still foggy and fucked out of comprehension. “God, now I know why Bob loves you so much” He said as he cupped your face in one of his hands. Leaning in to kiss your forehead, and smiling as he looked into your eyes. You smiled back, catching your breath.

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This is my first fic here!! Taking any recommendations or prompts. Lowkey thinking about doing a sub!Bob fic. Tell me your thoughts!! Love you guys!! <3

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Silverstone 2022 accident

Notes — Do I hear wedding bells......? I am aware, btw, that their wedding song was not actually released yet in 2022. I don’t care. It’s perfect.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

June 2022 

It was nearly 1am in Monaco, and the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the TV, which had finished playing the movie they’d put on and was now cycling through the Netflix screensaver. Lando was lying upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, a blanket over his face. Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of envelopes, glossy samples, test prints, and a very snuggly cat curled around the printer.

They were cat sitting for Max for a few days. Jimmy was hiding somewhere, probably. But Sassy had imprinted on Amelia and wouldn’t leave her side. 

The dining table was lost beneath swatches of card stock, wax seal stamps, and an alarming number of silver and papaya gel pens.

Lando peeked out from under the blanket. “Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Is this hell?”

“Shh,” Amelia said, clutching a save-the-date draft in both hands. “This one’s almost perfect.”

“You said that about the last four.”

“This one feels better.”

“I am literally having to be upside down to stay engaged in this conversation.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” she muttered, flipping the card-stock over and running her fingers along the raised print. “Do you think it’s too formal?”

Lando rolled off the couch dramatically and landed on his knees beside her with a quiet oof. “Let me see.” He took the card and read aloud, in an overly posh British accent: “‘Save the date for the wedding of Amelia Brown and Lando Norris. July 5th, 2022. Surrey, England.’” He looked up. “Shouldn’t we also mention that there’ll be a bouncy castle?”

“There is not going to be a bouncy castle.” She told him. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“We absolutely do.” She glared at him. 

Lando grinned, pleased to have poked the right nerve. “Fine. But I want there to be a chocolate fountain at the reception.”

“You’re twelve years old.” She muttered. 

“I am your fiancé.” He shot back. 

She snorted, and Lando leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before glancing back down at the card in his hand. “I like this one,” he said sincerely this time. “It’s very you.”

“I designed it to be us.” She sighed. 

“I know. That’s why it’s good.” He looked up, tilting his head. “When do you want to get them sent out?”

“Soon.” She paused. “I wanted to be sure. I wanted you to be sure.”

Lando’s smile softened. He reached over and pulled her into his lap. “Baby, I’m so sure. Never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was gentle, hidden against his shoulder. “Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s send them.”

Lando pulled out his phone and held it up. “I’m going to start a group chat with every driver on the grid. Call it ‘Wedding of the Year.’”

“Lando, do not—”

But it was too late. He was already typing.

And laughing.

And she was completely, undeniably in love with him.

—

The video call connected with a soft ping, and Amelia barely waited for her mother’s face to load before launching into her current crisis.

“—and I just don’t think the eucalyptus runners will work with the shade of green we’ve picked for the table linens, even if we go with silver flatware, which I’m still not convinced about because it feels cold, and I want something warmer, but gold doesn’t work with the papaya theme, and—”

“Hi, darling,” her mother said, voice gentle and amused. “It’s nice to see your face.”

Amelia blinked. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Are you a bit stressed?” Her mum offered, smiling.

Amelia huffed. “According to Lando? Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s wrong.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Amelia’s mum sat at her kitchen table in England, tea in hand. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows behind her. On Amelia’s end, the walls were covered in colour swatches, seating charts, spreadsheets open on her laptop. A candle burned on the windowsill — scentless, for her sake.

“I made a new schedule,” Amelia said. “I reordered the to-do list based on dependency flow and deadlines. I think we can shave off six days from what the planner estimated.”

Her mum nodded patiently. “That sounds very efficient.”

“And I found a new calligrapher for the place cards, because the first one had spacing inconsistencies and I couldn’t— I just couldn’t look at it.”

“Of course.”

Amelia didn’t notice the concern in her mother’s eyes until she looked up from her notebook. “What?”

Her mum’s smile didn’t fade. “Nothing. Just… making sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

“I am,” Amelia said quickly, automatically. Then, after a beat, “This is just… how I take care of things. Planning helps. Lists help.”

“I know.” Her mother’s voice was warm. “I remember the schedule you made for your fifth birthday.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “The magician was late.”

“But you handled it. You always do.”

Silence fell again, this one comfortable.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Amelia said quietly, more to the air than anything.

“I know you’re not. You’re trying to make it perfect. Because you love him. And because this is important to you.”

Amelia’s eyes prickled a little. “It is. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“And even if something does,” her mum said softly, “you’ll be married to a man who adores you. That’s the part that matters.”

Amelia nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “I don’t mean to be… hard work.”

“You’re not hard work,” her mum said. “You’re you. You’re focused, and you’re thoughtful, and sometimes you hyper-fixate and forget to eat breakfast.”

“I ate lunch.”

“Was it a coffee?”

“...Yes.”

Her mum laughed. “That doesn’t count, honey.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, a little calmer. “I know.”

“And if you need help, ask.”

“I am asking.”

“I know.” Her mum’s eyes softened. “Now, let’s talk about flatware, shall we?”

—

The boutique in Monaco was a study in elegance. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and white tea, filtered through softly humming vents above. Soft jazz played through the walls. Everything gleamed — mirrored walls, crystal chandeliers, gold accents on ivory hangers.

Amelia and Pietra looked wildly out of place.

Their matching oversized sweatpants and hoodies, Amelia’s in a washed lavender, Pietra’s in charcoal grey, were rumpled and cozy. Amelia was also wearing a pair of trainers, whereas Pietra had opted for a pair of flip-flops. No makeup, no handbags.

The woman behind the counter clocked them in an instant. Her name tag said Dominique. She was perfectly coiffed, with a tight bun and blood-red lipstick that hadn’t smudged in hours. Her eyes flicked down and back up. Smile professional, but frosty — which only Pietra noticed.

“Bonjour,” she said crisply. “How may I assist you today?”

Amelia stepped forward with a wide smile. “Hi. I called ahead. I’m looking for a wedding dress. I’ve been looking at your website all week, but my magazines say that sizing can be tricky with wedding dresses, so I thought I’d come in and try a few on in person.”

Dominique blinked. “Yes, of course,” she replied.. “We do recommend a fitting with one of our stylists to ensure your silhouette is… appropriately showcased.” Her voice, just barely, trailed off into doubt.

Pietra’s gaze sharpened instantly. She crossed her arms and took a step closer to Amelia, her protective instincts flaring like a sixth sense. “She likes princess cuts. Sleeveless. Soft fabrics only—anything itchy is a no. Think comfort and sparkle, not scratchy couture.”

Dominique offered a tight-lipped smile and gestured vaguely toward a collection toward the left. “We just received the latest gowns from Milan. I’ll begin pulling some pieces.”

But Amelia was already halfway into the racks. The world of high-end bridal fashion had completely absorbed her. The rich fabrics, the layers, the delicate embroidery—it was a sensory feast. 

Until it wasn’t.

Her fingers brushed over a pale blue chiffon and her entire body jolted. She let out a high-pitched, unhappy squeak and yanked her hand back like she'd been burned. “Awful,” she muttered, stepping well away from the offending texture. “Like sandpaper.”

Pietra snorted and shot Dominique a glance that said, ‘Do not laugh, bitch. Don’t even try it.’

Dominique’s lips parted, perhaps to comment, but then closed again. Wisely.

Amelia drifted across the boutique, her gaze landing on a soft ivory gown with delicate pearl beading along the neckline. “Oh. I like this one.”

She pulled it from the rack, fingers brushing the satin bodice, examining the full skirt with genuine curiosity and care.

Pietra followed her across the floor, glancing at the gown. “It’s beautiful. I—” She reached out and felt the hem between two fingers. Her brows drew together slightly. “Maybe not this one, ‘Melia. Feel here.”

Amelia frowned and mirrored her, pressing the lining between her fingertips. “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit... sticky.”

Dominique hovered nearby, clearly itching to say something. Eventually, she broke. “That gown is more of a display piece. Very few clients choose to actually wear it for their ceremony.” Her emphasis was subtle but pointed.

Pietra opened her mouth, but Amelia beat her to it. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said cheerfully, still carefully inspecting the neckline. “It’s really beautiful to look at, though. I like how the beadwork isn’t symmetrical. Feels a little bit like a constellation. Not literal, just... deliberate chaos.”

Dominique blinked. She stared. And something shifted. Her fingers twitched slightly as if resisting the urge to take notes. “Would you be interested in our ‘Altair’ line?” she asked, voice softer, less clipped. “We have a few dresses from that collection still in stock. More tactile-friendly, very unique silhouettes.”

Amelia lit up. “Yes, please!”

Pietra raised a brow but said nothing. She was still watching Dominique carefully. Measuring. 

Within minutes, Dominique returned with a handful of dresses draped over her arms, the fabrics a softer mix of silk and organza, more fluid, less rigid. She handed the first gown over with a tentative sort of reverence.

In the dressing room, Amelia giggled, her voice floating through the velvet curtain. “This one feels like clouds. Actual clouds.”

Dominique even smiled. “That one was worn by a princess in Monaco—though we never reveal which.”

Pietra rolled her eyes but grinned. “Of course.”

The next hour passed in a blur of dresses and giggles. Amelia asked a million questions about seam placements, lining, and how much modification they allowed for — she was short, and she’d want to have some kind of double-lining gin certain areas. 

Dominique became quieter and more attentive with each passing minute, her posture loosening, her voice softening.

Amelia, for all her blunt honesty, was unfailingly kind. She wasn’t fussy or entitled. She didn’t throw her wealth around, didn’t boast about her fiancé, didn’t flinch when told something didn’t quite work on her figure. But she was also specific. Clear. Confident in her own language.

Eventually, Dominique excused herself for a moment. When she returned, she offered them champagne and almond biscuits—“here, we will need some energy.”

Pietra side-eyed her, amused. “Changed your mind about us, have you?”

Dominique gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “She’s a very discerning bride. We don’t get many who actually know what they want, much less why. It’s… refreshing.”

Amelia stepped out of the dressing room in the sixth dress, barefoot, the satin scarf trailing behind her like a whisper. It had a delicate, modern silhouette with embroidered thread-work along the spine. Strapless. Soft, pleasant fabric that she could brush her hands back and forth over without any kind of unpleasantness. 

Pietra exhaled. “That’s the one.”

Amelia looked at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. “It feels like me,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.” 

— 

It was nearly midnight, but the windows were still open to the balmy night air and the pleasant smell of the sea. Their living room was a comforting mess—seating charts spread out on the coffee table, empty mugs of tea on coasters, a crumpled note with “NO GRAVEL TRAPS ON THE AISLE” scribbled in Amelia’s handwriting.

Lando sat cross-legged on the rug, wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that might’ve once been Fewtrell’s. Amelia was curled up on the sofa in an old oversized Red Bull factory t-shirt with a hole at the collar, laptop on her knees.

“So,” she said, tapping the screen, “we’ve got your family on the left side, mine on the right, McLaren crew grouped here so they can escape to the bar easily, and I put the drivers who don’t get on in opposite corners. Mostly for fun.”

Lando leaned forward to peer at the digital seating chart. “You put Fernando next to Toto.”

“Yeah.” She giggled. 

He reached for the paper menu mock-up next to him. “So… food. Thoughts?”

Amelia stretched her legs out and yawned. “I still think barbecue. Like a proper British summer day. Chicken skewers, burgers, hotdogs, ribs, corn, chips, beers in ice buckets. Strawberry shortcake for dessert. Simple. Good.”

Lando tapped the page thoughtfully. “No little towers of food with sauce painted like abstract art?”

“No. We are not having foamed asparagus or edible air. I’m going to be stressed enough, I need safe foods.”

He laughed. “Alright, baby. Barbecue it is.”

“Good. And it makes sense since it’s an outdoor reception. And I’ve sorted out the fairy lights, where I want the paper lanterns. I want long wooden tables with runners and candles and the candles are all going to be lemon scented to help the people who drink or eat too much.” She bit her lip. “I’ll carry some nose plugs in-case all of the smells get overwhelming.” 

“My future wife. So specific.”

“Your future wife. Incredibly autistic,” she returned flatly, flipping a tab on her browser. 

Lando crawled off the rug and onto the sofa beside her. She adjusted her laptop without looking and let him tuck himself under her arm. His curls smelled faintly like his shampoo. It was a mild scent. She liked it. 

“So,” he murmured against her shoulder. “It’s all going to be a bit crazy, isn’t it? Getting married two days after Silverstone?”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. But it gives you one full day to recover, which I’m sure you’re going to need since you tend to drive like your life depends on it there.”

He gave her a gentle nudge. “You okay with that timing?”

Amelia shrugged. “I think it’s fine. It’ll feel like a season high, no matter what your finishing position says. So, you’ll make it through without crashing, and then two days later, we get married.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing patterns over the blanket. “You make everything sound so easy.”

“That’s because I overthink everything to the point of perfection.”

He laughed into her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you’re sure about the marquee?”

“Yes. Big white tent, strung with lights. It’s British summer. It’ll rain at some point, and I want everyone dry and happy. Also I want it to smell like cut grass and sunscreen and citronella candles.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his voice low. “It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone certain, her thumb stroking the corner of his hand. 

He leaned in and kissed her jaw. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she reached to close her laptop. “Now go and brush your teeth. And remember to floss. You’ve got a dentist appointment tomorrow morning.”

—

July 2022

The Red Bull garage buzzed with activity, a constant undercurrent of shouting, laughter, and hydraulic whines. Engineers wove around each other like ants, methodical and focused. The air smelled like hot metal, tire rubber, and gentle anticipation — it was only Thursday. 

Amelia’s clipboard rested loosely against her hip, dog-eared pages bristling with colour-coded sticky tabs and annotated margins. She was reading something intently when Max appeared beside her, a water bottle dangling from his hand.

“You look tan,” he said without preamble, eyes fixed on the front wing being slotted into place across the garage.

Amelia blinked, not looking up. “I had a spray tan. Hated it. Washed it off after an hour, so the colour didn’t develop as much as it should have.”

Max gave a small nod, considering. “It’s subtle, but noticeable. Looks nice.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks, Max.”

He shrugged. They both watched as a mechanic began fitting a sensor onto the nose cone. Behind them, someone called for torque settings.

“You nervous?” Max asked.

“For the race?” She scrunched her nose slightly. “No, Max.”

He cracked a grin. “I meant the wedding.”

Amelia blinked, then her expression softened immediately. Her entire face changed—lighter, brighter. “We’re finalising the reception seating chart tonight. It’s so much fun. It makes me feel so powerful.”

Max chuckled, low and warm. “I’ve never heard someone say that about a seating chart.”

“It’s like a puzzle.” She told him. “It’s strategic warfare. There’s certain people who can’t share a table, and then other people who’d be upset if they weren’t sharing. It’s like herding Jimmy and Sassy around when they just want to sleep.”

“Awful, then,” Max said dryly. “Celeste bought a new dress,” he offered after a beat, half-distracted as he watched an engineer lift one of the rear suspension arms.

“Oh. Cool. Me too,” Amelia said brightly.

Max turned his head to look at her, deadpan. “…You’re the bride.”

Amelia blinked. “So?”

“So of course you bought a dress. You’re not going to show up in a hoodie and pretend it’s avant-garde.” His tone was flat, but he couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I did try on a satin jumpsuit with a cape,” she said, unfazed.

Max stared at her like she was deranged. “Of course you did.”

“It was incredibly itchy,” she admitted, pulling a face. “I couldn’t move my arms properly either. I looked like a Bram Stocker vampire.”

“Sounds like a missed opportunity.” He teased. 

She glanced at him. “I don’t want to look like a vampire at my wedding, Max. That’s why I got a spray tan. Lando offered to take me to St. Tropez for a few days to get some natural colour, but we’ve just been too busy to find the time.” She sighed sadly. 

Max made a soft noise of amusement, shaking his head. “Celeste’s worried about the weather. She said if it rains, her hair’s going to be ruined and it’ll be flat in every photo.”

“Oh. That’s fine,” Amelia said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “There’s going to be a marquee. One with fairy lights and wood panel flooring. It’s weatherproofed and temperature controlled.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that,” Max said with a little smile. “I think she’s more very excited.” 

Someone across the bay swore in Dutch. A helmet clinked onto a workbench behind them. Amelia glanced at her clipboard again and made a quick note, then looked back up at Max.

“What did you think of the save-the-dates?”

“Very classy,” he said without hesitation. “Celeste put it up on the fridge.”

Amelia lit up. “She did?”

Max nodded. “Yep. Right next to a magnet shaped like a cat. She made me RSVP twice just to be sure.”

Amelia laughed, soft and full-bodied. “That’s good. I was a bit worried that she might not be impressed by the food options. She’s much fancier than me.”

“Nah,” Max waved it off. “She gets it. Barbecue food is safe. Comforting. No truffle foam bullshit.”

Amelia leaned in conspiratorially. “I hired Lando a bouncy castle. Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “He’s going to cry.”

“Happy tears only,” she agreed. 

Max finished his water and tossed the empty bottle into the bin. Then he looked at her with something a little softer in his eyes. “You’re going to be a very cool wife.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Max shrugged. “You hired him a bouncy castle, meisje.”

She made a face. “He wanted one. I said no, and he got this sad look on his face.”

“Like I said — good wife.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled, just a little. “Thanks, Max.”

He gave her a casual bump with his shoulder. “Anytime, smarty pants.”

—

Amelia stood just outside the engineers' station, back to the wall, tapping notes onto her tablet with her thumb while sipping from a bottle of water that had long since lost its chill — she wished Lando was around. He would’ve already switched it out for fresh, iced. 

Her headset was slung around her neck. She was overstimulated but functioning — hyper-focused in that Amelia-way, where adrenaline and structure outweighed the noise.

Zak found her during a set-up lull, and approached with something oddly hesitant in his step. He wasn’t in CEO mode — not in the crisp way he carried himself during sponsor walks or team debriefs. He just looked like her dad.

“Got a minute?” He asked, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked up, adjusted her grip on the tablet, and nodded. “Sure. I’m just waiting on the new diff adjustment numbers.”

Zak nodded once and leaned against the wall beside her. For a second, they just watched. Engines turned over. Radios crackled.

Then, “So, your mom tells me you’re about done with all the planning?”

“More or less,” she replied, flipping the tablet shut. “The reception layout’s finalised, catering’s booked. Lando hired a live band — it’s that one he likes from TikTok.”

“Right,” Zak said. He knew the one. “And… it’s still two days after Silverstone?”

“Yes. Lando is driving us up the morning after the race.” She paused. “We hired private transportation for the guests flying into Heathrow.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She glanced at him sideways. He was fidgeting with the rim of his paper coffee cup, lips pressed together in a line of restrained emotion. Finally, he said, “I was wondering… if you wanted me to walk you down the aisle.”

She blinked. Her brain flicked through five reactions before her mouth caught up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” he added quickly. “Or at all. I know that might feel… too performative for you. And if that’s not what you want—”

“I do want it,” she interrupted, then paused. “But I hadn’t even thought about that. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “There’s a lot to think about.”

She looked down, scuffed the toe of her trainer against the concrete. “I haven’t even decided if I want music for the aisle walk yet. It might be too much. Too loud.”

Zak’s voice dropped low. “Have you made other provisions?”

“What type?”

 “Quiet room? Down time? Emergency hoodie and sweatpants?”

She gave a surprised little laugh. “I’m working on that, yeah. Pietra helped me put together a little survival kit. And I’ve already warned the florist; no strong smells. I gave them a list.”

He smiled, but there was still something cautious in his eyes. “Amelia… I want you to really love your wedding day.”

She tilted her head at him curiously.

“You’re brilliant at putting your head down and getting through hard things,” he said. “But this isn’t something to get through. You’re supposed to enjoy it. So just…. Remember that you’re allowed to take breaks. You’re allowed to need silence, or space. It’s your day, nobody else’s. The only person you should be thinking about is yourself, yeah?”

A long pause. Then her voice, quieter, “I want everyone to have a good time.”

Zak exhaled, moved so he was fully facing her. “Bug,” he said — an old nickname, rarely ever used beyond her pre-teen years. “You’re not a burden. You’re my daughter. And you’re marrying someone who knows exactly what you need and loves you for it. This wedding doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s. It just has to feel like you.”

She nodded, once. Then twice more, just to be sure.

“I’d really like it,” she said at last, “if you walked me down the aisle.”

Zak’s smile turned warm and wide. “Then that’s settled.”

There was a call for radio checks across the paddock. Amelia checked her watch.

“I have to get back to Max,” she said, already reaching for her headset. “We’re trialling a new steering calibration.”

Zak stepped back, letting her pass. “Save me a dance,” he called after her.

She turned just long enough to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “Only if they play ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’”

He laughed because he knew that she wasn’t joking. “Okay, sweetheart.”

—

Two Weeks Earlier

The floor of the living room was a minefield of tote bags and half-open Amazon parcels.

Amelia sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, surrounded by boxes of earplugs, tinted glasses, noise-cancelling headphones, a fan shaped like a rabbit, and what appeared to be five different brands of lavender-scented balm. She was in a hoodie four sizes too big, sleeves tucked over her hands, brow furrowed with precise concentration.

Pietra lay sprawled on the sofa above her, holding up a checklist written in Amelia’s neatly printed block capitals.

“Okay,” Pietra said, tapping her pen against her lips. “We’ve got the fidget ring, compression vest, emergency gum, chewing straws, and a travel-size tinted moisturiser because we don’t want you to have stress rashes in the photos because you’re overwhelmed.”

Amelia nodded without looking up, stuffing the vest and a weighted scarf into a small ivory backpack. It had her initials embroidered discreetly on the strap, next to the cursive letting of the word bride. Her mom had given it to her as an early wedding-present. 

“We still need your sunglasses,” Pietra said. “And your mint-spray. Where is the mint-spray?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” Amelia replied. “Behind the cough syrup.”

Pietra hopped up to fetch it.

The evening light poured in warm and golden through the windows. The sea sparkled in the distance. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, Pietra’s glass mostly empty. Amelia’s glass was full — untouched. 

From the bathroom, “Do you want to add tissues to the bag or keep those in your purse?”

“Both,” Amelia called. “In case I cry and then get a nosebleed. You know, logically.”

“Obviously.” Pietra reappeared with the mint-spray and handed it over. She sat back down on the couch, legs curled beneath her, watching as Amelia began methodically tucking things into place — familiar, practiced movements. Like muscle memory. “You doing okay?” Pietra asked, not pushing, not heavy.

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She zipped the backpack closed, patted it once for certainty, and then leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. “I just want to be prepared for all eventualities,” she said quietly.

“You are.”

“But what if it’s too much? All those people. The photos. The weather. What if I need to leave and I can’t, because it’s my wedding?” Her eyes were comically wide.

Pietra slid off the couch to sit next to her, shoulder to shoulder on the floor.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “And I’ll try my best to notice before anyone else does. And I’ll say I need help with my lipstick or something and we’ll sneak away to the quiet room for five minutes and whenever you’re ready we can reappear like nothing even happened.”

Amelia swallowed. “You’re really good at this.”

“I love you,” Pietra replied simply. “And I know you quite well. That helps.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Lando tried to convince me to let him DJ our own wedding.”

Pietra rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.” Then she nudged her. “Although, you have hired him a surprise bouncy castle.”

Amelia made a face. “You weren’t supposed to know about the bouncy castle.”

“I didn’t,” Pietra said cheerfully. “Until now.”

Amelia let herself laugh, quiet and real.

The survival kit sat neatly between them. 

“So,” Pietra said. “You want to rehearse putting the kit together again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Amelia said instantly. “At the time we’d expect to do it on the day. Just in case.”

Pietra smiled. “Perfect.”

— 

Back To Present

Amelia stood just beside the Red Bull hospitality unit, half in the shade, a bottle of electrolyte water in her hand. She had a new colour system for this weekend — blue for weather conditions, red for setup adjustments, green for wedding reminders.

She was scanning a new data report on her iPad when someone stepped into her periphery.

“Amelia,” came a familiar voice, bright but deliberate.

She looked up, blinking against the glare of the sun. “Hi, Susie.”

Susie Wolff was dressed as sharply as always, white blouse tucked into navy trousers, sunglasses perched on her head. “I’ve been meaning to find you this weekend,” She said. “You’ve been impossible to pin down.”

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Sorry. I’ve been... everywhere.”

Susie laughed. “That’s the word around here.” There was a brief pause before Susie tucked her hands into her pockets. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something — unofficially, for now.”

Amelia adjusted her grip on the iPad, curious. “Go on.”

“You’ve heard about the new series I’m launching next year? The F1 Academy?” Susie asked. “All-women, junior feeder series. The aim is to give young female drivers the platform.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “I read about it. Five teams, three drivers each.”

Susie smiled. “That’s right. We’re doing it properly. Structured development, real brand support. Not just a PR stunt.”

“Is there a technical side you’re looking to build out?” Amelia asked, already moving into that headspace. “Because if it’s a full series, they’ll need engineering support, performance strategists, aero consultants…”

“Exactly,” Susie replied. “And I want the best people. People who actually understand development from the ground up — and people who want to make the system better, not just replicate it.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but focus. “Will the cars be spec-built or adjustable? Because if there’s room for development, I’d want to know the homologation structure. And the tyre compounds—”

Susie held up a hand, laughing lightly. “This is why I wanted to talk to you.”

Amelia flushed slightly. “Sorry. I just… like the details.”

“I know. That’s why you’re good at what you do,” Susie said. “You’re not just talented. You care about doing things the right way.” A quiet pause followed. “I’d like you to consider being part of the technical advisory group. Or even coming onboard in a more embedded role later down the line,” Susie said. “It doesn’t have to happen right away. But when the wedding’s over, and things settle a bit — I’d love to sit down and have a proper conversation with you.”

Amelia blinked. “Okay. Yes. I’d be interested in learning more. A lot more. I’ll want to know about track selection, vehicle specs, budget caps if there are any, team operations, logistics—”

“Send me a list,” Susie grinned. “I’ll send you mine.”

Amelia looked almost shy for a second, then nodded. “It’s nice. Being asked.”

Susie softened. “You’re more than worthy of the ask.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching a flock of engineers move a tyre rack across the tarmac.

“You’re getting married… next week, right?” Susie added, glancing over.

Amelia perked up instantly. “Yes. Two days after the race. Marquee. Barbecue. Fairy lights.” She sighed. “Bouncy castle.” 

Susie laughed. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It will be,” Amelia said simply, and Susie believed her.

—

The energy in the air was unmistakable — British flags, cheers echoing through the grandstands, the buzz of engines winding up to full roar. Amelia stood at the back of the Red Bull pit wall, headphones snug over her ears, clipboard clutched loosely to her chest.

The engines screamed through the first straight. Amelia's fingers clenched tight around her golf ball as the pack charged through the opening corners.

And then it happened.

A thundering impact. A wall of smoke. Screeching. Carbon shattering. Zhou’s Alfa flipped violently, spinning out of control and vanishing between the barriers.

From the pit wall, Amelia couldn’t see the full crash — just flashes of sparks and a puff of sand and tyre smoke. But she heard it. Felt it in her chest. The noise had weight to it. Finality. Silence followed, sharp and sudden, broken only by panicked radio static.

“Red flag, red flag, red flag—”

No immediate updates. Nothing from Zhou’s radio. They couldn’t replay the footage yet: the roll, the fence, the skid on the halo. No camera showed the car afterward. 

It was silent. Then it was loud.

Amelia stood frozen. Then she turned. Walked quickly through the back of Max’s garage, slipping past confused engineers, down the narrow hallway of the Red Bull motorhome. The lights were bright and wrong. Someone tried to talk to her — she didn’t process what they said.

She found a utility room, small and quiet, and closed the door.

She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, breathing shallow. Her fingers twitched. Her chest buzzed. She could still hear the sound of the car skidding, see the halo dragging against the ground. It was all replaying on a loop behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop picturing it — the impossible physics of a car upside down, skidding toward a fence at that speed.

Minutes passed.

And passed.

Nobody came for her. No updates on Zhou’s condition came through her headset.

Nothing.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and tried to focus on the floor. On the cold concrete through her trousers. On anything that was now. But her body wouldn’t settle. Her brain was flying, looping through “what if?” in sharp, screaming bursts.

She didn’t hear the first knock. Or the second.

The third came with a gentle push of the door.

Max.

He stepped inside quietly, closed the door behind him, and crouched. His hands stayed visible. His voice was calm.

“I thought you might be here.”

She didn’t lift her head.

“No news yet,” he said. “But they’ve got people with him.”

Still nothing.

Max sat down slowly, cross-legged on the floor, a few feet away. He didn't touch her. He knew better. He just waited.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Then the door opened again.

Lando.

He looked rumpled and pale, still in his race suit, balaclava pushed down around his neck. His eyes locked onto her immediately. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She flinched when he touched her arm, but didn’t pull away.

“Can I…?” he asked, and when she gave the barest nod, he wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders, pulling her close against his chest.

She finally exhaled. A shaky, exhausted sound.

“He hasn’t said anything on the radio,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I keep seeing it. Over and over.”

“I know, baby.”

Max leaned forward slightly, phone in his hand. “He’s conscious.”

Amelia looked up sharply. “He is?”

Lando glanced at Max’s phone, reading. “Still in the car, but awake. They’re trying to work out how to get him out safely.”

Her eyes flooded. Relief hit her like a brick. “I thought—”

“I know,” Lando said again, holding her tighter. “Me too.”

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t—everything was too much.”

“You found a safe space,” Max said. “That’s all that matters.”

The tension finally broke, like a string pulled too tight. She rested her head against Lando’s shoulder and let her breathing slow, her body uncoiling one inch at a time.

“We’re okay,” he said. “He’s okay. And you’re okay.”

“I hate this part,” she murmured.

“I know,” Max said. “We do too.”

They stayed there until her hands stopped shaking. Until the paddock noise calmed. Until the update came through confirming Zhou was being extracted carefully and would be taken to the medical centre — alert, responsive, talking.

Only then did Amelia allow herself to uncurl and nod.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I can go back now.”

Lando helped her up gently. Max didn’t say anything — just stood and offered her her clipboard, which he must’ve carried with him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Lando kissed her temple.

—

The light had shifted by the time Amelia saw him again — Zhou, stepping carefully down the short steps outside the medical centre, surrounded by Alfa staff. His suit had been peeled off hours ago, replaced with team-issue soft-wear, and his gait was still cautious. The bruises were already starting to visibly bloom on his skin.

She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t want to overwhelm him — but she stood nearby, waiting until his eyes found hers. When they did, she offered a small, respectful wave.

He blinked in brief surprise, then shifted course to meet her.

“Hey,” he said first, voice hoarse but clear. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I wanted to,” she said, holding her clipboard tight to her chest. “I just—I was worried.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “I’m okay. Bit sore. Bit rattled.”

“I’m really glad. That was…” She paused, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other. “That was a bad one.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It felt worse from inside.”

She let out a breath. “I couldn’t find a video feed that showed you after,” she said. “Just the flip, and the gravel. Then nothing. It was…” She trailed off. “Too quiet. Too long. Sorry. I needed to see you for myself, you know?”

Zhou’s expression softened. 

“I hid in a storage room,” she added. 

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “You okay now?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Then corrected, “Better. Now that I have seen you.” There was a pause. “You don’t need to say anything,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know I’m glad you’re still here.”

His smile this time reached his eyes. “Me too.”

Amelia gave a small nod, then looked away. “I won’t keep you. You should go and rest.”

Zhou turned to go, then hesitated. “Hey—Amelia?”

She looked back at him.

“Thanks,” he said, quiet and honest.

She didn’t answer — just nodded once, firmly, and walked back toward the Red Bull garage.

—

The windows were down, letting in the warm July air that smelled faintly of dry grass and dust. Amelia had kicked off her shoes hours ago, legs tucked up on the passenger seat, sunglasses slipping down her nose. Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh — not possessive, not even really conscious, just there. Like it always was. Like he didn’t need to think about it anymore.

Their wedding playlist played softly through the speakers — a curated collection of songs they’d agonised over for weeks, now serving as the soundtrack to this quiet little interlude between race day chaos and wedding week magic.

“Skip,” Amelia murmured as a twangy country ballad came on. “Too sad.”

Lando tapped the skip button without looking. “Agreed. Save that for the divorce.”

She frowned. “Not funny.”

He smirked, glancing at her. “Kidding.”

“Good.” She said, rolling her eyes. 

He hummed, switching lanes smoothly. A new song started — bright, summery, with the kind of beat you could slow dance to barefoot on the lawn.

Amelia smiled. “This one’s nice.”

Lando glanced sideways. “Reception dance?”

She nodded. “Fairy lights. Warm night. People a little drunk.”

“And us,” he said, squeezing her thigh gently, “a little married.”

She turned to look at him, and he was already smiling.

“I love you,” she said. No preamble, no big swell of emotion. Just a quiet, concrete fact.

He rubbed his thumb against her skin, eyes back on the road but voice soft. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

They drove in silence for a while, letting the song fill the space between them. Outside, the British countryside passed in soft blurs of green and gold.

Amelia reached forward and added a little star emoji to the song title in the playlist. “For the record,” she said. “I think this one’s my favourite.”

“Better than the one we picked for our first dance?” Lando asked, mock scandalised.

“Oh, no. That one’s sacred,” she said quickly. “But this one’s… sunshine.”

He nodded once, firm. “Good. We always need more sunshine.”

They were still holding hands when the song changed again.

—

The gravel crunched under the tires as Lando pulled the car onto the driveway. Amelia reached for the car door, her fingers slow from the comfortable stillness of the journey, and then turned back to look at him.

“This is real,” she said softly.

Lando just smiled, the tired kind that came after a long weekend. “Yeah. We’re here.”

The cottage wasn’t grand. That was the point. It was warm and tucked into the countryside like it had always been there — white roses climbing the gate, ivy twisting up the stone walls, windows that looked out across soft hills.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. Amelia wandered through slowly, running her fingers along the edges of the kitchen table, the old fireplace, the soft cushions stacked high on the window seat. Lando dropped their bags by the door, kicked off his shoes, and followed after her.

“This okay?” He asked, quietly.

She nodded. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his chin gently to the top of her head. She leaned back into him, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet.

“We’re getting married,” she said, softly.

“In less than forty-eight hours,” he replied. “I’m going to be your husband.”

She hummed. “You’re going to cry.”

“No, you’re going to cry.”

“I don’t cry,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “Not very often. But I might. When you say ‘I do’.” 

He laughed, forehead against hers. “Yeah. Me too.”

The kettle clicked on in the background. A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. 

They sat out on the back porch with mugs of tea, wrapped in jumpers and blankets, watching the last bit of sun disappear behind the trees.

Tomorrow, family would start arriving. The cottage would be full of voices and laughter and questions. But for tonight, it was just them. 

“I don’t want to forget this part,” Amelia said, her voice quiet. “The before.”

“You won’t,” Lando promised, turning toward her. “This is the part we’ll tell people about one day.”

She leaned into his shoulder. “Yeah. I hope so.”

—

The morning drifted in soft and slow.

Amelia lay in bed with the window open. The countryside smelled of warm grass and honeysuckle, the faint sound of birdsong filtering in. Somewhere downstairs, the kettle clicked on, and she could hear someone, probably her mom, padding softly across the kitchen tiles.

They hadn’t unpacked much. They hadn’t needed to. Just slipped off their clothes, curled up under the covers, and slept dreamlessly until sunlight nudged them awake.

Now, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder, warm and freckled under her palm.“You awake?” she whispered.

He hummed. “Not yet.”

She grinned. “Well, we’re getting married in tomorrow.”

That earned her a low groan and an arm wrapped lazily around her waist. “Good. Don’t wanna to live another day without being your husband.”

Downstairs, their parents were getting acquainted over mugs of Earl Grey and slices of toast. Lando’s mum had brought fresh jam. Amelia’s dad was already halfway through a crossword. It was quiet and easy—no wedding talk yet, no to-do lists. Just two families sharing a calm summer morning in a little stone cottage tucked into a sleepy field.

By mid-morning, everyone had wandered outside. The sun was gentle, filtered through clouds, and the garden was filled with the scent of wildflowers and just-cut grass. Folding chairs were scattered across the lawn, and lemonade clinked in glasses. Pietra and Max hadn’t arrived yet, but they soon would.

Best man. 

Maid of honour. 

Amelia and Lando sat together under an old pear tree, her bare feet in his lap, his thumb tracing absentminded circles along her ankle. They were listening to Lando’s dad’s playlist. The music washed over them gently, familiar and warm. 

“Still happy with our first dance song?” Lando asked, eyes closed, tipping his head back to the breeze.

“Of course,” she murmured. “Listened to it almost fifty times to make sure.”

He smiled. “And the reception playlist?”

She nodded, then paused. “Actually… maybe we bump that Arctic Monkeys song to earlier in the night. People will be drunker later, and I don’t want anyone butchering the lyrics.”

Lando laughed, light and free. “Good thinking, baby.”

They spent the early afternoon touring the venue with their parents, pointing out where the fairy lights would go, where the marquee would sit. Amelia’s dad was already asking where the power cables were going to run, and Lando’s mum wanted to know if it might be chilly enough in the evening to need shawls.

“There’ll be blankets,” Amelia promised, thoughtful. “Soft ones. I’ve already washed them with lavender laundry detergent.”

Later, they sprawled in the shade, Amelia with her head in Lando’s lap, her fingers skimming the grass. The light filtered through the trees like dappled gold, and everything smelled like home. Her mum brought out a plate of biscuits. Her dad had made a weak attempt at swatting a bee away from his lemonade and muttered something about never having a day off.

“Do you think it’ll stay like this?” Amelia asked quietly.

Lando looked down at her. “The weather?”

“The feeling.”

He stroked her hair gently, smiling with something steady and private. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it might.”

She let herself close her eyes.

Almost married.

—

The world was just beginning to wake-up. 

So was Amelia.

She stirred slowly, wrapped in a cocoon of linen and warmth, blinking into the blur of morning. Lando’s hand was already curled over her hip, grounding. She turned her head. His eyes were closed, lashes fanned across his cheek, breath even and deep.

“Lando,” she whispered, not wanting to say it too loud. “It’s today.”

He didn’t open his eyes, just smiled, the kind that made her stomach flip like it was 2018 all over again. “Mmm,” he hummed. “I know. I dreamt it.”

She inhaled softly. “Was it good?”

“Yeah baby,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “Except when Max interrupted the ceremony to ask you about his DRS strategy.”

She hummed. “Sounds like Max.”

Lando tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his thumb tracing gently along her cheekbone.

Amelia considered the question carefully. She could feel the usual thrum of her thoughts beneath the surface — a thousand logistical notes, backup plans, sensory considerations. But none of it felt too heavy. Not today.

“I feel ready,” she said. “Really ready.”

Lando kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

They lay there a little longer, curled into each other as the light grew warmer. Eventually, someone knocked gently at the bedroom door.

“Amelia?” Pietra’s voice, soft but excited. “Time to start glam time, babe.”

Lando groaned dramatically. “Oh no. I’m losing you.”

Amelia smiled and kissed him once, brief and sure, before slipping out from under the duvet. “You’ll get me back in a few hours,” she promised, already halfway to the ensuite.

“I should hope so,” he called after her. “Don’t ghost me at the altar, wifey.”

—

Two hours later, Pietra was kneeling on the floor beside Amelia, gently fastening a thin silver anklet around her left ankle. Amelia sat in a chair by the window, her robe tied in a precise knot, the lace sleeves brushing her wrists. Her hair was half done—soft waves pinned back with little pearlescent clips—and the morning light painted everything a warm yellow.

“You’re very quiet,” Pietra said gently, adjusting the clasp.

“I’m concentrating,” Amelia murmured. “And I’m… regulating. A lot of people are going to be looking at me soon.”

“You’re doing really well,” Pietra said, sitting back on her heels to look up at her best friend. “And you look… holy shit, Amelia.”

Amelia blinked. “Do I look okay? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You look like the exact midpoint between goddess and fairy queen,” Pietra said, voice thick. “Honestly.”

That made Amelia smile; a little bashfully, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “I think I thought I’d be scared today,” she admitted softly. “Or overwhelmed. But it’s just… calm.”

Pietra nodded. “Because it’s meant to be.”

Amelia exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They sat like that for a few more minutes, sunlight warming their skin, the soft sound of distant birds and shuffling feet below. Then Pietra stood and held out her hand.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get the dress on. We need to leave in twenty minutes — Max texted me, said everything at the venue is perfect.”

Amelia took her hand without hesitation.

“I’m getting married,” she whispered, almost like she needed to hear it aloud again.

“You really are,” Pietra grinned. 

—

Zak was pacing in front of the reception marquee, holding the tie he hadn’t yet figured out how to knot. When he saw Amelia approaching, dress flowing, expression soft, he stopped mid-step.

“Hi, Dad.”

Zak stared at her for a second too long. “You look beautiful,” he said thickly.

She smiled, coming to stand in front of him. “Thank you. Do you need help with that?”

He handed her the tie wordlessly. She stepped close and began looping the fabric around his collar. Her fingers were steady. He swallowed once.

“You sure about all this?” he asked, gently. “Really sure?”

Amelia paused. “You mean the wedding?”

“I mean everything,” Zak clarified. “You’re so good at looking after other people. I just want to be sure someone’s making sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” she said simply. “I’m in love. And I’m safe.”

He nodded slowly, eyes shining. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know,” she said.

He blinked hard. “You want me to walk you down there now?”

She made a face at him. “I want to walk beside you. I’ll hold onto your arm.” She lifted her dress to show him her shoes. Flat, no heels, comfortable. “I’m not a trip hazard.”

Zak pursed his lips to hide a smile at her deadpan words before he offered his arm. “Then let’s go do this, honey.”

—

Mitski’s ‘My Love Mine All Mine’ was the song that was playing, echoing and ethereal. 

The guests were sat beneath the fairy lights and butter yellow bunting. Matching yellow satin drapes sat on every chair, lined the aisle, and decorated Lando’s pocket and neck. 

A yellow tie. A yellow handkerchief. 

When Amelia stepped onto the grass, everything fell silent.

Her dress shimmered faintly with movement, the delicate beading catching the light. The neck train draped behind her. Pietra was waiting at the right of the alter with Max Fewtrell standing opposite her, both beaming.

And at the far end, in front of the white wooden arch draped in green and yellow florals, Lando was already crying.

Not loud, not messy—just tears slipping down his cheeks in silent, reverent awe. Like she was something holy. Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Amelia didn’t look away from him. Her fingers tightened gently on her dads arm, and then loosened again. 

When she reached him, Lando let out a laugh that broke into a breathless, teary smile. “You came,” he whispered, almost stunned.

“Of course I came,” Amelia whispered back, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You cried.” She smiled. 

“I love you,” he leaned in, forehead against hers.

She got up on her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his in a teasing brush. “I know. Prove it by marrying me.”

—

Their guests, family and a few friends, most of the drivers who’s been available, were hushed, reverent. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed near a flower. Lando’s hands were shaking.

Pietra handed Amelia her bouquet. Her fingers brushed Amelia’s for a moment, grounding her. Max gave Lando a nod from his place at his side, full of quiet reassurance.

The celebrant, a family friend with a calm, steady voice, began to speak, but Amelia barely heard her. Her eyes were fixed on Lando, his on her. Everything else dulled to a blur.

When the moment for vows came, the officiant stepped back slightly.

“Lando?” She prompted.

He took a breath, folded the note he’d brought, and looked at Amelia instead.

“I wrote something down,” he admitted, “but it doesn’t cover it. So I’m just going to say it.”

Amelia’s hands were steady, clasped around her bouquet. Her eyes never left his.

“You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Lando said. “You make me laugh even when I’m miserable. You know every single version of me, even the ones I don’t like, and you stay. You stay and you care and you see me.” He smiled, a little watery. “I thought that love had to be complicated. Dramatic. Loud. But loving you isn’t like that. It’s quiet and constant and safe. And it makes sense all the time.” 

A few sniffles rippled from the front row. 

“I promise to make space for you,” Lando continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “I promise to honour what you need, even when it’s different from what I need. I promise to soundproof every room if I have to—”

Amelia laughed through her tears.

“—and I promise to never stop choosing you. Not for a day. Not for a second.”

The officiant turned to Amelia. “And you, Amelia?”

She nodded, cleared her throat once, and began. Her voice was quiet, but sure.

“I love you, Lando Norris. You see me in a way that nobody else ever has,” she said. “You never try to fix me, and you always know when to listen. You let me be exactly who I am, even when it’s hard.”

Lando was crying again.

“You love me in a way I didn’t know was possible,” Amelia said. “Not despite the parts of me that are different—but because of them. You’ve never made me feel like I had to be smaller, or easier, or quieter.” She smiled, her hands tight around the bouquet. “I promise to always tell you the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. I promise to make spreadsheets for our holidays and set reminders for the laundry. I promise to protect your peace as fiercely as you protect mine. And I promise to be your home. Always.”

Lando made a small, helpless noise. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat.

The rings were passed forward by Max and Pietra, both watery eyed and sniffly. The metal was matte gold—simple, unflashy, chosen after hours of quiet discussion and Amelia’s very specific pros and cons list.

They slid the bands onto each other’s fingers with shaking hands.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said warmly. “You may kiss—”

But Lando didn’t wait.

He leaned in and kissed Amelia like it was the only thing in the world that made sense. She kissed him back, anchoring him, grounding him. Their hands remained linked between them.

Applause rose up around them, soft and full of joy.

But Amelia didn’t really hear it.

All of her attention was on him. 

Her Lando. 

Her husband. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[camarei]

the cashier looked worried as kento rushes inside the establishment panting.

“hello...” he muttered as he catches his breath. holding out a little note with some rushed scribbling on it.

“hello, are you alright?” the cashier replies, clearly alarmed by his state.

“yes,” he makes a gesture on his hand signaling the woman to wait, “do you... do you happen to have a whole block of fondant?”

“a whole block—what do you need it for?” the woman looks up at him with a confused look.

“it’s my wife. my wife needs it.” he says finally steadying his breathing.

“a whole block of fondant seems a bit too much for baking...” the cashier replies.

“s’not for baking. my wife wants to eat it. please, i’ll pay you for how much you bought it...” he looks... desperate?

“right, let me bag it up for you...” the woman briefly leaving him and then quickly coming back.

“here you go, would that be all?”

kento browses the list.

“sprinkles. a whole bag of sprinkles.” he sighs.

“i don’t think we have anymore stock—”

“please... s’all i can do for her.”

the cashier leaves the register as she goes to the kitchen, coming back with a bag full of sprinkles.

“is this enough...?” she says holding out the bag for him to see.

“yes, thank you...” he let out a heavy breath as he pays for everything, leaving a big tip.

before he went inside your shared home, he checked everything on the list.

cookies

doughnuts

fondant

sprinkles

peanut butter

everything’s sorted out.

he opens the door to see you, quietly watching some cheesy romantic movie.

“hey, sweetheart.” he softly muttered, going straight to where you’re sat.

“hi, ken. where have you been?”

he doesn’t say anything as he pulls out everything he bought.

“whatever my wife and daughter wants, they get.” he whispers as he rubs soothing circles on your stomach.

you pout, your eyes getting glassy.

“kento, i love you... so much!”

“mhm. i love you, too. now stop crying, love.” he chuckles, using his handkerchief to wipe your tears away.

“it’s the hormones, okay? also, it’s still too early to know the gender... what do you mean by ‘daughter’...” your voice shaking as you sniffle.

“i just know that it will be a girl...” he kisses your forehead, placing a hand on your tummy. “now, now. enough crying and eat, dear. the whole bakery even gave me weird looks as i bought those. but, anything for my pretty girl.”

swu’s note: i saw this tiktok and figured that it’s perfect with kento n his pregnant wife. credits to @/fromscratchbaker on tiktok for the idea !

[astars-things]

In case of an emergency

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary- where y/n is going to watch Lando race and unexpectedly gets her period and finds out that Lando has an 'In case of an emergency' little bag in his backpack full of everything you need  

---------

"Hey baby", Lando cooed, walking up to you. You were standing in his garage, waiting for Lando to finish free practice "Hi, love", you said, trying to keep your distance from Lando as he was hot and sweaty. As much as you adored him, you weren’t exactly in the mood for a hot, sweaty hug right now.

Lando paused, eyebrows pulling together just slightly. "You okay?" you nodded "I’m just going to the toilet," you whispered quickly, brushing your hand gently over his arm as you turned to leave. As you walked to the nearest bathroom, you had a gut feeling that something wasn't right. By the time you reached the stall and checked, your fears were confirmed. A quiet groan escaped your lips as you stared down, suddenly unsure of what to do. No products, no bag,  you hadn’t brought anything because you hadn’t expected this. Of all days.

You sat there for a second, frozen. The panic crept in slowly. You didn’t know many people around the paddock well enough to ask. And Lando, he was in the middle of a race weekend. You didn’t want to bother him with this. It felt silly, even though you knew it wasn’t. 

Lando🧡- Hey, you've been in the toilet for a while, you okay?

y/n ❤️- No I'm not okay...I JUST GOT MY PERIOD 

You locked your phone, a little embarrassed, already regretting sending the message. But less than a minute later, it buzzed again.

Lando🧡- Don’t move. I’ve got you

About five minutes later, someone entered the Ladies' room "Hey y/n", Lily Oscar's girlfriend called out "Yeah," You answered, slightly panicked. Not really wanting to interact with people while you were going through a crisis, she slid a small bag under the stall "Lando told me to give this to you" Your mouth dropped open slightly as you stared down at the bag on the floor. You reached for it slowly, touched by the gesture, but also slightly mortified that your period situation had now become a whole team effort. 

You muttered a thanks before opening the bag to find. Pads, tampons, painkillers, even a mini chocolate bar, a hair tie and perfume. You felt your eyes beginning to water as it was the most sweetest thing, once you were all sorted you made your way to the Mclaren unit. You found Lando in his driver’s room, sitting on the edge of the couch with his race suit unzipped halfway and a water bottle in hand. The moment he saw you, his eyes softened.

"Hey," he said gently, getting to his feet. "Feeling better?" You nodded, managing a small smile as you stepped inside. "Much. Thank you."  He reached for you instantly, pulling you into a warm, slightly damp hug, but for once, you didn’t mind the sweat. It was Lando. He made everything feel safe, even the most inconvenient kind of chaos.

When you pulled back, he gave you a sheepish grin. "Hey, uh, do you still have the bag Lily gave you?" You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, why?" He held out his hand. "I wanna put it back in my backpack." You handed it over, curiosity blooming in your chest. "Wait this is yours, I thought it was lilys'?"

Lando nodded, looking almost bashful. "Yeah. I’ve had it for a while now. Started putting it together ages ago after you had that meltdown in Monaco 'cause you forgot tampons and no store was open." 

Your heart swelled, but you kept your tone light. "So, You made this for me?" 

"Pretty much," he said, unzipping his backpack and tucking the pouch carefully into the front pocket. "It’s not just for you, technically. I mean, yeah mostly you but Lily’s needed it once. One of the mechanics’ girlfriends, too. It’s just a little 'In Case of an Emergency' kit. Someone always ends up needing something at the track. Even Max borrowed a painkiller once."

You blinked. "Max?"

"Headache. Not a period," he added quickly, grinning. You stared at him, mouth slightly open. "You carry this around like, all the time?" He nodded like it was the most casual thing in the world. "Lives in my backpack. Next to my spare gloves and protein bars." He paused, eyes flickering up to yours. "Figured if I can’t fix everything, I can at least be prepared."

You laughed, the sound soft and full of love. "That’s actually one of the sweetest things ever."  He glanced at you over his shoulder, zipping up the bag. "You think?" "I know," you said, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. "Thank you for being an amazing boyfriend" You said kissing lando on the cheek 

please reblog, like and comment 🫶

[norrisidous]

run for the hills

The hotel room was dimly lit, the city below glowing like a secret you weren’t ready to share. Lando’s hoodie hung off your frame as you curled up on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He had left for media early that morning, promising to be back before dinner. Promising he’d stay low, like always.

“Can’t risk a photo, not yet,” he’d whispered that first night after Monaco. And you’d agreed—too much noise, too many headlines. But hiding had started to feel like suffocating.

The door clicked open quietly, and his voice filled the silence.

“Miss me?”

You looked up, trying to be annoyed, but the stupid smile was already tugging at your lips. He kicked off his shoes, hair still messy from his cap, and crossed the room in three strides, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re late.”

“You love me anyway.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was hard to argue when his hands slipped under the hoodie, cold fingers pressing against your warm skin.

“I saw a tweet about you today,” you said casually, not missing the way he tensed for a split second.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Someone said you were dating a model.”

He snorted. “You are model-level hot. Technically, they’re not wrong.”

“Lando,” you warned.

He sighed, sitting beside you and taking your hand. “I know. I hate this too. The hiding. The sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “We’re not.”

“I know. But you’ve seen what it’s like. The cameras. The DMs. The gossip accounts.” He paused. “You’re not a secret because I’m ashamed. You’re a secret because I’m terrified of what the world will do to you once they know.”

Your throat tightened. You understood, you really did. But that didn’t stop the ache every time you had to walk behind him in a crowd or pretend you were just a “friend of a friend” at race weekends.

“I hate lying to people,” you whispered.

He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Then maybe we stop lying.”

You blinked, heart thudding louder. “You mean—?”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t want to keep this part of my life hidden. You’re the best part of it.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours.

“But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

You kissed him softly, fingers curling into his curls. “No more waiting"

The next morning, your fingers trembled slightly as you handed him the phone.

“You’re really doing it?” you asked

Lando nodded, already opening Instagram. “No captions. Just this.” He showed you the photo—it was one from your Polaroid stash. You were wearing his hoodie, perched on his lap, mid-laugh with his nose pressed into your cheek. Pure joy. Unfiltered.

He tapped “Share.”

Your stomach flipped.

The internet, as expected, went wild.

There were screenshots on Twitter within seconds. Edits on TikTok. “Hard launch” memes flooding the replies. And yet, amidst the chaos, there was also love. Fans who said it made sense. People who pointed out how happy he looked. How soft.

You and Lando didn’t say much that day. You stayed curled up in bed, your phones buzzing constantly, but your hands were laced together, calm despite the storm.

“Feels weird,” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he said. “But also kind of freeing.”

He glanced at you then. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think… I feel like I can finally breathe.”

He smiled, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “Told you. No more hiding.”

—

The first public paddock appearance together happened in Silverstone, of all places.

You wore a papaya crop top under your denim jacket, and Lando hadn’t let go of your hand once since you stepped out of the car. People stared. Cameras clicked. But he only had eyes for you.

As you stood by the McLaren hospitality entrance, he leaned in and said, “You know, you can still run for the hills if this gets too much.”

You raised a brow. “And leave you to do this solo?”

He grinned. “So you’re saying I’m worth the chaos?”

“You’re worth everything,” you said without hesitation.

The smile that broke across his face could have powered the entire garage.

That night, after the race (a P3 finish and a podium grin that had everything to do with you waiting at the end of parc fermé), you lay in bed beside him, tangled in sheets and sunlight from the setting sky.

“I love you,” he murmured against your shoulder.

You turned, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “I love you too.”

He kissed you like it was the first time. No more secrets. No more hiding. Just soft, golden light and hearts full of something steady.

“I’m glad we stayed,” you whispered later.

“Where else would we go?” he replied. “We didn’t need to run. We just needed to hold on.”

And so you did.

[sunbeamlessreads]

The Wager - Lando Norris x Reader One-Shot

❝ “Eyes on the track, Norris.” ❞

lando norris x reader

~3.6k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, explicit sexual content, dom/sub tension, semi-public style risk, overstimulation, orgasm control

he said he could handle five laps. you said he wouldn’t last two. there’s only one way to prove it.

notes: this is my apology for making lando such a douchebag in my last piece. went in with present tense again. i think it kinda works for the papaya boys, no? enjoy! <3

(i also admittedly didn't proofread this as much as usual so i apologize if it sucks.)

my masterlist

His sim room is dim except for the dull, shifting glow of LED lights tracing the walls, pulsing in sync with engine revs on Lando’s screen. He’s been here for at least an hour, maybe more, laser-focused—shoulders tense, jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel like he’s in an actual cockpit.

You’re in the doorway, leaning against the frame, wearing nothing but one of his hoodies. It hangs low, nearly brushing the tops of your thighs, soft and loose, the sleeves covering your hands. Your skin’s warm beneath it, and a little flushed—maybe from watching him so long, or maybe from what you’re planning.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. Not really. Just a distracted smile earlier when you brought him a drink. Since then? Silence. His attention’s been chained to the corners of a virtual Silverstone, chasing tenths of a second like they owe him something.

Your eyes trail over him now—the way his thighs flex slightly every time he shifts, the way his bottom lip tucks under his teeth when he brakes late. His headset’s pushed back around his neck, and a single bead of sweat slides from his temple to his jaw.

You step into the room without a word and let the door click shut behind you.

“Still trying to shave off that tenth?” you ask, voice syrup-smooth, laced with mischief.

He responds without looking.

“Not trying. Dialing it in.”

You smile. There’s the Lando you know—cocky, precise, addicted to speed and winning.

You drift closer, hips swaying just enough to be deliberate. You round his chair slowly, stopping just beside him, eyes locked on his screen like you’re playing innocent.

“Mm," you trail a finger across the edge of his steering wheel. “I wonder…”

“Wonder what?” he asks, flicking his eyes toward you briefly.

“If you’ve got more control out there—” you tap the glowing screen gently, “than in here.”

His brow lifts slightly. That got his attention.

You move behind him now, running your fingers across his shoulders, down his arms, mapping every muscle beneath the fabric. You lean forward, letting the warmth of your breath kiss the shell of his ear.

“I bet,” you whisper, “you can’t hold out for a whole race.”

That makes him pause. Really pause. His hand leaves the paddle mid-corner, and the engine whines as his car drifts off line.

“Hold out?” he echoes, voice thick with skepticism—and interest.

“Mmhm.” You glide your hands down his chest, over his stomach, featherlight. “I bet I can make you come in five laps.”

He laughs once, but it’s low and tense, like he’s trying to stay calm.

“Five?” he repeats, indignant. “You think you can break me in five?”

You press your body against the back of the chair, hips nudging the rig seat.

“No, baby. I know I can.”

He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder—mouth parted slightly, eyes dark now. He sizes you up like he’s about to take you apart with his hands and teeth.

“And if I make it through five?”

You slowly circle to face him, easing yourself onto his lap—one knee on either side of his hips. You don’t grind down yet, but you settle, letting him feel the heat of you through his joggers. You make sure he notices you’re not wearing anything underneath his sweatshirt. 

You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling gently, pulling him just close enough that your lips brush his.

“If you make it through five,” you murmur, “you get me.”

A pause. Then you whisper the rest like a promise wrapped in sin.

“However. Wherever. Whenever.”

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching, hands still locked on the wheel because if he touches you now, he’ll ruin everything too early.

You reach down between you, slow and unhurried, palming him through his joggers. He’s already half-hard. The thrill of your challenge, the sound of your voice—he’s trying so hard not to show it.

“You’re on,” he mutters. “Five laps. Don’t go easy on me.”

You grin.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

And as he restarts the session, you start to move—just enough to make him twitch. Just enough to make him wonder how the hell he’s supposed to last.

Lap 1/5

The moment the race loads, you feel it—not just the hum of the sim coming to life, but the shift in Lando’s body beneath you. He squares his shoulders, tightens his grip on the wheel. His voice had been so sure a minute ago, all bravado and arrogance. But now?

Now he’s already working not to react.

You try to stay as out of the way of the screens as you can to at least give him a fighting chance.

Your thighs rest on either side of his, warm skin brushing against his joggers. His seat is snug, built for speed and pressure—not for having someone perched in his lap, slowly undoing him with the smallest touches. You feel him beneath you, hardening slowly, restrained only by thin fabric and sheer willpower.

And still, you don’t rush.

You breathe him in instead. He smells like clean sweat and fabric softener, like tension and heat and the lingering scent of cologne he probably applied this morning without thinking about how close you’d be later.

The first corner of the track comes and goes, and he nails it.

Good.

You want him calm. In control. Thinking he’s got this.

Your hands find his chest, fingertips dragging over the curve of his pecs, then lower, to the subtle ridges of his abs. Not pressing—just trailing. Ghosting. Enough to make his muscles twitch beneath your hands. Enough to make his breathing stutter, just once.

He exhales, shaky.

“That all you’ve got?” he mutters, not looking at you, trying to stay cocky.

You grin against his skin.

“Don’t worry. I’m just getting comfortable.”

You shift slightly—just enough to make sure he feels your bare heat press against him through the fabric. A gentle grind, one slow circle of your hips. His hands tighten on the wheel.

You press another kiss just below his ear. Then another, a little lower.

Your voice stays sweet, nearly innocent:

“How’s your sector time?”

“Shit,” he mutters.

You smile.

Your hips begin a slow rhythm—barely moving, but perfectly timed. Every time he shifts gears, you shift forward. When he straightens out for a straight, you rock back just a little. It’s not enough to drive him over the edge—not yet. But it’s enough to plant the idea. That pull. That ache.

And you can feel him growing harder under you, his body reacting even as he tries to stay stone-faced.

He keeps his eyes on the track. He thinks ignoring you will help.

You know better.

You start trailing your fingers under the hem of his shirt, this time tracing the edge of his ribs, featherlight. He twitches beneath your touch, his hips jerking upward once—reflex. He catches himself, swearing again.

You glance at the screen. One lap just passed halfway.

You lean in and whisper like it’s a secret.

“Four and a half to go, baby.”

He growls under his breath and tightens his grip again. But he doesn’t tell you to stop. You feel it—the way his hips lift an inch into you. Not consciously. Not controlled.

An instinct.

A slip.

You smile.

He wants to win.

You want to ruin him.

Lap 2/5

The moment he crosses the lap marker, you feel the change.

He exhales—just a little too sharp—like he’d been holding his breath since Turn 9. Like the first lap took more out of him than he’ll admit.

You don’t let him settle. You don’t let him recover.

You roll your hips forward again, just slightly more than before, then back. A little faster. A little firmer. His joggers provide friction now—barely a buffer between your heat and his restraint. His cock is hard beneath you, thick and twitching under the fabric, but he hasn’t moved. Not a single touch.

That’s okay.

You plan to do all the touching for him.

Your hands slide lower, sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt to find skin—warm, taut, twitching under your palms. You trail your fingers across his abs, then down, slow, until you’re just above his waistband.

You don’t go beneath.

Not yet.

Instead, you rest your hand there, light but suggestive, letting your thumb trace lazy circles against the band of his joggers.

He shifts in the seat, just barely.

“Eyes on the track, Norris.”

You murmur it against his jaw, then kiss just below his ear—barely touching. Just enough for him to feel it.

He grits his teeth. “You’re playing dirty.”

“You agreed to the rules.” Your tone stays breezy, but your hand doesn’t. “Not my fault if you’re losing already.”

You feel the rise of his chest under your palm—he’s breathing harder now, trying not to show it. His foot jolts slightly on the throttle. His car clips a curb. You hear the penalty chime—just a second’s warning—but it’s enough.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh softly.

“What was that?”

He doesn’t answer.

So you keep going.

You shift your weight forward again and let your lips brush further against his ear.

“Want me to make it worse?”

Still nothing.

You grin—

Challenge accepted.

You lower yourself just enough that you’re flush against him again, your folds hot and slick against the barely-there barrier of his joggers. You rock once—firm, intentional. He groans, just barely, a sound caught in his throat.

Your voice is soft, almost cruel in its sweetness.

“Two laps in. I haven’t even touched your cock yet.”

You reach down, palm him through the fabric now, slow and deliberate. He bucks into your hand instinctively, and that’s the first time his focus slips completely. His car veers wide on a turn, and you hear the wheels screech as they kick up gravel.

“Concentrate,” you whisper, laughing gently against his skin.

“You’ve still got three laps left.”

His response is a low, broken sound that could be frustration or arousal—or both.

You press your mouth to his neck again, your hand still working him through the fabric, your body moving in that slow, taunting rhythm.

You feel him throb beneath your palm. He’s close already. You could push him now—finish this before the third lap even starts.

But you don’t.

Because you want him begging.

Lap 3/5

The moment he crosses the line into lap three, you feel the shift in him.

His thighs tense beneath yours. His arms strain on the wheel. The hard line of his cock is pressed firmly against you now, no longer just reactive—but aching. Desperate. His control is hanging by threads.

And you’re ready to cut every single one.

You rock forward again—this time with real intent. Not teasing. Not suggestive. Deliberate. Precise. 

You grind against him with the rhythm of the engine’s growl, syncing your pace with the sharpness of each gear shift. Every time he accelerates, you move with it—hips rolling, breath hot, dragging friction over him that feels anything but accidental.

He makes a sound this time.

A real one.

A low, strangled curse punched out between clenched teeth as you slide your hands under his shirt again and let your nails drag across his stomach. His abs tighten beneath your touch, and you feel his hips twitch up once—seeking more, chasing it despite himself.

You smirk against his neck.

“Feel that, baby?” you murmur, lips brushing skin. “You’re practically pulsing.”

He growls. His voice is rough now, raw at the edges.

“You’re making it impossible to drive.”

“That’s the point.”

You move again—harder this time, a slow, grinding rhythm that drags your slick heat directly over his cock. You can feel him now—hot and thick and wanting more. The only thing separating you is a single layer of fabric.

You lean close to his ear, your voice velvet and wicked.

“Want me to ride you while you finish the lap?”

He groans—a real one, involuntary and half-broken—and his car jerks again on the screen. He recovers, but barely. His knuckles are white on the wheel. Sweat beads along his hairline. He’s silent now, like if he speaks he’ll give in.

You slide your hand down his chest again—slower this time. Taunting. You dip your fingers beneath his waistband now, finally—just a little. Just enough for him to feel your nails against bare skin.

He jerks. His hips buck up into you with force.

You don’t flinch.

You hold steady.

“Three laps,” you whisper. “You’re already fucking shaking.”

His voice is barely a rasp.

“You’re evil.”

You smile.

“You’re hard.”

Your hand brushes against the base of him, just once, and he twitches so violently the rig seat creaks. His breath catches like you’ve just punched the air out of him. His hips thrust up again, instinctual, and your body moves with his—grinding back down.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

You drag your tongue along his throat now, your hips meeting every unconscious thrust, letting his body tell you what his pride won’t.

And you’re so close to taking it.

To breaking him.

But not yet.

You press a kiss to his flushed cheek, then whisper sweetly in his ear:

“Still think you’ll make it through five?”

He doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

Lap 4/5.

You feel it—the way Lando’s whole body tenses underneath you. Not from the race. Not anymore.

Because he knows what’s coming.

Your hand is still wrapped around him, just beneath the waistband of his joggers, fingers teasing but never giving him enough. You feel him throbbing—full, flushed, leaking now. His cock twitches every time you shift your hips, even just slightly.

You look up at the screen.

His car is still on track, somehow. Barely.

You lean in, lips brushing his jaw.

“You made it through three,” you whisper, slow and mocking. “Good boy.”

His breath stutters. He swallows hard.

“But you’re not gonna make it through four.”

And then—before he can reply—you slide your hand fully inside.

You grip him, slow and firm, and pull him free from his joggers. He lets out a low, strangled moan, hips jerking up into your hand automatically. His cock is heavy, hot in your palm, already slick at the tip.

He grips the wheel tighter like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

You shift forward, rising just slightly onto your knees. One hand holds him in place. The other guides your hoodie up, exposing the slick, desperate heat between your thighs.

You hover.

Just above him.

Just close enough that he can feel your warmth.

You hold him there.

“You still think you can last?” you ask, voice syrup-sweet.

He nods once—tight, desperate. “Yeah.”

You smile.

And sink down onto him in one slow, devastating slide.

He practically gasps. Chokes on it. His head drops back against the seat. His hands? They don’t move. He’s still gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from coming right now.

You bottom out with a soft moan, intentionally dragging every inch of him into you. He’s so deep inside you it’s almost painful—in the best way. He throbs violently, twitching inside you.

You stay still for a moment. Let him feel it. Let him suffer in the tension.

“Lap four,” you breathe into his ear. “Let’s see what kind of endurance you really have.”

And then you start to move.

Slow at first—grinding against him in long, deep strokes, your thighs pressing against his, your core clenching around him just to watch his jaw go tight. He’s panting now, fully gone, biting back sounds that are barely human.

He shifts slightly in the seat and his hips jerk up once—uncontrolled, needy.

You don’t slow.

You ride him with purpose—steady rhythm, deliberate pace, perfectly timed to the corners he’s trying so hard to take cleanly.

Every time he tries to focus, you tighten around him. Every time he regains rhythm, you pull him deeper. You watch him unravel.

“How’s your lap time now, baby?” you purr, bouncing slightly harder. “Still think you’re gonna make it?”

He’s sweating. Trembling. You feel him gripping the wheel like if he lets go, he’ll lose everything.

“Fuck,” he grits out, barely audible.

You’re soaked, your thighs slick against his. Every time you sink down, the pressure builds, and you know he’s holding on by a single, fraying thread.

He turns to say something—but his voice fails him. Just a strangled moan.

You lean forward, mouth at his ear again, grinding your hips in tight, pulsing circles that make him jerk beneath you.

“One more lap to go,” you whisper. “You really think you can take it?”

He whimpers.

You smile.

Because you already know the answer.

Lap 5/5

The moment it flashes on screen, he stiffens beneath you like he might have a chance. Like he’s got just enough control left to make it to the line.

You smirk.

Good. Let him think that.

His hands are shaking on the wheel with how hard he’s gripping it behind you.

Not from adrenaline. Not from the track.

From you.

From the way you’re riding him like it’s your only mission—to destroy him one perfect roll of your hips at a time.

You plant your hands on his chest and start to move with intent—grinding deep, slow strokes that force him to feel every clench, every pull, every slick slide of your body swallowing him whole. His head drops back against the rig seat, jaw slack, mouth parted in a silent groan.

But he doesn’t let go.

His hands stay on the wheel.

His eyes flicker between the road and you. His knuckles are bone-white. Every muscle in his body is tight with restraint, as if his sheer willpower might keep him from tipping over the edge.

“You’re shaking,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not going to make it.”

“I am.” The words barely scrape out of him.

You chuckle, slow and low, clenching around him mid-thrust. He bucks into you so hard the rig creaks, but his grip stays on the wheel.

You ride him harder now—hips slapping softly, slick heat dragging down his cock with perfect, punishing pressure. His entire body jolts with every downward roll of your hips.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear.

He groans—deep and wrecked—and tries to focus. Tries to stay in it.

You press your forehead to his and grind in a slow, delicious circle.

“Not the track, is it?” you purr. “You’re thinking about how close you are. How good it would feel to just let go.”

“Fuck—” he gasps, hips jerking up against your rhythm. “No. No—I can finish—”

“You can’t.”

And you make sure of it.

You change your angle—just slightly. And he feels it. Buried even deeper. You clench around him again, dragging a desperate sound from his throat. His back arches against the seat.

He’s trembling. Fully. Visibly.

You slow your pace just enough to tease, your voice syrup-sweet against his cheek:

“I can feel it, baby. You’re right there.”

“I—I’m fine,” he lies.

You pick up speed.

His breath hits high and frantic now, his body jerking with every bounce, every squeeze of your thighs.

“You think you’ll last?” You move faster. “You think you’ll make it across the line without coming in me?”

He whines.

Actually whines.

You dig your nails into his chest, pull his head back, make him look at you. His pupils are blown, his lips pink and parted. He’s wrecked and still trying.

Still trying to win.

You grin.

And then you slam down once, hard, angled just right—and he breaks.

His whole body arches. A sharp, guttural moan tears from his throat as he spills inside you—deep and hot and uncontrollable.

His foot slips on the pedal. On screen, his car jerks wide, flies off the track.

DNF

You collapse into him, both of you panting. Your lips press to his jaw, soft now, breathless.

He’s trembling.

He doesn’t speak.

He can’t.

And you whisper, just for him:

“I told you.”

Lando’s head is tipped back against the seat, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls. His hands are finally off the wheel, one dangling limp at his side, the other gripping your thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He’s still inside you. Still pulsing from the aftershocks.

You shift your hips—just slightly—and he twitches, letting out a broken sound that’s half a whimper, half a curse.

“Fuck me,” he groans, voice ragged.

You lean forward, kiss the corner of his mouth—sweet, smug, slow.

“Oh, I did.”

His eyes snap open.

There’s fire there still—under the wreckage. Under the loss. The glint of a man who isn’t done, even when he’s spent.

He reaches up and cups the back of your neck, dragging you down into a kiss that’s too deep for someone that wrecked. Desperate. Tongue and teeth and the bite of someone who’s not ready to admit defeat.

When he pulls back, his lips are slick, his eyes heavy-lidded but sharp.

“Just because I lost,” he murmurs, “doesn’t mean I don’t get to take you… whenever. However.”

Your breath catches.

He grins—slow and dark, still breathless but already hardening again beneath you.

“That was only round one.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the shift in him—the way he’s already coming back to life beneath your thighs.

“Already?” you whisper.

“You said I couldn’t last five laps.” He grabs your hips, guiding you down again, grinding into the mess between you. “Let’s see how many rounds you can take.”

Your eyes flutter.

He’s not asking this time.

And just like that, the game starts over.

notes: i really hope it isn't terrible and makes sense lol. i wanted to get this one out quickly, especially after his sprint win yesterday.

taglist: @literallysza @piceous21

IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED TO A TAGLIST FOR ALL OF MY FUTURE F1 FICS, COMMENT BELOW

[harrysxcarolina]

billie bossa nova

b. eilish

warnings: pure smut, little to no plot, wlw, strap, fem!reader, mentions of being a switch (idk maybe its 1 am), cussing, oral, half proof read, honestly there's probably more but im so sleepy i can't think lol, also hiiiii lovies!!!!!! im backkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!! enjoy this sweet treat!! hopefully it helps to start your week off good!!! also she a long juicy thing so yeah!! mwah! goodnight!!! 🤭🥰😘

wc: 9.1k

love when it comes without a warnin’ 

The air was hot and heavy. Clothes sprawled out across the floor and long forgotten about. Heavy breaths and soft sighs fill the room as her lips leave traces down your neck. The moonlight sparkling across the floor. Your mind clouded with nothing but her. Her body pressed against yours as your hands grip and grasp down her spine trying desperately to pull her closer as if that was even possible. Her hips rutting against you deliciously causing your hands to slide down her sides gripping her hips aiding in her movements. 

“Fuck,” she groans deep in your neck giving you a hard thrust as she grips one of your thighs wrapping your leg around her hip. Her hands tangled deep into the sheets that lay beside your head as her heavy breaths continued to fan across your burning skin. Her chest pressed against yours as you feel every ragged breath she takes. Your breasts bouncing against each other as her body rubs against yours in the most mouthwatering way possible.  “You so feel so fucking good baby.” She moans as she kisses her way down your neck and across your collar. Leaving small love bites in her wake as she works her way down to your sensitive bud. Locking her lips around your perky nipple swirling her tongue in figure eights as her orbs look up meeting yours. 

You were a sight for sore eyes. Hair sprawled across the pillow, lips swollen and caught between your teeth trying desperately to hold back your moans. Your cheeks a deep red as you arch further into her touch, needing her to consume you completely. Your chest heaving up and down as you thrust up against her matching her pace. Silently begging her for more. Her smirk only grew as she continued to kiss and suck your perky tits giving them both the same amount of love and attention. The coil deep inside you getting bigger and bigger just waiting to unravel as you continue to watch her mark you up in places only you could see. A reminder. She was the only one that got to see you like this. The only one who gets to feel you in this way. To please you in this way. It was never spoken, but you both knew. She owned you and your body. You were hers to play with and please in any way she deemed fit, and you’d never complain. You’d take anything she gives you happily. 

“Don’t get shy on me now angel. Let me hear your pretty noises. Tell me what you want, pretty girl.” She mumbles against your skin as she lets your nipple go with a pop. Her tongue swipes across her lips as she looks up at you giving you a knowing smirk. Her hips slow just slightly against yours causing you to moan out in protest. Arching your back off the cool sheets you don’t dare look away from her. Your hands are still gripping her hips tightly trying desperately to get her to pick her pace back up. She’s quick to grip your hands, pinning them above your head as she stops her movements all together. 

“C’mon mamas. I’m not gonna ask again.” She states sternly before she places a quick peck on your forehead. Her breasts glide across yours as she slowly slides her hand down your pinned arms. Her fingertips teasing their way down your heaving chest as she captures her bottom lip between her teeth. Leaning back on her knees taking you all in. Groaning to herself as her fingers glide between your breast and down your torso stopping just above your hips as she once again glances up at you through her lashes. Your body arching into her down as she gently tickles and teases your skin. Watching the goosebumps cover your heaving chest. Her eyes are dark and wild as you see her impatience consume her features. Her dark hair cascading down into her view as she grips both of your thighs spreading your legs even further apart. Fingers spread wide across your soft skin as she flexes her hips against yours. Your wetness sticks to her heated core as she hits your aching clit perfectly. 

“Fuck, please!” You moan as your hands grip the pillow tightly as you rut up in response. Your body aching and screaming for her touch. Your core clenching on nothing as you feel her glare on you. “Please what baby?” Billie asks, her tone dropping just a hint as she slowly taps her fingers down your thigh. Teasing your skin with the cool sting from the rings cluttering her fingers. 

“Need you - fuck - need you on top of me.” You whine as you watch her fingers inching their way towards your soaked cunt. Your breath catches in your throat as her fingers flirt with you. Spreading your wetness along her fingers as she purposely avoids your throbbing clit. A cocky smirk lays across her cheeks as she moves her soaked fingers up to her swollen lips. Groaning to herself as the taste of you hits her tongue. The hand gripping your thigh moves to lower your legs back on the bed as she makes her way across your hips.

“This what you wanted?” Billie asks her tone husky and deep as her hands grip your sides squeezing softly as she straddles herself on top of you. Quickly nodding your head yes as your hands lay across her thighs as you can’t help the deep pull ricocheting across your entire body. You were drunk off the feeling of her sitting atop of you. The idea of her getting herself off by using you only adds to the burning fire deep in your core. You could feel yourself dripping down onto the bed as her hands slowly slide up your sides moving to grope your tits as she slowly begins to rock her hips back and forth. Her breath catches in the back of her throat as she rubs her clit perfectly against you. Her head falls back along her shoulders as your hands move to grip her hips. 

“Fuck just like that Bils.” You moan as you buck up in time with her rocking. Her tits bouncing and swaying in time with her movements as she quickens her pace. Her belly piercing swaying across her tummy as you move her hips against yours. Your moans fill the room as her fingers pinch and pull your swollen nipples. The headboard banging against the wall as she continues to use your body. Her wetness hot and sticky like warm honey coating the both of you as she quivers above you. “Shit,” She grumbles as her hair falls into her face. Her eyes clenched shut as she gets lost in the sounds of your moans and the feeling of her impending orgasm nearing. 

“Close already baby?” You softly ask as you move one of your hands up her side tracing the underline of her boob but not staying there too longer before your working your hand up to her neck. Squeezing firmly causing her eyes to shoot open. Her eyes are the darkest blue you’ve ever seen. Licking your lips as you can’t help the smirk that spreads across your face. You feel her pulse quicken under your grip as she grinds against you as occasionally flicking her gaze between your face and the way your tits are swaying in time with the rocking of her hips. Nodding her head silently as you gently tug her down against you, capturing her lips with yours. Her hips never faulting as your lips battle for dominance. Swallowing each others moans as you tilt your head deepening the kiss. The hand on her neck stays in place as you pull apart keeping her in this position wanting to feel every aspect of her approaching orgasm. Your own not too far behind as the hand that lay on her hip moves up her spine and tangles into her dark locks. Gripping the base of her neck firmly as you tilt her head back forcing her to look at you. 

“Go ahead. Use me. Grind that pretty little pussy of yours all over me until you make an absolute mess of yourself.” You breath against her lips causing her eyes to roll back into her head as that was all it took for her to pick up her pace racing to get herself to the finish line. 

It’s hard to stop it once it starts 

It was late. You definitely weren’t expecting her, but you also weren’t complaining. You were used to these little pop-ups she did. You’ve grown used to her showing up whenever the craving became too much for her to bare. Her hot breath fanned across your neck as she pinned you against your front door. Too needy and too impatient to make it to the bedroom she needed you now. “Missed you so much.” She groaned before her teeth sunk into your skin. Her lips hot on their trail as she starts her torture on your neck. Your moans sound like sweet melodies in her ears as your hands tangle into her hair. Locking her in place as her hips pin you up against the door. Tilting your head to the side offering her more room to explore as her hands grip the hem of your baggy shirt, pulling it above your head and quickly tossing it somewhere behind her before she goes back to work. Groaning to herself as she sees you in nothing but the black lace panties hugging your hips.

Her petite hands are hot and heavy on your chest as she works her lips down along your collarbone. Fingertips twisting and pulling your sensitive buds as she swipes her wet tongue across the bone as she looks up at you through her lashes. Kissing her way along your cleavage and through the valley of your breast. “Wanna taste you so bad.” She whispers against your torso. Her fingers fiddling with the waistline of your lace panties waiting for your approval before she dives in. Brushing your fingers across her cheek as you offer her a soft nod. Kneeling down fully onto her knees as she places a soft peck to your tummy. Your head leaning back against the door breathing deeply as she slowly lowers your panties to the floor. Licking her lips before she starts the slow torture of kissing up and along your thighs. Her lips spread across your skin in a smirk as she smells your arousal the closer she gets to your heated core. 

Tapping her fingers along your soft skin as she kisses her way across your waistline. Gently running her fingers through your folds as she nips one of your hips with her teeth causing you to jolt up into her touch. A breathy moan leaves your lips as one of your hands cup your breast and the other tangles deep into her locks. 

“You’re teasing me.” You whine as you try to guide her to where you needed her the most. Groaning as she quickly pins your hips back against the door with her free hand glancing up at you. Your hair disheveled across your head slightly falling into your view. Your eyes wide and doe like as you look down at her impatiently waiting for her tongue to be deep inside you. She watches as you play with your boob purposefully slowly down your movements knowing that it drives her wild when you pleasure yourself in front of her. Her eyebrows rise as she watches you twist and pull your own nipple. Moaning at the feeling it shoots sent to your core. 

“Won’t take a lot to get you goin’,” She states as she traces her lips lower and lower down your burning skin. Getting closer to your sex as she keeps her eyes on you. “I’m sorry if it’s torture though.” She whines before she places a kiss atop your clit. Your breath catches as you buck up towards her lips. Eyes rolling back as she glides her tongue between your folds. Moaning against you as she laps up your juices. Tongue working fast and hard against your clit as she licks and sucks on your heat. Her grip on your hip is tight and steady as she holds you in place. Taking what she wants from you. 

Groaning as you fight against her hold, needing more than what she was giving you. Your fingers gripping her head as she works you closer and closer to your release. Her tongue swivels and flicks along you driving you crazy as you feel the tightness build up. “Fucking shit. Yes right there!” You moan as she captures your bud between her lips sucking you fully into her mouth as she slowly slides her fingers between your folds. Flirting with your hole as she teases your clit with the tip of her tongue. Her eyes heavy on your features as she watches your chest heave up and down off the door as your mouth hangs open. Cheeks flushed as you waited for her to give you what you were silently begging for. Sliding two fingers deep along your walls as her tongue refuses to give up. Her fingers curl perfectly, hitting your sweet spot right from the start. 

Letting you go with a pop as she thrust her fingers fully inside you. Twisting and curling her fingers along your walls groaning deeply at the sound of your wetness coating her hand. She watches her fingers moving in and out of your cunt as her bottom lip gets stuck between her teeth. “Fuck,” she groans. “It might be more of an obsession.” She states as she dives right back in sliding her tongue up and down your folds, drinking in everything you were offering her. You feel yourself clenching around her digits as her tongue moves in figure eights against your clit. 

You were on cloud nine. Head cluttered with the view of her below you. Her knelt on her knees with her face buried between your thighs. Your legs get weaker but the second as her fingers are relentlessly thrusting in and out of you. Her chin is covered in your juices as her hand moves to grip your ass. Guiding you to fuck yourself on her tongue and fingers. Her hair messy and all over the place from none other than the grip of your fingers deep in her hair. “Please don’t stop. Fuck I’m - I’m so fucking close.” You moan as you grind your pussy faster against her tongue. Your vision begins to blur as you feel the tightness getting bigger and bigger. Teeth caught along your bottom lip as you almost missed her soft plea for you to give her what she wants. 

Your skin burning hotter than the sun as you feel her grope your ass tighter holding up against her face as her fingers repeatedly hit your sweet spot over and over again. Her tongue working your clit perfectly. “I want it. I want all of it baby.” She demands as you squeeze her so tight she can barely move her fingers. She doesn’t hesitate to work you through your high as her fingers continue to work you in a c’mere motion. Her lips tight around your clit sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body as your high hits you like a ton of bricks. You felt her smirk along your folds as she slowly removes her fingers. Groaning as she raises her sticky fingers up to her lips and licks them clean, smirking up at you as she does so. 

Oh you’re so in for it tonight. 

makes me wanna make em’ jealous 

“What the hell was that?” Her tone is sharp and straight to the point. Her footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor as she makes her way across the empty kitchen. Turning on your heel in confusion as you balance the red solo cup along your fingertips. The thumping music from the party you were currently attending fills the space around you as you take another sip of your cup. Your cheeks are flushed and warm as you lean yourself against the counter. Your head is fuzzy, probably from the alcohol cruising through your veins. Your eyebrows raise in confusion as she stands herself right in front of you. The tips of your shoes touch as you look at her up and down. “What was what?” You ask nonchalantly with a shrug of your shoulder. Her eyes are fuming as she sucks her tongue across her teeth, shaking her head in disbelief as she grabs your hips and tugs you off the counter. You were now pressed tightly against her front as you felt the heat radiating off her body. Moaning softly to yourself as you feel the bulge between her thighs. Lip caught between your teeth as you meet her gaze. Noticing how she already stood with a cocky smirk and an eyebrow hitched. A knowing smirk spread across her lips. “Now that I have your full attention.” She seethed, gripping your hips tighter. “Let me repeat myself one more fucking time. What the hell was that?” She questioned. Her orbs getted a dark deep blue as your cheeks begin to heat up under her stare. Gripping the red solo cup tighter as you recall the incident she was referring to. 

The music was loud as you swayed your body to the beat. Head thrown back as you let loose and sang along with the crowd dancing around you. Cup tight in your grip as the bodies around you mindlessly bumping and grinding aimlessly around the very limited space. Not soon after you get lost in the song you feel a pair of unfamiliar hands grip your hips. Aiding in your movements to the rhythm as they pressed their body fully against your back. The alcohol in you wasn’t the best excuse for why you allowed this to continue but being lost in the moment and mind clouded by the unknown amount of shots you’ve taken thus far tonight definitely wasn’t helping. Telling yourself that you’re going to go stress free tonight and just have fun. Not knowing the last time you fully allowed yourself to do so. 

You knew she wouldn’t be happy about it. You knew you would be in for a long night the moment she found out. Even though the words we never spoke aloud you were hers. And hers only. It was okay for them to look, but they were never to touch. 

The song soon changed and with the beat drop scaring you out of your daze you quickly pushed yourself away from the mysterious body and quickly searched for a quieter place. You needed to sober up. You needed the fuzziness to go away. Zig zagging your way through what seemed like an endless amount of bodies, you finally reach the kitchen and thank the universe that no one was in there. Which was shocking seeing as all the drink options were scattered throughout the room. Empty pizza boxes and half drank cups litter the counters as you make your way to the sink. Dumping out the remaining liquid down the drain and quickly replacing it with water. 

Taking a big gulp of the refreshing liquid as you make a mental note to grab a snack as well once you finished your cup of water - 

“I didn’t mean -” you start before she quickly interrupts you. “Oh what?! You didn’t mean to let that guy rub his dick all up on you? Baby girl, if you were that desperate to get dicked down you know all you gotta do is ask and it's done.” She states confidently as she ruts herself up against you once again. The faux cock hidden under her baggy pants rubbing against your clit perfectly through your tight skirt. Your head falls back along your shoulders as your grip on the cup loosens slightly. A sharp jolt shoots through your body causing pins and needles to coat your skin. A soft moan rolls off your lips as you try and return the motion only to be stopped and pressed back against the counter. 

“Nuh-uh pretty. You get what I give you tonight.” She groans as she moves one of her hands to grip your neck. Pulling you down to her and crashing her lips onto yours. The kiss is filled with nothing but clashing teeth and desperation. Breathing each other in as your tongues battle for dominance. Forgetting everything around you and getting completely lost into her. Her touch. Her lips. Her soft groans as she occasionally ruts her hips up against you. 

Pulling apart from your lips to kiss across your jaw and down your neck. Searching for your sweet spot and smirking to herself as she starts her attack on your skin. Her teeth nipping at your hot skin and quickly after flicking the tip of her warm tongue across it soothing the ache she left. Leaving her mark along your pulse point before working her lips to your ear. Her hot breath sends shivers down your spine as you feel her grip on your neck tighten just slightly. Her lips brushing across the shell of your ear “The fact he thought he could lay hands on you makes me wanna make em’ jealous.” She whispers into your ear. Your jaw is on the floor. Your cheeks instantly warm to a bright red as you forget to breathe all together. The grip you had on the cup completely unfolds as you move your hands to tangle themselves into her hair. Not caring that the cup of water is now pouring out onto the floor. Her hand drops from your neck and quickly grips your hips moving her head from out of your neck. Licking her lips as she looks up at you taking in the shocked yet turned on express on your face. 

Lips quirking slightly before she gently grabs your chin bringing your face down to hers. Glancing between your eyes and swollen lip she can’t help the cocky smirk working its way across her cheeks. Her lips gently brushing against yours as her words seep into your skin like the warm rays on a mid-July day. “We both know I’m the only one who does it how you like. Get your things. We’re leaving now.” She states before she swiftly captures your bottom lip between her pearly white teeth and tugs on it. Growling as she watches it bounce back into place the moment she relishes it. But just as quickly as she came she was gone. Pushing off your body and backing herself away. Glancing down at the bulky watch laying around her wrist she checks the time. “You got 5 minutes mamas. Don’t keep me waiting.” She demands before turning on her heel. Her tone deep and raspy as she leaves you standing there with wobbly knees and a throbbing ache deep in your core. 

we both know im worth waitin’ for, that heavy breathin’ on the floor 

You sit slouched back in the leather chair. An annoyed groan leaves your lips as your foot taps against the floor. Glancing down at your phone checking the time. 45 minutes. She was 45 minutes late to the meet up she planned. The meet up she begged you to come on even though you told her you had prior engagements and you weren’t available. Were you annoyed? Frustrated? In more than one way that is. Yes absolutely. You’ve tried texting her. Calling her. Nothing. Pure silence. You start to question what you were even doing here. Why were you waiting for a girl you kept dangling you around on a string. Only coming around when it worked best for her. Sighing and pushing yourself up off the chair deciding to collect your things and go. You didn’t want to look even more pathetic than you already did. 

Right as you finish packing up your things you hear the slight rattle of the door handle. Freezing in your spot and you glance over your shoulder at the door. You watch it swing open and the dark haired girl rushing in. Her cheeks were light pink as her chest heaved up and down. Trying to catch her breath as she stood there staring at you. Her eyes wide as her hands lay clenched at her sides. 

“I’m so sorry!” She hurriedly spoke. Reaching up and brushing her bangs out of her eyes taking a few steps towards you. You are still standing half hunched over the bed as you stare at her with an unknown look in your eyes. “You’re 45 minutes late Billie. What the fuck?” You state as you set your bag pack down on the bed turning to face her fully. She stops just a couple steps shy from you as she glances at you up and down. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I really am. I was in the studio with Finneas, and I know it’s a dumb ass excuse but we really lost track of time. Then my phone died. Please, believe me.” She begged as she stood there with slumped shoulders and a desperate look on her face. Taking a deep breath for glancing down at your shoes. 

“I want to believe you. Shit I do believe you. But that’s the problem Billie.” You reply as you twist your fingers together anxiously. You know you have to tell her how you have been feeling. You can’t keep it bottled up anymore. “What - what’s that supposed to mean?” She questions as she looks up at you with furrowed brows. Taking a hesitant step forward as she flexes her fingers that were starting to cramp from how tight she was clenching them. “Billie,” You sigh softly. Taking a deep breath as you fight down the tightness in your chest. “You expect me to drop everything for you at any given moment. You expect me to be at your beck and call whenever you please. Yet you can’t even offer the same courtesy for something you planned knowing I had things already planned.” You rush out. Your frustration gets the best of you and before you can stop yourself the words just fly out of your mouth. “I’ve fallen in love with you and it fucking hurts how you are just playing around with me.” You're both left standing there in shock as the words hang heavy in the air.  

“You’re falling in love with me?” Her voice comes off soft as she takes another step closer to you. Only two steps left between the both of you. Looking down at the floor for a second reminding yourself to breathe. Nodding your head softly as you gently nibble on your lip. You feel her fingers gently gripping your chin moving your gaze to hers. Her cheeks are slightly flushed as her orbs are wide and curious. “I’m falling in love with you too. I’m sorry I’ve been so shitty. I don’t ever want to hurt you. Can I make it up to you?” She asks as her eyes never leave yours. You search for any signs of dishonesty, but you find none. 

Her fingers move to cup your cheek as you gently nod your head. Her lips brush along yours teasingly as her minty breath invades your senses. “Remember what you asked for the other day?” She mumbles against your lip. You feel her tongue quickly swipe across her lips as you lean your forehead against hers. The quirk of your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by Billie as she knows you remember exactly what you asked her. Your cheeks heat up immediately at her question. She motions with her head over to the nightstand next to the bed. You follow her nod as you feel the giddiness building deep within you. You feel the tingles spreading from the tips of your toes to the tips of your fingers. Licking your lips as you back away from Billie towards the stand. Her smirk matches yours as she keeps her eyes on you. She can feel her entire body heating up at the realization at what is about to happen between the both of you. 

***

Her soft whimpers and pleas were the only sounds you could hear as her hands grasped at anything she could reach. Her body spread out along the mattress below the both of you. Her breaths deep and heavy as your lips slowly leave open mouth kisses along her cleavage, one hand holding you up as you tower over her while the other lightly traces up and down her side. You feel her start to clench her thighs around you. Clothes long forgotten along with the blankets that were kicked off the bed in the heat of tangled limbs and messy kisses. Teasing her porcelain skin with the tip of your tongue tracing random shapes as you worked your way down leaving goosebumps in your trail. Inching your warm mouth closer and closer to her swollen nipple as you glance up at her through your lashes. Smirking as you notice her icy orbs already on your every move. You could feel the heat radiating off her shaking body and you’ve barely even touched her yet. 

Her hands clench at her sides as you hover your mouth over her tit. She doesn’t move her gaze from yours as she watches you quickly capture the bud between your teeth flicking it between your tongue causing her back to arch up and with a deep moan escaping from her rosy lips. Her teeth biting down harder along her swollen lip as your fingers tap along her side until you reach her other nipple, not wanting it to feel left out you quickly begin twisting and pulling in time with the motion of your tongue. Her moans get louder and coat your burning skin. 

Shes so fucking soft. You think as you let your mouth pop off her sensitive and swollen nipple and continue to work yourself lower making sure to kiss every single inch of her as you leave your dark marks all across her waistline. Smirking to yourself as you check out your work before giving special treatment to the tattoo that lay permanently along her lower torso. Her hips buck up in need as you watch her move her clenched hands from the sheets up her body to her achy breast. As your lips trace her sweaty skin you watch her one hand take its time moving up her panting body. Her eyes heavy on you as she teasingly traces her fingertips up her tummy moaning to herself as she arches up into her own touch the higher she gets. Her smirk soon matches yours. Making sure to take her time as she watches your eyes dilated with more need as her other hand pinches and pulls at her nipple. Your heavy breathing fanning over her aching core as you can't help but groan at your own aching need. Softly rutting yourself against the bed to hopefully relieve the pent up frustration. 

Laying a chaste kiss above her mound as you offer her one more time to change her mind. “Are you sure about this baby?” You mumble as you scoot yourself into a more comfortable position between her thighs which she had laid spread wide open for you already. Your arms slide under and around her hips gripping them firmly between your hands as you pepper sweet kisses along the inside of her thigh patiently waiting for her approval. Her eyes get a bit softer at your words as her teeth finally let go of her bottom lip. Nodding her head against the pillow as she unclasps her grip on her boobs and moves her hands down to yours that were still holding her hips. 

Interlacing her fingers with yours as she quietly whimpers, “Want to feel you everywhere. In every way.” It didn’t take very long before her pretty head was quickly thrown back against the pillow as you swipe your tongue up her soaked folds. The tip of your tongue stroking just right against her throbbing clit. Her hips try aimlessly to buck up into your touch, but with your hands tightly wrapped around them holding her in place she doesn’t get very far. Humming to yourself as you savor the taste of her on your lips. Your fingers flexing against her hip bones as you feel her ragged breath on the tips of your pinky fingers. 

Glancing up at her as a small smirk works its way across your lips. The tip of your tongue slowly makes its way through her soaked folds gathering every single drop of her juices. Her grip on your hands tightens the moment you start to slowly swipe your tongue back and forth along her clenching hole before fully capturing her heat between your lips. Your moans against her send vibrations throughout her body as you begin to fully tongue fuck her. Thrusting your face deeper between her thighs as you begin to curl the wet muscle along her spongy walls. 

Getting lost in the taste of her and the sounds of her sweet melodies you continue to devour her feverishly. You didn’t realize when she let go of your fingers until she had hers tangled deep in your hair holding your head right where she wanted you. Unraveling one of your hands off her hip as you rest it on the bed. Pulling yourself up and away from her briefly, your lips and chin are covered in her arousal. Quickly swiping your tongue across your lips as you move your gaze up her gasping body a soft whimper leaves your lips. Her cheeks fully flushed with a cherry red tint, her lips swollen and begging to be kissed, her dark hair lay tangled and spread out along the pillow case. Your heart couldn’t help but swoon at the sight of her. She’s spread wide, wet, and ready for you as you notice the soft moonlight sprinkling itself across her porcelain skin. Your hand slowly inching itself higher up her quivering leg as your eyes meet hers. 

“You ready?” You softly ask as you wiggle yourself between her thighs. A soft gasp rolls off Billie’s lips as she feels the tip of the faux cock slide between her folds, giving her just a glimpse of what's to come. Her hands instantly reach out towards you as she pulls you down to her, capturing your lips in a sweet passionate kiss. Nodding her head yes as she refuses to release you from her touch. Your lips tangle against each other as you tower your body over hers. Teeth clashing as the once soft kiss turns more heated. Needier. Breathing in each other's moans as Billie quickly slips her tongue along yours tasting herself on your buds. Groaning as your tongues battle for dominance, both of you refusing to give up the fight as your tongues and teeth clash together. 

Pulling apart briefly, you carefully align your hips with hers gently pushing past her walls. Her thighs are quick to wrap themselves around your hips as you inch further - deeper - into her. Your lips brush teasingly against hers causing her back to arch up off the bed further into you. Her hands gripping your hair tightly holding you in place as she bucks her hips up in response. You could feel the heat radiating off her burning skin the deeper you got.

“Fuck baby,” she groans against your cheek as she impatiently waits for you to move. Her hips involuntarily bucking up against yours causing your head to fall along her shoulder you feel the sweet pleasure against your aching clit. You can feel her breast rubbing against your sensitive nipples as her chest heaves up and down in anticipation. Her lips hot on your jaw as she kisses her way across and down your pulse point. Her hot breath fanning down your skin causing goosebumps to follow in her trail. Your smirk only grows as you place one hand beside her head and the other along her hip as you start a slow tortuous pace along her spongy walls. The room is quickly filled with your soft pants and her sweet melodies as you begin to flex your hips harder and deeper against her. 

“Do I feel good baby?” You whisper along the shell of her ear. Your tone is sweet yet mocky as your tongue gently teases her earlobe causing her head to fall fully against the pillow giving you more room to work your lips down her neck. Silently asking you to mark her up. She wanted to feel your lips and touch for days after. She wanted the dark marks as a reminder of this night. The night that you both would never forget. She crosses her legs behind your back forcing you to stay tightly against her as you repeatedly hit her sweet spot. Your lips are glued to her skin as you leave mark after mark groaning to yourself as you see the pretty purple marks lining her neck and across her collarbone. You wanted to engrave this image into your mind. You wanted to replay her sweet melodies over and over again as you watch her take everything you are giving her. You wanted to feel the tightness of her thighs wrapped around hips for the rest of eternity. 

Your hand clutching the sheets as you adjust your body to fully lay along hers. Your hips never falter as you pick up your pace thrusting faster into her. You could feel every single ragged breath she took as you ran your hand along her side. 

“You feel so fucking good baby. Fuck -  just like that! Please don’t fucking stop.” She moans into your neck. Her tongue swiping along your sweet spot smirking to herself as she feels your pulse quicken. Your breath hitches briefly as she sinks her teeth deep into your neck.  It was her turn and you both knew it. You weren’t going to stop her. You wanted her marks just as badly. Her lips work fast along your neck as her teeth pinch and pull your skin. The marks grow darker as her tongue quickly soothes the burning ache she leaves behind. “Mm, fuck Bils!” You groan, tossing your head back as she lets the marked skin go with a pop. Your eyes meet as you continue your moves, rotating your hips deliciously against hers as you feel her wetness seeping down your thigh. Her eyes are dark and wild as she glares up at you. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as your hand slid up her torso and between the valley of her breast. Gently teasing her skin with your fingertips as you feel the ache between your thighs getting bigger and bigger as the harness rubs your clit perfectly over and over again. You’re just as wet as her if not more as you continue to slowly watch her crumble below you. Her breath hitches in the back of her throat as you brush your fingertips across her perky nipples. Arching her back completely off the bed and into your touch as her hips rut and grind against the cock you had buried deep inside her. 

You wanted to feel every twitch and buck of her body against yours as you finally get to have her the way you’ve been dreaming about for weeks. You’ve begged her to let you please her this way. You begged and whined about wanting to hear her soft moans and whimpers for you, stating how you wanted to see her the way she always got to see you. Wet, needy, and begging for more. Not that you haven’t before, just - well just not in this specific way. You wanted to see how far you could push her. You wanted to see how far you could take her before she completely fell apart at the seams. Her moans and whimpers are music to your ears as she untangles her digits from your locks and pulls you down quickly to a heated kiss. Her teeth capture your bottom lip before letting it go with a pop as you moan into her mouth.

Your hips continue to thrust and grind against her panting body as her hands slide their way down your sweaty body pulling you tighter against her as you feel her clenching tightly around you. Smirking against her lips as you hand releases her sensitive bud and works its way up her heaving chest. Gently lacing your fingers along her neck as her moans only grew louder as her head flew back and her eyes clenched shut. Squeezing just briefly causing her eyes to land back on yours. 

“You’re close already baby?” You moan mockingly you slowed your pace down just a bit still working your hips just as deep as before. You wanted this to last just a little longer you thought as her groans were quickly muffled by the hand that decorated her neck. Her mouth hung open as she tried to buck her hips up against you but was quickly stopped by the hand that was laying beside her head. Quickly moving it to grip one of her thighs that was tangled around your hips. Her walls clenching and desperately trying to pull you deeper as you swiftly push her hips down into the bed. She groans as her dark orbs send you harmless daggers. She knew what you were doing. She knew you wanted to play. 

Leaning down to where your lips barely brushed against hers. Her minty breath invades your senses as the tip of your tongue swipes across her swollen lips. “I asked you a question, pretty girl.” You murmur as your eyes glance across her features. Her cheeks a burning red as she feels the tip gently rub against her sweet spot but just as quickly as it came it was gone as you offered her one more reminder. Her bottom lip is once again caught between her teeth as she feels your breath fanning along her face. 

“Baby, please,” She quietly begged as she felt your fingers flex along her pulsing neck. Your eyes flicker across her features as you feel her hands sliding their way down your side not stopping until they get to your hips. Her fingers are quick to grip and grasp at your skin as she tries desperately to get your hips to continue their sweet torture but you don’t budge. Your eyebrows furrow as your grip on her hip and neck stay steady. Tilting your head slightly as you take her all in. 

Your tongue toying with your lips as your eyes slowly work their way down her heaving body. Taking your time as you stop your movements all together as the hand on her hip grips her tighter leaning down against her once more. Your lips lay a gentle kiss against her forehead before sitting back on your heels. Your bottom lip lays prisoner to your teeth as you swiftly slide the fake cock out from between her legs. Confusion is quickly laced in Billies features as she quickly goes to sit up to stop you. 

“Baby, where - what are you doing?” She rushes out as her hands reach for your arms. You offer a sweet smile and a soft shush, before laying yourself along the bed spreading your legs out as you reach down to grip the toy that sat above your core. Groaning to yourself as you feel her wetness coat your palm as you glide your hand up and down the shaft as if it was actually a part of you. Your stare doesn’t leave the site in front of you as you watch her sticky wetness drip down your fingers. Her orbs grow darker as she watches you play with the toy instead of her. The ache in her core goes bigger as does her confusion. She wanted you touching her. She wanted to feel you everywhere and instead you're laying there in front of her playing with something that isn’t even real. 

“You can continue to sit there staring at me or you can start answering me when I ask you questions baby.” You state as you flick your eyes up to her. Silently loving the way she is staring at you as if she wanted to eat you alive. Which she did. Her chest is still heaving up and down as she can feel herself clenching around nothing. A reminder of what she once had only just moments before. You give her a few more seconds to answer before you move your gaze and attention back to your hand around the thick shaft moaning to yourself as you bring your hand up to your lips and lick her juices off your palm. Your head laying back along the pillow as you use that same hand to knead your aching tit. 

Your moans fill the room as your hand toys with yourself only driving her more mad with desire and need. She couldn’t take it anymore. Quickly moving her body to tower over yours. Her leg swinging over your hips as she hovers over the taunting cock held between your thighs. One hand placed beside your head as the other goes to grip the hand that you were using to touch yourself with. Moaning loudly as she removes it from your own body and placing it directly against her drenched core. Her eyes shoot up to meet yours as she grabs your wrist tightly. Your fingers sliding between her soaked folds as she moves your hand back and forth, coating your fingers herself with her juices. “See how wet you fucking make me?” She asks moaning as her hips buck against your digits. Your fingers sliding between her folds before she easily slides two deep along her walls. You can’t hold back your moans at how quickly your fingers became soaked with her juices. You wanted your tongue coated in them. Her body was burning hot at the feeling of you inside her. 

“I want you touching me mamas, and only me. Do you understand?” She groaned in your ear as she moved her body against your fingers. Her hips buck against your palm as she feels a shiver slide down her spine. Her breast swaying perfectly in front of your eyes, only making your mouth water even more. Wanting desperately to capture one of her buds between your teeth. “I want you to make me cum all over you. Want you to - fuck - want you -” she starts but quickly drops her jaw as a deep moan lips her lips. You quickly pull your fingers out of her and replace them with the faux cock she was so jealous of moments before. Filling her up completely with one swift thrust. Her breathing stops all together as you being to fuck up into hers. 

“Oh, please don’t stop there, Bils. Tell me what else you want.” You boldly state below her with a cocky smirk laying across your lips. Your eyes flicker between her fucked out expression and the way that her hips were rutting against the thick cock that was buried deep in her pussy. “Fuck, and look at me a little more. Not that fucking fake dick.” She groans deeply as she rotates her hips hitting her sweet spot. 

“Fuck, pretty girl.” You moan as her hips grind harder and faster, rubbing your clit deliciously causing your head to fall back and your vision to blur. “Shit, please don’t stop!” She begs as you flex your hips up in time with hers. The arm that was holding her up gets wobbly, her grip now on your bouncing breast as her knees sink deep into the mattress. Her wetness gushing down onto your thighs and lower tummy as you feel her clenching her hips tightly along your hips. Your tongue quickly swipes across your lips as you watch her cheeks grow hotter the closer she gets to her high.

Her dark locks invade her vision as her head drops low. Her bottom lip caught between her pearly white teeth as she feels the coil getting tighter and tighter. “Does my pretty girl want me to watch her make a mess all over me hm?” You ask tenderly as you use your free arm to hold you up still keeping you the thrusting pace you had going with her. Your raised mound rubbing against her throbbing clit perfectly every time to rutted forward. Her hips sputter against you as she rolls her head along her shoulder blades. Looking down at you through her dark lashes she reaches her free hand up to grope her chest. Twisting and pulling at her own nipples her soft whimpers fill the room. Her breathing quickens as she reaches down to grip the back of your neck. Tugging your head up until your lips capture her nipple between your teeth. Your tongue licking and sucking her deeper into your mouth. Her sweet sounds float into your ears and straight to your core as you flick your tongue against her nipple before your teeth bite and pull the swollen bud.

“Shit, baby. I’m going to fuck - I’m going to cum.” She confesses as you thrust your hips even deeper. The tip of the dick pounding against her sweet spot over and over again until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Her moans and ragged breaths flood your senses as you feel her shake above you. Her orgasm washes over her causing her body to fall on top of yours. Gripping her hips tighter as you force her hips to keep their movements the same, dragging out her high for as long as possible. “Fuck yes baby. Make a mess all over me. Show me you’re mine pretty girl.” You moan as your own high rushes over you. 

“im yours, im yours - ” Billie moans deep into your neck as she shivered in your lap. Her body slowly goes lax in your grasp as you grip her fully against your front. Your hands rubbing along her spine as you lay sweet kisses along her shoulder. You can feel each other's hearts beating as you both refuse to let go of the other. Your heavy breathing matches as softly tickle her skin with your fingertips and her lips lay peppered kisses along your neck and collarbone as you both try to catch your breath. 

“I really am sorry about being late. I really wanted tonight to be perfect.” Billie softly states as she lays her head along your shoulder. Her cheek flush against your warm skin as her nose brushes along your neck. You softly hum and lay a kiss on her cheek in response before tucking yourself closer into her too consumed by bliss to fully register her words just yet. 

The room grows in a comfortable silence, not sure how much time has passed before you start to feel the soft lure of sleep. Your bodies are heavy with warmth and swirling emotions as you know you’ll have to get cleaned up before you both fall asleep. Gently tapping your fingers against her chilled skin quietly whispering for her to get up so you could clean her up she softly groans before mumbling something incoherent against your skin as she slowly sits up out of your neck and rubs her eyes. You can’t help the small smirk that works its way along your lips as you stare up at her in awe. Even half asleep and purely fucked out she still was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. Your finger gently traces along her thigh as she lowers her hands and glances down at you. With a confused shake of her head and a small smile she softly asks, “Why you lookin’ at me like that?” Her eyes glancing between your eyes and your swollen lips the hints of your previous activities still lingering along them. 

“You’re mine huh?” You state confidently as your teeth sink into your bottom lip trying to hide your cocky smirk. Billie bashfully looks down at the bunched up sheets beside your pretty face avoiding your knowing stare. Her smirk is evident as she sucks her tongue across her teeth finally meeting your gaze. 

“Only if you want me.” She coyly states her orbs grow darker as she moves her gaze across your features. Her hands now gripping your sides as she reminds you of the position you both sat in. Raising her hips just a little before dropping back down onto you. 

Your smirk only grows as her hands slowly inch their way up your torso. Moving your hands to grip her hips as you aid in her movements. Watching her tits bounce right before your eyes. “Oh, I definitely want you. In every way baby. Every single fucking way.” You state as you both forget the tiredness that once consumed you and instead get lost in all the possibilities of what’s to come. Your thoughts are clouded with soft kisses and the promise of you were hers and she was yours.

[imnez-daydreams]

listen, have i watched sinners ? no. do i know anything about the movie beyond uhh there's vampires ? also no. do i even know what remmick looks like ? still a no. am i still gonna devour this fic i stumbled upon on my feed ? you bet i am !!!

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

okay well im already melting. "sugar" ?? reader leaning towards remmick from his soft voice is so real.

"You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer."

ooo he's already eyeing reader like a predator eyeing his prey. tilting his head slow, moving into reader's space.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

gosh the transition from polite image yet a sense of something off to cold, heartless and hungry is written so well !! the smile that doesn't reach his eyes, the kind words that don't fit quite right when leaving his mouth. then that last line, can feeeeel the possessiveness already rolling off his tongue.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

i like the juxtaposition of his gaze to his words. looking at reader with a gentle gaze yet talking about committing a violent crime.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

hey mister if you keep calling reader those sweet pet names you can keep me !! jokes aside the build up to the chasing is soo good ! the realisation dawning on reader that this man isnt even a man, something darker and unexplainable. that cold realisation turning into dread when he  stakes his claim.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

sorry for being depraved on main but this is so hot i cant even lie akdhsidke. LISTENN. remmick not even running, just leisurely following after reader. knows he can easily catch up so its like he's savouring your fear, your hopeful naivety thinking you can escape him. then him playfully telling reader continue running. then, then that statement about how running is just gonna make him fuck reader harder. hello. (me when)

"He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do."

omg been watching and listening !! and reader has been none the wiser all this time. i like how reader's reaction is realistic too, those times when tears just escape you not cause of the sadness or fear but because the situation you're in seems so hopeless, tears just make their path down your face.

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

remmick what is that supposed to mean mister. are there worse monsters than you ? but again i really like the duality of it all, gentle and soft voice with the backdrop of violent and rough hands.

And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

goodness that wholeee last line is so beautifully described. even though its a long one it doesn't even feel dragged on, just a string of pretty words dancing.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

EYE CONTACTTTTT. i go crazy over this. feral even. love love love. the smut was so good !!! how reader feels that pull, can't stop wanting it even though the warning bells are ringing. the possessiveness, the claiming. grrr.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

ohhhhhhhdndkdjeiedklfl. im a sucker for religious themes this is so good. reverent ??? as if reader was carved by God just for remmick ?????? in shambles this is delicious writing.

phew that was a ride !! thank you ada for introducing me to sinners :DD this was sooo good and well written, it really makes me wanna read other works of this character ! dont mind me snooping through remmick's tags after this hehe. thank you for writing, splendid work ada <3

Baked In Blood

summary: Driven by kindness, you walk to a secluded house every day, leaving freshly baked pies for the mysterious man who never shows himself. But when your neighbor, Mrs. Hatcher, is violently killed one night, everything changes. As fear spreads through the town, the man you've been silently serving steps into your life—and the true, terrifying nature of his obsession begins to unravel.

warnings: non-con, dub-con, explicit content, dirty talk, mentions of blood and murder, forest sex, prey and predator dynamics

pairing: dark!remmick x fem!reader

words: 6k

based off this request

The air was thick with that early morning quiet — not cold, but not warm yet either. Just still. Hushed. Like the world hadn’t quite decided to wake up. The pie in your hands was still warm, warmed in a red gingham towel that gave a slight aroma of sugar and cinnamon. You carried it like you always did, how you carried it to his house every morning. Steady, careful, both hands under the dish so the heat didn’t slip through and burn your fingers.

You took the long way, even though you didn’t have to. Past the lot where the hydrangeas used to grow, Past the old gas station that hadn’t sold gas in years. The street was empty, save for a squirrel darting across the sidewalk and a newspaper half soaked in dew.

You liked mornings like this. Quiet ones. Nobody needing anything from you yet. 

His house sat at the far end of the block, past where the road cracked deeper and the shade settled in early. You could barely see the roofline through the trees most days. No cars in the drive. No signs of the sun shining into his house in the mornings, windows and curtains closed. Just that porch with the crooked step and the step and the front door that never opened. 

You didn’t know who he was. No one really did. 

You’d never seen him up close. Never heard his voice. Just a name once, muttered by a neighbor who looked like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth.

But none of that mattered. Never mattered to you. 

You climbed the creaking and worn steps like usual, pie in hand, the porch groaning under your weight. You paused at the door. Knocked once… twice then three times and that was it. Never more. 

SIlence only met you. Not even a sign of a curtain drawing back. Though you waited just for a few seconds more. Long enough to maybe give him a chance to open the door and accept the pie you usually baked.  

There were signs he took the dishes you left on the little table posted by the chair on his porch. And you needed him to open the door sooner or later in the future because you sure were running out your plates and dishes. 

So you crouched down slightly, set the pie down on the small round table. You adjusted the towel, smoothed it down with your fingers. And then left like you always did. Same way you came. With your back turned you never saw the figure that stood by the window– shifting the curtain ever so slightly to watch you leave.

It was a good twenty five minutes by the time you reached your gates, your rhoughts still back at that old house. You’d never gotten anything in return except for an empty door. But it didn’t stop you. Some things couldn’t be helped, and kindness was one of them. It was just who you were.

You didn’t know why you were this way– always looking out for others, always taking the time to lend a hand, even if it meant nothing in return. Maybe it was because your mama had always taught you that small acts of kindness could make all the difference in a world that could be a little too harsh and unyielding sometimes. Or maybe it was just your heart, too damn big for its own good.

You’d seen people look at you strangely when you held the door open for them or when you offered a smile to the grumpy old guy who owned a small grocery store cross the street who barely even returned the smile. But you didn’t mind. You’d always been this way, and you’d always keep doing it— whether it was helping your neighbor Mrs Hatcher with her groceries or just leaving one too many baked goods for a man who never even bothered to show his face. 

As you reached the steps of your porch, you noticed Mrs Hatcher was sitting outside again, her rocking chair creaking steadily. The morning sun barely touched her, casting her face in a sharp light that made her look even more critical than usual. You almost didn’t want to stop, but you were too polite, so you gave her a quick wave as you neared the gate. 

She didn't wave back. Not like how she would regularly do so. Instead, she looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, the silence between you both felt a little too thick. “Been out walking again, huh?” she said, her voice carrying the same sharpness it always did, but now there was something else in it— a little more judgement, a little less warmth than usual.

You nodded. “Just dropped something off.”

Her eyes flickered toward the street, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like it had a mind of its own. “And what’s that, exactly? Your ‘good deed’ for the day?” You shifted on your feet, a little uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Just took the guy that lives in that old house near the woods a pie. I baked it in the morning.”

Mrs Hatcher raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as if shw was trying to make some sense of you. “That house,” she started slowly, like she was comprehending her own words in her head before letting them out, “It ain’t one for pies, sugar. And it ain’t one for kindness neither. You might want to stop before you‘re the only one left out there handing things to a ghost.” 

You felt a small flutter in your chest, but you didn’t show it. Sure you’ve heard the whispers about that house— from the strange way it sat, half hidden behind thick trees, the rumours that no one had ever seen the man who supposedly lived there. People called him strange, distant, dangerous even, but it didn’t faze you. You didn’t need to know him to know that everyone deserved a little kindness. 

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” you said simply, smiling. “He’s always been taking them in.” 

Mrs Hatcher’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Is that so huh?” She leaned forward, the creaking of her chair louder now, her tone dripping with a subtle challenge. “Well, maybe he don’t mind. But I’m telling you sugar, one day you’ll find out kindness don’t always come back around the way you think it will.”

You didn’t know why, but there was something in the way she said it that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Something that didn't sit right. But you ignored it, like you always did with her not bothering to listen to any of the bullshit any more, you just gave a simple smile and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a half smile before stepping toward your front door. 

The last thing you heard before you entered was Mrs Hatcher’s voice, barely above a murmur, like she was talking to herself. “Just be careful, girl. There’s kindness… and then there’s being a fool for it, and that’s you right now.”

You didn’t let it bother you. It was just Mrs Hatcher, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, her words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, you wondered if there might be more to her warning then you realized.

Everyone was shocked to hear the news, but nobody could say they were surprised. 

It wasn’t the kind of thing that was completely unexpected in a place like this. The kind of place where people get to be known by their routines, their quirks and their habits. So when the sheriff made his rounds, grim faced and speaking low, people leaned in a little closer, nodding pretending they didn’t already know.

Mrs Hatcher had been found in her chair— rocking still, like she was just taking one of her usual evening naps. But this time, her chair wasn’t creaking from the wear of decades. It was still in a way it never had been before. Her neck, torn open, blood spread thick across the porch, pooling like dark wine against the old wood. 

It was late, the street bathed in that heavy hush. The silence clung to the scene, to the dark windows and the front door that creaked ever so slightly due to the wind. 

But it wasn’t just the manner of her death that had the town rattled. It was the fact that it had happened right there. Just a few houses down from where you could practically hear the crickets and see the stars in their endless stretch above. Mrs Hatcher had never been the type to keep quiet. She knew too much, talked too loud, watched too long— and all her sharp words, there was always a thin, hidden thread of fear running underneath them. 

The sheriff said it was too early to say much. But you didn’t need to be a damn detective to know that whatever had happened to Mrs Hatcher, it had come from the deep shadows beyond the streetlight’s reach. And that, as always, made you nervous. 

You stood at the edge of the gathering, the murmurs of the townsfolk was a distant hum as your eyes were just fixed on Mrs Hatcher's porch. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

As you begin to take a cautious step closer, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You turned slightly, sensing a presence behind you. 

Remmick stood there, half shrouded in shadow, his eyes reflecting the dim light with an unsettling gleam. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth when he saw your reaction to him somehow startling you.

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

You didn’t answer right away— couldn’t, really. It wasn’t just that he’d come out of nowhere. It was that this was the first time you were actually seeing him. Up close. And he wasn’t what you expected. He was just a normal man. Tall, wth skin pale like it hadn’t met sunlight in years. But it wasn’t his looks that held you. It was something else you couldn't quite take hold on. 

“You’re…” The words trailed from your lips, thin and uncertain,

“Remmick,” he offered, with the faintest tilt of his head, the smile still ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “Though it sounds like folks ‘round here prefer other names for me.”

He glanced across the street, toward the sea of curious people that had gathered in front of Mrs Hatcher’s house. The porch light burned too bright now, casting hard shadows over shaken faces and murmured prayers. Someone was crying, but no one had dared to step past the old woman’s front gate. No one even noticed him. Not with the chaos. Not with the way the fear made them all look anywhere but the dark.

“Hell of a night,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice curing like smoke in the stillness. 

Then he looked back at you. “You been bringing those baked goods, didn’t you, specially the one today?” 

You blinked. “What?”

“The one in the red towel. Sugar and cinnamon.” His gaze lingered. “Tasted real good.” 

Unease tightened in your chest, and something more but you weren’t sure if it was fear or something colder.

He chuckled again—low, almost fond. “Meant to bring the dish back. Got a mind like a cracked jar, though. Things slip out easy.”

You swallowed, unsure if you meant to nod.

“If you’re not too spooked to walk back with me,” he said, voice light like he was asking you to fetch a paper off the porch, “I could hand it off now.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then added with a crooked smile, “Seems like nobody’s watchin’ but you anyhow.”

You cleared your thrat, trying to keep your voice steady. “That’s alright, I can just come by in the mornin’ and pick it up.” 

You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer. “Nah,” he said, low and smooth, like he was talking to some skittish animal. “Best do it now.” There was something in the way he said it—not harsh, but final. As if he was the one deciding for you instead. 

You tried to laugh it off, light and easy. “It’s no trouble really. I don't mind—” 

“But I do,” he cut in, still smiling. “Ain’t polite, lettin’ a lady like you walk all the way just to fetch her own plate back. ‘Sides, I got somethin’ for you.” That made you pause. “A gift,” he added, like he was sweetening the offer, though the word came off strange in his mouth, like he’d never had much reason to use it. “For all those baked goods. Seemed only right.” 

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the crowd again that was still buzzing around Mrs Hatcher’s porch, not a single one of them looking in your direction. His voice dropped slightly, though the smile stayed. “AIn’t nobody gonna notice you’re gone, sugar. Not tonight.”

And it was true. They wouldn’t. The streetlamps were dim, the shadows stretched long, and everyone’s attention was wrapped up on what had happened. You could simply leave easy right now, and nobody would even call your name. 

You swallowed, throat dry.

He turned then, back toward the narrow path leading toward the woods. “C’mon,” he said over his shoulder, his husky and slow with a soft roughness to it. “It’s just a short walk. You already know the way.” 

Yeah a short walk… a twenty five minute short walk with a guy you baked for but he never did have the face to open the door, and suddenly he’s asking you to follow him home after the events that took place tonight. But you didn’t give it a thought any longer, telling yourself you were just now paranoid. So you just followed behind him.

The road felt longer this time. Each step kicked up dust that didn’t seem to settle, and the cicadas had gone quiet, like even they didn’t want to listen in. You kept a few paces behind him, watching the sway of his shoulders, the way he didn’t look back once—not even to make sure you were still there.

You told yourself it was fine. He was just being polite. Returning a dish, offering a gift. That’s all it was.

But the dark felt thicker out here. Heavier. Like it was pressing in, one slow breath at a time.

It was a good ten minutes before either of you spoke.

Just shoes on the forest floor. The occasional creak of a distant fence outside of the trees shifting in the wind. You were starting to think maybe he wasn’t much for small talk—maybe he’d changed his mind about that “gift” entirely—when his voice finally cut through the dark.

“You always that generous with folks who don’t bother sayin’ thank you?”

You blinked. “Figured you were just shy.”

That made him huff a laugh. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days.”

You could see the back of his head tilt slightly, like he was chewing on whatever thought came next. Then he added, “Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to keep bringin’ those goods. Thought you’d give up after the second one went untouched.”

“They weren’t untouched,” you said quietly.

Another beat of silence.

“No,” he said at last. “No, they weren’t.”

And that was all he said.

Just enough to make your skin prickle.

You kept walking, telling yourself you were just tired. Just tired and rattled from everything with Mrs. Hatcher. But still, something in his voice made you wonder if the pies were all he’d been taking.

The road narrowed as you walked, the trees leaning in closer like they were listening, their bare branches creaking softly in the wind as though whispering to one another. Crickets had gone quiet somewhere along the way. You didn’t notice when. Just that the silence had started to hum, low and constant, like something was holding its breath.

“You always walk this way alone?” he asked, voice low like he was afraid to break something in the dark, or maybe like he hoped he would.

You glanced at him. “Most mornings.”

“Brave,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound like praise. “Folks ‘round here talk too much and see too little. That kind of silence’s dangerous when no one’s listenin’ right.”

“You listen?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Don’t mean I always like what I hear.” You didn’t answer that. Just kept your eyes ahead, the trees curling over the path like ribs, and the moonlight catching in strange, pale flashes on the gravel. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken this road, but it felt unfamiliar now, like the dirt had been stirred different, like something unseen had stepped ahead of you first and left the path colder behind it.

“Why now?” you asked suddenly, the question clawing out before you could think better of it. “All this time, you never said a word. Never showed your face. Then tonight, after—” you didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. The name didn’t need to be said again out loud.

He took his time responding, just like he took his time walking. “Reckon I just figured the timing was right.”

“That because of Mrs. Hatcher?”

That smile again. Crooked. Sharp at the edges. “Didn’t say that.”

You stopped walking for a beat, not because you meant to, but because something in your chest pulled tight. “But you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

He looked back at you slowly, eyes gleaming in the dark like wet stones, and for a second, his face was half-lit by the moon, carved in angles and shadows that didn’t look entirely human. “You ask a lot of questions for someone still walkin’ beside me.”

That stopped you more than anything. Not the words, but the way he said them—calm, like he was commenting on the weather. Like he already knew you’d keep walking anyway.

And you did.

Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was that same part of you that kept leaving pies at the door of a man you’d never seen, even when the dishes never came back. That stupid softness your mama used to call your ‘God-given curse.’ Either way, your feet moved before your mouth could argue.

Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes. And then you’d turn around.

But deep down, you already knew you wouldn’t.

The woods felt suffocating, each step you took making the air grow thicker, heavier, as though something in the darkness was pressing against you. It wasn’t just the trees, it wasn’t just the silence. It was him.

Remmick walked ahead of you, so calm, so assured—like this was all part of some twisted game, and you were the only one who didn’t know the rules. His back was turned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of you, every movement of yours, every step you took.

Finally, you couldn’t do it anymore. The weight of his presence, the heavy silence, the way he didn’t even seem to care that you were still walking behind him—it all piled up. You had to say something.

“I think I’m just gonna head home,” you said, your voice shaky, betraying the panic you were trying to keep under control. “You can just give me the dishes and gifts another time.” Your words felt like a desperate attempt to break the tension, but they fell into the woods like a pebble into a deep, dark well—no echo, no response.

For a moment, there was nothing but the low rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the night wind. Then, without turning to face you, his voice cut through the air—low, dark, chilling.

“Daft.”

It wasn’t a word. It was a sentence. A judgment.

You froze. His voice, though soft, felt like it was wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat, your skin prickling. You couldn’t tell whether it was fear, the cold, or something else entirely making your body shudder.

Your mouth went dry, but you tried to force out something—anything to break this moment, this growing nightmare. “I—I'm just not feeling well. I think I should go.”

You took a step back, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t even turn to face you.

“Daft,” he repeated, sharper now. “You think I’d let you walk away after you followed me here?” Your breath hitched. Your feet felt glued to the ground, like the air was too thick to move through. You wanted to run, to scream, but your body betrayed you, stuck in place as if you were trapped in quicksand.

You looked at him now—his back still turned—but something about his posture had shifted. It wasn’t just his body language, though. It was in the air. It was in the space between you. Something darker had taken root, something unrecognizable.

He finally turned, slowly, deliberately, and the smile he gave you wasn’t the same one from earlier. There was nothing warm in it. It was sharp, cold, like a blade dragging across skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His eyes locked onto yours, but they were different now—flickers of red deepening in the corners, glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look human but at the same time he did.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

There it was again—his smile, wider now, crueler. It made your stomach twist, nausea rising up your throat.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice almost too calm. “You think you’re safe, walking through the woods like this? Like I’m some normal guy you can just forget about?” He took another step toward you, and you felt yourself sway back, but your feet stayed planted.

His eyes were glowing now, too bright in the dark, his pupils slit like a predator’s. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

You blinked, eyes wide. Your mouth opened, but no words came. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Her blood was so warm,” he whispered, as if speaking to himself, the words heavy with something sinister. “The moment my teeth sank into her throat, she stopped fighting. She knew. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t escape me. But she didn’t stop trying, not at first. She kicked. She scratched. She screamed—but there was no sound. No sound at all once I got my hand over her mouth.”

You could barely hold your ground now, your legs trembling. Every word he said made you want to run, but your body was frozen, immobilized by something you couldn’t explain.

“She tried so hard to get away,” Remmick continued, his voice softer now, like he was savoring the memory. “But the harder she fought, the better it felt. I could feel her pulse—fast, frantic, desperate. It was like the world had slowed down, and all I could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, beating in her veins, until it wasn’t.”

Your body was shaking now, your hands clenched into fists by your sides. You couldn’t escape his gaze, couldn’t escape the pull of his voice.

“She went limp, finally. And I could taste it—the victory, the power. The moment her body stopped fighting? That was the moment I knew. I knew it was perfect.”

You felt sick, but you couldn’t look away. His eyes—those damn eyes—had you trapped, every word sinking deeper into your chest, twisting, turning.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

That was when you began running.

Branches whipped your arms and tore at your clothes, but you didn’t feel it. You were moving on instinct—raw, clumsy, frantic. The darkness swallowed the path, and still you ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging. You didn’t even know where you were going. Just away.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

Then your foot caught—root, rock, something—and the forest flipped sideways. You hit the ground hard, your palms shredding on gravel and bark. The pain jolted up your arms and knocked the air from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, but your ankle screamed the second you put weight on it. There wasn’t time—he was too close.

So you crawled. Half-dragging yourself through the underbrush, eyes wild, hands trembling, and ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled pine. You pressed yourself against the bark, heart slamming against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it. The forest had gone still.

Dead still.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, every breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps through your nose.

He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

He found you before you could move again — an arm slipping around your waist from behind. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, gently but firmly, like you'd simply wandered too far. 

Then, without warning, your head was guided down, not slammed, but pressed hard enough into the earth that the shock still jarred you. Dizziness bloomed behind your eyes. By the time you blinked through it, Remmick was already on top of you, his body blanketing yours with a frightening calm. His chest pressed against your back, steady, too steady. One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until it curled around your throat — not choking, just holding. Controlling.

A broken sound escaped you as tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your fingers clawed instinctively at his hand, the one wrapped so carefully—so cruelly around your throat. There was no strength in your resistance, only fear and the desperate hope that he might hesitate. 

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

You try to push against his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His words echo in your mind as fear and confusion swirl within you. You feel trapped, vulnerable beneath him as he looms over you with a hunger in his eyes that chills you to the core. 

You can see the intensity of his gaze fixed upon you, a mixture of desire and possession that makes your heart race with both terror and a strange, forbidden thrill. And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

You don’t even notice he’s moved your undergarments aside, not warning you.You suddenly wince as he inserts two fingers at once, not bothering to be gentle. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice a low growl. "You're mine now. Every part of you belongs to me." You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, unlike your own which is pounding wildly against your ribs. His fingers move inside you, exploring, claiming, and you gasp, your body betraying you with a shiver of pleasure.

He shifts slightly, his lips trailing down from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You can fight it all you want," he whispers, his voice like velvet darkness, "but your body knows who it belongs to." His thumb finds your most sensitive spot, circling slowly, deliberately, drawing out a moan from deep within you despite the fear that still lingers in your eyes.

You buck against him, a futile attempt to deny the sensations coursing through you.

He laughs softly against your skin, a sound that resonates with triumph. His teeth graze your shoulder, a gentle bite that should be a warning, but your mind is a swirl of confusion and desire. The nightgown tangles around your waist as he shifts again, releasing your wrists to push the fabric higher.

Oddly enough, when your fight waned, that was when things…changed. "There she is," he says, his hands warm on your bare hips. You know you should run, scream, do anything to break free from the spell his touch weaves around you, but your muscles betray you, your body succumbing in various ways as pleasure envelops you completely.

"You were made for this," he breathes, his eyes dark with certainty. He pins you down again, and this time you don’t struggle, the fight leaving your limbs as your own desires betray you. You can sense the mounting bliss intensifying within you, building pressure in your lower core as you teeter on the edge, about to climax on his fingers.

He watches your face closely, like a man studying a piece of art, ready for the moment when it overtakes you. "There you go darlin’," he murmurs, urging you on, and the sound of his voice is the final push. You cry out as waves of release crash through you and every nerve in your body sings with surrender.

He holds you through it, his fingers slowing to a languid pace until your breathing evens and your heart calms, pulling back slightly to look at you, satisfaction etched across his face. He removes his fingers slowly and careful, you don’t even have a second to even catch a break before you can hear the rustling of his belt and pants and you know what's coming. He parts your legs wider, opening you to him again, and presses against your entrance.

“Gonna claim ya real good now darlin’, you’re doing such a good job.” The sensation of him entering you is intense—stretching, burning, and pulling you apart with the thick, weighty movement of his shaft. He fills you completely, every inch commanding submission, and you arch under him, the feeling overwhelming and all-consuming.

 His hands grip your hips, steadying you, pulling you closer as he begins to move. He thrusts slow and deep, each motion a deliberate staking of his claim, and your body responds in ways you can't control, meeting his rhythm, rising to meet him as he buries himself inside you over and over.

Your mind reels with the impossibility of it, the way desire silences resistance, and your body betrays every instinct to flee, surrendering instead to the brutal, relentless pleasure he forces upon you. You gasp his name, a broken plea caught between a cry and a moan, and he only pushes harder, his breath hot and wild against your throat.

"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with need, "take it all."

As he bent down to kiss you, you without thinking returned the gesture. His thumb grazed your damp skin, and a soft hum in his throat soon transformed into a groan. You didn't desire it, nor did your mind, yet it seemed as though your body was operating independently, driven by hormones.

His hand snaked through your hair, pulling gently as his lips pressed against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss deepened, full of demand and promise, his teeth and tongue teasing you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. The force of it all—the thrusting, the kissing, the claiming—pulled you further into a daze where pleasure eclipsed pain, and you were lost, floating on the brink of something infinite.

Your body arched helplessly, wave after wave of sensation leaving you breathless, raw, and vulnerable. He quickened his pace, his movements more urgent, pushing you both toward an inevitable release. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by his ragged breaths and your own soft, involuntary cries. It was too much, too fast, and yet nothing else mattered in those moments but the wild, terrible ecstasy of being taken, utterly and completely. 

You closed your eyes, too overcome with the overstimulation, he curved his hips deeper into you.  “Open your eyes darlin’.” He says getting your attention again. You obeyed, though some quiet part of you understood how dangerous it was—how locking eyes with the one unraveling you piece by piece would only carve the memory deeper.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

The air felt thick, like the woods themselves were leaning in to watch. His nose brushed yours with every movement, his brow pressed to your temple. You weren’t sure when the tears started again, but they did—quiet, unrelenting.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

As he continued to whisper shameful, dirty words to you, saying things like you’d never leave him, and as he still relentelly thrusted into you, his mouth found your neck—then came the sharp, sinking pain of his bite. It wasn’t just teeth. It was a claim. A seal. Something final.

And in the haze of it all, in the breathless dark, you stopped fighting the truth. Somewhere between fear and surrender… you accepted it.

[butyoudidthis4what]

Would You Believe Me If...

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

3.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CWs: mentions of alcohol; reference to sex; mental health issues; reader is not having a great time; reader doesn't like beer; depression; being sad for no articulable reason; self-hate; ass grab; kissing with tongue; little to no editing/proofreading; Jack being the BEST; hurt/comfort type situation (reader's brain is the hurt, Jack is the comfort)

Summary: Jack sees the sadness you're hiding from everyone and pulls you aside to talk and love on you.

AN: I was sent this ask and inspired to write whatever this is!!!! A short little fluffy comfort fic! I very much agree with that anon that Jack is very much an "On purpose. On purpose I am going to care about you" and "I never loved you on accident?" man. He would see all of you, good and bad, and still love you. I tried to give him that kind of vibe in You're Okay too and we see it here again (I hope, I don't really know what I'm doing anymore). I have absolutely zero fucking clue what the end is or where that came from but here we are friends. ALSO there is a very small Star Wars nod in here since I’m posting on May 4th! Thank you for reading!!

Jack’s eyes find you the second he hears you laugh. 

Quite literally a second because he’s always keeping an eye on you when you’re out together, not controlling or because he cares who you’re with. He just always wants to know where you are relative to him, just in case something happens and he needs to get to you. Military training, he supposes.

His eyes find you because he knows that laugh. It’s not your real laugh. It’s fake, the one you put on when you’re not super present and are hiding your sadness. To anyone else it’s very convincing, they don’t blink at it. 

He narrows his eyes a little to watch you better as you chat with McKay, Samira and Parker. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and he can see your leg bouncing under the picnic table, can see the way you chew on the side of your cheek every so often. 

“You gonna pay attention to this conversation or just stare at your girl all day?” Robby asks Jack. Most of the crew is at a local park for a picnic celebrating Dana’s birthday.

“I’ve been paying attention and heard everything you said. Unlike you I can multitask.” Jack finally lets his eyes leave you as he turns to look back at Robby. Shen and Whitaker stifle laughs. Everyone knows it’s not true and just Jack giving Robby shit. You have to be able to multitask to be a good emergentologist, and Robby is one of the best, Jack’s told him that many times. 

“I agree though,” Jack nods at Robby. “The patient satisfaction scores are bullshit. They should automatically be a ten or whatever the highest thing on the fucking form is if they’re brough in via ambulance and survive.”

“People come in by ambulance for really stupid things that don’t really require us saving them,” Whitaker observes. 

“And people walk in with injuries they really should have come in an ambulance for,” Robby shrugs. “It would even itself out.” 

“Exactly,” Jack nods. He looks back over at you for a second and then stands up. “I’ll be back.”

“Sure you will,” Robby drawls, smirking. 

Jack ignores him as he starts walking over to you. “Hey,” he says to the group as he reaches you, sets his hands on your shoulders from behind and squeezes. You feel a little better already, just from being closer to him. The rest of the group continues chatting as he leans down to speak just to you. “Take a walk with me for a few minutes?”

You furrow your brows, tilt your head and look back a little to see him. “Um, sure. Is there a reason why? Are you sure? It seemed like you guys were having a good conversation.” You flick your head towards Robby, Shen and Whitaker. 

“I’m sure. And does there need to be a reason why I want to take a walk with my girl?” He turns his head a little more and places a soft kiss just below your ear. 

My girl. Even though you’ve been together for a while now it still makes you a little dizzy to hear. 

“No, I guess not.” You give him one of those fake smiles and he knows it’s not because you’re trying to fool him, not really, deep down you know better than to even try by this point, but because you’re in public. Have to keep up appearances. 

“Well I know not, so.” He leans back up and moves his hands from your shoulders. “I’m stealing her for a minute.” He nods at the group. It pulls some smirks but nobody says anything, they all just nod. As you get up Jack finishes off the little bit of cider left in the bottle you were nursing. 

Once you’re up Jack laces his hand with yours and leads you over to the park’s path, walks down it a ways with you in silence before pulling you off it. He walks with you on the grass until you come to a spot where the ground starts to slope down, the top of a little hill that provides a nice view of the sun setting over the city. You’re more than far away enough that nobody can hear or see you.

“What’s up?” You titter a little, clearly a bit nervous. 

Jack nods at the ground and you both sit, feet out in front of you, grass and soil dry from the heat of the day. “You were totally spaced out and not really there.” He eyes you carefully. “You’re back now, for the most part, but I wanted to see what’s up away from everyone.” 

You push your bottom lip out a little and shrug, shake your head. “I’m f-” Jack gives you a look. “I don’t even know why I bother trying,” you mutter. 

“Neither do I. But I get it. Wanting to hide it and not let me see because you know I don’t like seeing you upset. I feel the same.” He squeezes your leg gently and doesn’t press when you’re quiet for a bit as you think of what you want to say. 

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” you murmur. You already know the answer but you’re using the question as an answer itself.

“Yeah.” Jack pauses and cocks his head at you, catches your eyes and holds your gaze as he speaks. “Would you believe me if I told you it was okay not to know?” He already knows the answer but he’s using the question to tell you it’s okay. 

You let out a breath through your nose and shake your head a little as you look away from him and out at the city, Jack doing the same. “I know it is. Rationally. But the irrational side of my brain doesn’t.”

You see Jack nod out of the corner of your eye. He gives you space to think, sits in the background buzz of the park with you, hand running up and down your thigh to ground you, remind you he’s here. 

“I’m just sad.” You shrug. You aren’t teary, don’t even have the urge to cry at the moment. It’s a hollow sadness. One that just vaguely aches and makes you tired. “There’s no reason for it. Just am.” 

“Would you believe me if I told you that’s okay too?” Again, he knows the answer but uses the question to make the point. 

“Is it though Jack?” You reply quickly. It surprises him, catches him off guard. 

He turns back to study your face, see if he can read what this is from your profile. He has a feeling he knows where this is going. 

“It doesn’t feel okay,” you continue. “Not even for me, but for you. It’s not fair to you. For me to just randomly be sad sometimes and unable to explain why. Because fuck Jack, I just want to sit here and be sad. I just want to sit here and be sad and maybe cry if I can get past whatever fucking emotional brick it is that’s stopping me from doing so. But what I don’t want is for you to have to sit here with me in it.” 

Jack lets your words hang in the air for a few seconds so that you know he’s really listening and taking them in, but not so long that it feels like he’s having to think of a response.

“It is okay. I promise you it is.” As much as he loves eye contact he knows it would be a little too much for you right now so he doesn’t push you to look at him or try to catch your gaze. “And it’s okay for us to just sit here. We can just sit in the sad. I hate seeing you be sad and struggle, yes. But sometimes you just need to sit here and feel it. And I want to be there next to you when you do. You don’t have to be okay and happy all of the time. You’re allowed to just sit here and be sad or whatever emotion you want to be. You don’t constantly have to be working towards being better when you get sad like this. We can stay here for a bit. I’m not going to let you or us unpack and move here, but we can visit sometimes. You can feel whatever it is you need to feel in front of me and with me. I want you to.”  

You let out a shaky breath. You know that what he’s saying is true. At least part of you does. But it’s so hard to accept. 

“And there are very few things in life that I have to do anymore, sweetheart.” He gives your leg a little squeeze before resuming running his hand up and down it. “You’re not holding me hostage or keeping me here against my will. I know I don’t have to sit here with you while you’re sad and don’t know why. I don’t feel like I have to. I choose to. I choose to sit next to you here in the sadness the way you do for me when I want to sit and be sad and not know why. I choose you.” 

“You should choose better.” It’s whispered. “You deserve better.” 

Jack starts shaking his head before you even finish the word better. 

“Yes, Jack, you do,” you say before he can get anything out. “Because you’ve been through so much already. You deserve to be with someone better. Someone easier to love who isn’t constantly putting you through shit like this. I know you love me, Jack, I promise. I never doubt that. But sometimes I don’t understand why you love me. Why you love me when I can be so fucking awful and all over the place and sad randomly for no reason. Do you see that Jack? Do you really see me? What you put yourself through by loving me?” 

Jack’s hand stills and squeezes your thigh again, longer this time, but still at the perfect pressure. He hurts, physically, his heart hurts seeing you like this, hearing your voice and knowing how much you mean what you’re saying. He hates it. He wishes he could take away your pain. But he can’t. All he can do is try to help and try to make you feel a little better and at the very least not let you be alone in it. 

He adjusts his position so that he’s turned toward you a bit more, the side of one of your legs and one of his pressed together. 

“Darling, the way you see and feel about yourself is not the way I see or feel about you. Just like the way I see myself and feel about myself is not the way you see or feel about me. We’re our own worst critics, as fucking cliché as that shit is. And I love you and mean this with all the love in the world, but you’re right. You can be awful at times. But the only person you’re ever awful to is yourself. Like you are right now.” You can feel tears start to form behind your eyes at that. Not because it’s mean and his words have hurt you. Because he’s right and you know it. 

He takes in a deep breath and looks out at the city for a moment before his gaze returns to you. “I don’t put myself through anything by loving you. I’m not burdened by loving you. And of course I see you, I always have,” he says with a heavy conviction. “You think I fell in love with you by accident? Or blindly? With my eyes closed?” 

You swallow thickly, can feel his eyes on you. “No.” Tears sting at your eyes now. “But still. You shouldn’t have to do this with me. I shouldn’t be work. But I am.”  

“Oh honey,” Jack breathes out softly. He takes a second and then shifts, sits a bit further up and grabs your legs, pulls them diagonal a bit and you a little closer so they can rest on top of his and you can look at each other better.   

“I need you to listen to me, yeah? Really listen.” Jack holds your face with his hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones for a second while he looks you in the eyes. “Loving you is not the chore that your past has made you think it is.” He squeezes your face a little. “It’s not a chore at all. It’s a fucking privilege.” 

That gets a few tears to slide down your face and Jack’s thumbs are quick to wipe them away.

“And I know you can’t see that, and that you might never be able to see that. But it’s okay, because I do. And I will tell you it over and over and over and over until you understand why Robby tells me nicely to shut the fuck up sometimes.” He gives you the smallest knowing smirk.

You laugh at that, and it’s watery, and through your tears, but it’s real. You love the way he does that. Knows when to instill just enough lightness into this serious of a conversation to keep you grounded and from getting completely overwhelmed, but also knows when it’s not appropriate in a serious conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper through some tears and shrug at him. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jack whispers back. He leans in and kisses your forehead, lets his lips linger there before pulling them away and resting his forehead against yours.

“You have to repeat this speech a lot.”

“I know.” He says it so matter of fact as he pulls his forehead from yours to look at you better. His hands leave your face and take yours in his, fingers tangling together.

“It makes me feel really bad. Like it’s going to push you away. Or like you’re going to think I don’t trust you or your love or-”

“I don’t think that, nor will I. I understand, baby. I really do. Because I feel the same way sometimes. I don’t care that you need reassurance at times. It doesn’t make me feel like you’re questioning me, or my love, or our love. It doesn’t make me feel like I’m the problem or somehow doing something wrong or not doing enough or anything else. It makes me feel like sometimes your brain’s chemicals get a little fucked up. And you know what? So do mine. I think we’ve had this conversation at least a time or two with the roles reversed. I think you have to repeat a version of the speech I’m giving you right now a lot. And do you care?”

You shake your head gently. “No. I would give you it every day if you needed me to.” 

“Guess what?” he whispers.

“So would you?” You give him a little pout and big doe eyes that show how much you love him and it’s so adorable he has to smile a little.

“Yeah. So would I.”  

He leans back in but this time he gives you a kiss on the lips, lingers just long enough before he breaks it and nuzzles his nose against yours. You keep your eyes closed as he pulls away, a little smile on your face. You open your eyes just in time to see the nearly beaming smile it pulls from Jack. 

The two of you sit there for a few more minutes before you finally turn to look at him. “We should go back.” 

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “We can stay longer.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m ready.” Jack nods, gently moves your legs off his and stands up before holding both hands out to help you up. 

Instead of taking your hand and starting to walk back though he slips his arms around you, slides his hands in your back pockets and pulls you right up against him by your ass. He raises his eyebrows and smirks a little, a slight bobble of his head when it makes you gasp in surprise. 

His hands leave your pockets and slide up so that they’re wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him. You rest your hands on his chest, look up at him knowing he wants your eye contact. Jack smiles when you give it to him. 

“I see you. I see all of you. Even the parts you don’t want me to see. The parts you’ll never show anyone else. And I did before I fell in love with you. And I still chose to jump head fucking first into being in love with you and even right now, sitting here in the sad with you, I’d make the same choice without a second thought.” One of his hands comes to hold your jaw, thumb on one side of your chin, his other four fingers on the other side, index finger right in front of your ear and the other three just below your ear and on your neck. “I choose you. All of you. Not just the you that you like and think is good enough. I choose all of you because I love all of you and I know that all of you is more than good enough. I choose you and I will always choose you and I know I’m lucky to get to make that choice. I love you.”

Jack kisses you then, hand tightening just a little to hold you still for him. They’re chaste at first but turn deeper, his tongue running over one of your lips, a silent question. You let your hands run up his chest and over his shoulders before sliding your fingers into his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck and open your mouth for him in silent answer, just enough for him to slip his tongue in and taste you, let you taste him. The taste of you pulls a groan from deep in Jack’s chest and you shiver. You only pull back when you’re desperate for air and Jack chases your lips with his. It makes you giggle.

You can feel him smile against your lips as he rests his forehead against yours again.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “And I choose you too. I love you.”

“I know.” You feel him smile a little wider against your lips before he gives you another kiss. 

You bite your lip as he pulls away, let your eyes open back up slowly to his grin. Jack grabs your hand and leads you back towards the path.

It hits you a few steps in. “You taste like cider.”

“Yeah,” Jack nods.

“You don’t like cider. You don’t drink it.”

“Yeah,” Jack shrugs slightly. “But I was drinking beer and you hate the taste of beer. And I knew I was going to kiss you like that so when you got up from the table I finished off your cider so you wouldn’t taste the beer on me.”

You beam up at him and he just smiles, can feel your happiness. He knows it hasn’t made it all better, that you might still be sad overall, that it might linger for a while.

You walk in a comfortable silence for a minute until you break it. 

“They’re going to think we fucked, probably.” You smirk a little at Jack. 

“You wanna play into it?” He’s so unfazed and stoic about it. So Jack. “I can go grab some little twigs to put in your hair, a leaf, some grass.” 

You burst out laughing. Properly. Fully. Real.

“Twigs?!” For some reason him saying the word twigs is hysterical to you. 

“There’s my favorite sound,” Jack laughs with you. “Well, one of them, anyway.” 

“Oh?” You glance up at him as your laughter trails off. 

“You would have been making another one of my favorite sounds if we had in fact fucked,” he says nonchalantly, swinging your hands a little.

“Oh,” you breathe. You can feel the smirk radiating off him. “Do you have more favorite sounds?”

“Course.” You see him nod out of the corner of your eye. “You saying my name. You saying you love me.” He squeezes your hand. “And the sound of your heartbeat when I rest my head on your chest.” 

You bite your lip at that. It’s so sweet it almost makes your heart ache. “Awwwww!” You squeeze his hand and lean into him. “You’re such a romantic, pookie.” 

“Ha!” The pet name catches him by surprise. “No.” Jack shakes his head at it, but his smile gives him away.

“Pookie is cute!”

“Do you understand the actual level of shit I would get from Robby if he ever heard you call me pookie? I’d have to get a new best friend and a new job.” You giggle at him. “You’re laughing but I’m serious.” 

“I’ll go into work with you one day this week and conspire with Myrna to come up with an even better nickname than fruitcake for Robby if you’ll let me call you pookie sometimes.”

Jack stops walking and looks down at you, pretends to eye you up for a second before giving you a little smirk. “Come up with something really good that’ll drive him up a wall and I’ll consider it.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so sorry but the thought of hearing him say twig just sent me at the time I wrote this. I have no idea why. Anyway, I hope this was okay and you enjoyed and thank you so much for reading!!

You can find my Masterlist here for more Jack! Requests are closed while I catch up, but apparently if you just send in an ask with your thoughts about Jack I may be inspired and write something! I love chatting with you guys and likes/reblogs/replies are super appreciated and motivating!

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[pukefactory]

First of all, I love everything you write—your Ena × reader scenarios are so good that I read them over and over again!!!

I’d like to hear your opinion on how you think Ena would react if the reader made a plushie that looks like her

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Thank you so much for the kind words, friend! I’m very glad you enjoy my work enough to keep returning to my blog. As a token of appreciation, I went ahead and answered your question in a headcanon post—enjoy!

- COMET

•☽────✧˖°˖ PRODUCTIVE BUSINESS PARTNER ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring The Reader Gifting Salesperson ENA A Plush Of Herself

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ),

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You don’t say anything at first. You just hand her the plush. It’s shaped like her, right down to the angular mitten-hand and mismatched socks. You even embroidered the stray hairs. ENA takes it with a thoughtful hum, spinning the plush slowly in her clawed hand. “Ohhh…! You manufactured this? Your prototype resembles me—how flattering! Might I suggest licensing options?” Her smile falters. “Or… was this not for business?” You shake your head. It was just for her. Pause. She hugs it to her chest. “…Oh. So it’s a… companionship item.” Then, louder, almost worried: “Wait! Wait wait wait—am I your companionship item?”

☆ Meanie is the first to really see it. She notices the stitching on the little red side is uneven, and the thread on the yellow side is too tight, slightly puckered. “You didn’t even bother measuring me, did you?! I look like a bag of chewed-up dignity!” But her voice cracks at the end, and she pulls the plush in close. “This is…stupid. It’s ugly. And it’s all mine.” She tucks it under her arm like contraband, glaring at anyone who even breathes near it. “It’s not for sale. Don’t ask.”

☆ She names it. Against your better judgment, you ask what. She stares at the plush for five whole seconds before answering with deadpan gravity: “Business Casual.” No explanation. No elaboration. Later, you catch her whispering to it like a confidant. She’s practicing pitches. Practicing apologies. Practicing goodbyes.

☆ She sets up a meeting. For you. “Welcome, dear client! I’ve brought a visual aid to represent our shared goals and partnership.” She puts the plush on a tiny stool made of stacked sugar cubes. “Here’s me,” she says with uncharacteristic softness. “Made by you.” She looks at you through her triangle eyes. Her voice lowers. “Do you… see what that means?”

☆ After a long day in some dimension where static screams and nobody blinks, she collapses face-first onto a glitching couch and pulls out the plush. She doesn’t speak. She just buries her face in its little triangle-head and breathes out, quiet, for once. You hear a soft, guilty murmur. “…Don’t leave. I’m not finished being real yet.”

☆ When ENA gets corrupted—green, cracked, mouth-splitting-down-both-sides ENA—she tries to keep the plush away from herself. “I don’t want it to melt,” she says, cradling it in her left arm while the right spasms. “I don’t want me to melt onto it.” It’s the only thing she still recognizes when her limbs go numb. “Tell it I’m sorry,” she slurs through glitched-out vowels. “Tell it I… Tell it to wait for me.”

☆ She starts carrying it in a satchel you also gave her. Like a good luck charm. Or maybe a holy relic. “According to multiple spiritual frameworks, this would be considered a totem,” she explains. When danger’s near, she pulls it out like a ward. “Back off! This entity is emotionally bonded to a creator! Any malicious intent will be punished by universal debt collectors!” Meanie intercepts, “Touch it and I eat your fingers.”

☆ There’s a moment—a quiet, unlit moment—where ENA lies on the floor with the plush beside her, the two of them staring at the ceiling. She mutters, “Do you think they’d still like me if I were small? Like…that small?” She holds the plush against your shoulder. “Would you take care of me like that?” You say yes. You say you already do.

☆ Once, you try to surprise her by making a second one. A mini ENA, stitched from scraps. You call it “Business Casual Junior.” She stares at it. Then at you. Then at the plush. Then back at you. “…We’re having children now?!” Salesperson starts planning a future, complete with dreamscape playgrounds and micro-entrepreneur mentorships. Meanie starts stress-eating metaphorical rocks. “…I didn’t even sign up for this relationship, and suddenly I’m in charge of felt babies?!”

☆ Eventually, she gives the plush her cap. Just once. Just to see how it looks. It’s too big, the brim swallowing its tiny embroidered face. Still—she whispers, “There. Now you’re ready.” She turns to you, smiling faintly. “Let’s not pretend you didn’t stitch this from some strange kind of love. I see it now.” Her eyes soften. Her voice flickers into both tones at once: “I’ll keep it close. Until the next purge. And after.” And she does. Always.

[lightseoul]

WARD OFF (THIS LONELINESS) (23.3k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. love comes when you least expect it. or, in bakugou’s case, when he’s unceremoniously dumped into the psychiatric ward. (or: in which bakugou finds himself haunted by his war-torn past, rancid nightmares, and the pretty face of this girl he meets inside)

c.w. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (21 yrs old), minor manga spoilers (read at your own risk), lots of cussing (bkg-typical), graphic depictions of the ward setting, discussions of ptsd & insomnia, mentions of depression, anxiety, & suicidality, nsfw/mature themes, just a whole lotta emotions :,)

a/n. before anything else, i would like to thank my lovely therapist for saying the right words to me a little over a week ago that spurred me to finally get started on this fic idea, which, funnily enough, i ended up working on around the 2nd anniversary of my ward admission. this fic is—quite obviously—very personal to me, as i had to dig through the deep recesses of my mind and pluck out memories i didn’t even know still existed to conjure this into fruition. i worked very hard on this, mainly because i felt like it was important for me to write about this particular experience that not many have to go through, so that those who don’t somehow get an accurate glimpse of what actually happens behind the locked doors. and, perhaps—maybe—even feel empathy for those who do get admitted, you know? but also because i think this was a great opportunity for me to process the experience, which, as you’ll later find out by reading the fic, is exceptionally multi-layered and complex, and absolutely not emotionally charged :,) just a few disclaimers, though: firstly, i am /not/ a mental health professional. i am simply a psych major on an indefinite leave from college because of my severe depression, which also happened to put me in the psychiatric ward, equipping me with the lived experiences and thereby allowing me to write this fic. moreover, the ward experience depicted in this fic was purely based on my experience, and it is highly likely that many do not share my experience or my sentiments. lastly, i do not have war-induced ptsd nor do i have insomnia, but i did as much research as i could to portray it properly. still, if i missed anything, or if i made a mistake, i’d appreciate feedback, as long as you give it kindly and constructively. that’s about it. i sincerely, truly hope you enjoy this one. all the love <3

link. ao3 (you can only read it here. apparently this fic is too long for tumblr rip)

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr @akiii143 @eternallyshifting

[straows]

Are you cheating on me?

Request ✔️ @sejel

—In which, Jjk men have dupes of your lip-gloss in case you need it, but you didn't know 'til you found it.

Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna

A/n: I hope this is what you were looking for, as I got to writing I kinda forgot what the prompt rlly was... hope you enjoy though!

Groaning, you looked through your makeup bag to try and find your favorite lipgloss. You’d swear you’d bought a spare, but you cant find it. It had your brows furrowing and a your lips to pull into an angry pout.

Slipping off your heels, you marched right into the kitchen, practically turning the place upside down.

“Where the fuck is it?!” You mumbled, stressing because you’d told him you’d be ready to leave for your date by the next four minutes.

Going back into your bedroom, you looked through his bedside dresser. Only to pause when you noticed a tube of lipgloss. The same brand as yours, just one shade off.

You stared at that tube for a lot longer than four minutes. Hell you stared at it so long that your eyes got dry and you were almost squinting.

Because why the fuck, did he have this lip-gloss?

Your knuckles closed around it so tight they turned white. The possibility that he was cheating on you had your blood running hot. But you had to calm down. It could be a misunderstanding. Right? Right?

Walking into the kitchen, barefoot, no lipgloss, you leaned against the counter top, voice all sweet and doting like it usually was, except for the drips of venom that clouded your tone. “Baby, can I ask you a question real quick?”

Gojo Satoru;

Turning away from the sugar cookies he was gulping down, Gojo wiped his mouth and nodded with a smile. “Of course sweets, you’re lookin’ good. No gloss today?”

He looked your figure over appreciatively, oblivious to the grave mistakes he’d made.

“Well, I just wanted to ask you,” A sardonic smile on your lips, you put the gloss on the counter top, that smile dropping with a glare, “what the fuck is this doing in your drawer?”

“Huh?” Gojo just looked at you stupidly. So confused as to why his woman was getting angry over a tube of gloss he’d bought for her in case she needed it, but also absolutely turned on with how your talking to him.

“This isn’t even my shade, so don’t you play stupid with me, Gojo.” Your nose wrinkled slightly as your lip curled in anger. “Who’s is this? Was she in our house? Why the fuck is she using the same brand as me?”

Gojo felt a shiver go down his spine at how you said his name, and quickly he moved forward to do damage control. “What do you mean wrong shade? Baby that’s your shade. I’d bought it for you in case the one you had ran out.”

You paused, before quickly pulling out your phone to look at your shared bank account, and surely enough there was the charge from Ulta for the gloss.

“Oh.”

“Did you think I was cheating on you? Really baby?” Gojo would be upset, if he didn’t love how embarrassed you were. Taking slow but big steps towards you, his hands found your hips and pulled you in close. “How could you think id cheat on you?”

“I- well- it just- it’s not my shade and it’s in your drawer and I just- I’m so sorry, Toru.” Groaning, your head dropped to his chest, hands resting on his forearm.

“It’s alright… but I think you should make it up to me.” Gojo grinned against your cheek, pressing a few kisses here and there before biting down teasingly under your jaw.

“…but the date—“

“Fuck the date, I gotta remind you how much I love you.” Picking you up easily by the underside of your thighs, Gojo easily carried you back to your shared bedroom.

The tube of lip-gloss left on the counter alone.

Nanami Kento;

“Yes honey?” Kento didn’t turn to look at you, and was looking the reflection of the microwave. He’d been struggling with his tie for the past five minutes, and usually he had it down pat but today was not his day. “Can you help me with this real quick, I seem to be struggling for whatever reason today.”

Feeling your resolve crack, you just cleared your throat. “Kento.”

Pausing, he finally turned around only to find your very serious expression. One that was hardly ever sees you with. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Why was this lipgloss in your drawer?” You had to keep your voice stern because the way he was looking at you like you were crazy almost made you want to crumble and laugh.

“You don’t remember?” Kento walked up to the counter, and picked up the gloss, “you’d asked a few weeks ago if I had any idea where your gloss went, and I didn’t, so I went and ordered you one. I apologize if this isn’t the right shade, but it’s the one I ordered for you.”

Your mouth was left opened for a moment before you closed it and nodded. “I knew that, I was just um… testing you.” Cheeks red in embarrassment, you quickly grabbed the gloss and tried to walk away, however a hand on your wrist had you turning around and landing into Kento’s chest.

“Did you think I was cheating on you?” Kento’s voice was low and quiet, his eyes locked with yours as he held you.

“…no…” Looking away, a pout on your lips.

“Honey,” Kento gently tilted your head back towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, “I have absolutely no time to juggle you and another woman. You simply take up all space in my mind.”

You smiled sweetly up at him, before tilting your head, “did you just call me fat?”

“Huh?”

“I’m kidding. I love you, thank you. ‘M sorry for jumping to conclusions.” Getting on your tip toes, you pressed a kiss to his cheek before helping him with his tie.

Sukuna Ryomen;

Sukuna just stared at you, brows furrowed as he looked you over. First, appreciating your appearance, secondly, confused on what the fuck you’re talking about.

“Why are you showing me some tube?” Crossing his arms, his arms flexing as he did.

“Why was this lipgloss in your drawer?” You huffed, brows furrowed and voice demanding.

“Woman, you have the memory of the peanut.” Sukuna groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“So you are cheating!” You pointed, eyes wide as if you’d been suspecting it for days it’s been 8 minutes.

“Cheating on you? I’ve killed all the concubines. All of the servants are over the age of 45, and you are constantly near me.” Sukuna leaned against the counter, his face inches from yours. “Are you sure in this accusation or do you just want to punished?”

Blinking once, twice, thrice, you paused. “Hey I never said that—“

“Too late.” Wrapping an arm around you, Sukuna easily lifted you by your hips. Holding you like a dog that just caught trying to run off.

“No! Wait— I’m still sore!” Whining, you try to bite at his arms but he just grins.

“You know I like it when you bite, you must be eager. Not to worry woman, I will satiate you.” That shit eating grin on his mouth and his stomach mouth.

“Can I at least ride you?”

“No.”

“PLEASSEEEEE”

“Keep talking, it will only elongate the inevitable.”

[dantes-jacket]

A little surprise

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #7! Dante finds out you’re pregnant! Mentions of throwing up, and so much fluff :)

There’s a good amount of things you hate in the world and one of those things is throwing up. It extremely uncomfortable and disgusting. The awful aftertaste left in your mouth makes you want to throw up again.

It’s day two of throwing up for most of the day and you’re despising every single millisecond of it. You don’t even have your husband here to hold back your hair while you’re throwing up everything in your stomach. Of course when you get sick Dante is on a long mission. The world is really hitting you when you’re already down.

You’re finally able to sit down on the couch without getting nauseous and you’re taking advantage of it. You’re watching some tv when the door swings open. You see Trish and Lady strolling on in. Ah it must be check up day. Whenever Dante goes on a long mission he always sends those two to check on you.

Most of the time they show up on their own because they want to hang out with you but they also have to check to make sure no demons are hanging around. They do the sweep of the inside and outside and give you the thumbs up for an all clear.

They oddly keep standing in front of you and give each other a look. Lady speaks first, “You look like shit.”

Trish smacks her, “Don’t listen to her. You look a little pale. You feeling okay?”

“To be honest I’ve been better. I can’t stop-“ bile rises up your throat once again. You cover your mouth and dash to the bathroom and empty your stomach. Lady and Trish follow you. Trish holds your hair back and Lady rubs your back.

When you’re finally throwing up you flush the toilet then wipe your mouth with a stray towel. “As you can see, I’ve been better. I can’t stop throwing up.”

“Is it something you ate?” Lady asks.

“I don’t think so? I haven’t eaten anything different plus I can’t keep anything down so I’ve barely been eating.”

“We are going to take you to the doctor. Dante will kill us if we just sat by and didn’t do anything.” Trish states while grabbing your hand.

The three of you head to the urgent care near Devil May Cry. You check in and wait to get called back. The wait isn’t long until a nurse calls your name. The three of you stand up and follow the nurse to your room.

The nurse is a nice old lady, “Okay sweetheart sit on the exam table.” You do as she says and then she asks, “So what seems to be the problem dear?”

You explain to her how you have been nauseous, can’t stop throwing up, and can’t keep any food down. While you tell her she takes notes on her clipboard.

“Is there a chance you could be pregnant?”

You freeze at the question. Pregnant? You and Dante have sex quite often but could you really be pregnant?

“I mean my husband and I have sex often so possibly?”

“Let me get a test and we’ll have you take it because all your symptoms are lining up with early pregnancy.”

You’re speechless and don’t know what to say. So Trish answers for you, “Thank you ma’am.” The nurse just nods and leaves the room shutting it behind her.

Once she leaves you snap your neck to Lady and Trish, “PREGNANT!?”

Trish stands up and walks over to you. She places her hands on her shoulders, “It’s okay, we’ll figure this out.”

“But- Dante and I have never talked about kids or about getting pregnant.”

“Hey, calm down. Stressing yourself out isn’t going to help. Let’s have you take the test and see what it says. We’ll be here the entire time, okay?”

You take a deep breath, “Okay.”

The nurse walks back in with a cup and Trish steps back. The nurse walks you through what to do and hands you the cup. You walk to the bathroom across the hall and do the steps you were told to do.

When you’re done you walk back to your room and hand the test to the nurse. “Thank you dear. The results should be back within a couple of minutes.”

You bounce your leg up and down due to your nerves. You see a hand placed on your knee and look up to see Lady. “You’re okay. I’m also sorry for being rude earlier.”

“Don’t worry about that at all. I know I look rough, it didn’t even bug me.”

She just nods and keeps her hand on your knee. You hear a knock at the door and the nurse walks back in. She holds the results to you and you take them. All you read is “positive”. Your hand covers your mouth and you start to cry. You back at your friends and smile, “I’m pregnant!”

They smile at you and wish you congratulations. The nurse clears her throat, “Congratulations but I do have to kinda ruin the moment. Here is a list of doctors you can go to make sure everything stay good with your pregnancy. Make sure you stay consistent with your appointments. It’ll help you and the baby.”

Trish takes those papers from her and thanks her. The nurse wishes you congratulations again then leaves. “Let’s get you back to the shop.”

Once you’re back you’re pacing around the living room. “How am I suppose to tell him?! I mean we never talked about this. What if he doesn’t want a kid? Just look how everything happened with Nero.”

Trish rolls her eyes, “No way we are comparing Vergil’s kid to your little baby.”

“Hey I’m just saying! Look how reacted when he found that out.”

“Do you seriously think Dante would be mad at you? Or leave you?” Lady questions.

Your eyes widen and you wave your hands in front of you, “No god no! I know he wouldn’t but I just, what if he’s not ready? He’s still doing so much and I don’t want to add more to his plate.”

“You’re overthinking too much. Let’s just go to one of these doctors so they can do an ultrasound. You can tell him by showing him the picture.” Trish explains.

“Okay, we can go first thing in the morning. You two are welcome to stay here. We have guest bedrooms or if you so please, the couch.” They laugh and take up the offer. You three all go to bed early to prepare for the morning tomorrow.

The next day you’re sitting in another doctor’s office getting the ultrasound done. The doctor is pointing to the little baby growing in your stomach. You start to tear up, that’s your little baby. You’re going to be a mom and Dante is going to be a dad.

The doctor asks if you want to have a picture of it and you eagerly answer yes. The doctor prints out the photo for you. You two talk about your next appointment and what to expect. You take every word the doctor says to heart because you don’t want to mess anything up.

You’re back at Devil May Cry with Lady and Trish. They decided to stay until Dante gets back to make sure you don’t need help with anything and that you stay okay.

It’s not until a couple more days go by that Dante is walking into the shop. The three of you girls are eating dinner when he walks in. He says hello to the duo then walks right to your seat.

“Hi baby, missed you.” He leans down and kisses you.

“Hi love, I missed you too.” You go to stand up and hug him but he puts his hands in front of him.

“As much as I would love a hug from you I absolutely reek. I’ve been in a sewer system this entire time and I’m not letting you smell that.”

You laugh, “That’s sweet but I already smell it.”

“I know don’t remind me. I’m gonna shower, I’ll be back.” He kisses you again then heads off to your shared bathroom.

You get up and make him a plate so he can eat. You’re glad you made extras today. You finished making his plate and head back to the dining room. You place his plate down right by yours.

You go back to eating and talking with the duo about your plan. You hear Dante walking back down and you three go silent. Before he can comment on it, “I made you a plate, come and eat.”

“Oh you sure know the way to my heart.” He digs in and groans, “Man I missed having your food.”

The three of you laugh at his reaction. Being in a sewer system really must such. Trish and Lady ask about his mission and he tells them all about it. Of course emphasizing the fights to make him look good. The duo of them just shake their head and let him continue on with his story.

Once he’s done he turns to you, “How about you? What did you do while I was gone.”

Boom this is your moment. “Let me show you!”

You get up and grab the photo from the ultrasound out of your purse. You hide it behind his back and he smirks, “Oh I get a surprise now?”

You nod your head quietly and hand him the photo. He stares at it deeply and you can see all the gears working in his head. Then you see it click.

“Wait this is-“ he looks up at you, “You’re pregnant?”

You nod again and grin, “Dante, you’re going to be a father.”

“Holy shit,” he covers his mouth and looks at the photo again. He abruptly stands up and pulls you into a hug and spins you around.

He’s laughing and smiling, you mirror his emotions. He places you back down and holds your face in his hands, “I’m going to be a dad. I can’t thank you enough baby. You mean the world to me and knowing you’re having my kid is incredible. You’re going to be such a great mom.”

You start crying but he doesn’t hesitate to wipe your tears, “I can’t wait to see you be a father Dante. I love you. Thank you for doing this with me.”

He leans in to kiss you. It’s a loving and sweet kiss. It fills you with hope and love. The future is so bright for you two and you cannot wait. He can’t either and you can tell through this kiss.

You two disconnect and can’t stop smiling. Dante turns to the others that are still in the room, “Did you two know?”

Trish smiles, “Yeah we took her the doctors and stayed to make sure she was okay until you got back.” Lady just nods along and smiles.

Dante disconnects from you and pulls them into a hug, “Thank you. I can’t repay you two enough.”

Lady answers, “Just as long as we are the aunts that’s all we need.”

Dante breaks the hug from them and you walk over to him. You stand right next to him and he wraps his arm around your waist to pull you into his side.

“Of course you didn’t even have to ask.” You respond to Lady.

Dante places his hand on your stomach, “This kid is going to have one hell of a family.”

You place your hand over his, “Yeah, yeah they are.”

@sweetkingdomdefendor

[bumblebecc]

the one where trinity santos knows that frank is using again, except he isn’t

Trinity knows something is up with Frank Langdon. She just does.

It starts when she walks in on a Monday with a truly horrific looking board. A massive carpile up handled by the nightshift has set them all back and tied up Ortho for the day. Good luck, all broken bones and potential amputations walking into the waiting room. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Dana look frazzled (apart from PittFest, but she tries not to think about that day too much. She puts it all in the Do Not Touch box that lives in the back of her brain). Robby is extra prickly because Gloria keeps popping up and jumpscaring everyone. Perlah’s daughter is turning ten next week and she’s making it a bigger deal than it needs to be (in Trinity’s opinion), so the normally restrained camp of Perlah and Princess is also stressed.

And Frank comes in basically skipping past the waiting room and freaking everyone out.

“Why all the glum faces?” Trinity hears him ask Collins.

“Have you even looked at the board today? It’s like Hell opened up overnight.”

“Never took you for a theater kid.” Trinity spares a look and sees Langdon languidly leaning on the nurse’s station. “So much drama. Nah, we’ll get this straightened up. Hey, look, you take South 15, he’s been here awhile. I’ll handle the rash and fever in North 5. We’ll get these beds opened up in no time.”

“Could’ve sworn you would’ve gone for the potential hernia.”

“Hernia, shmernia. McKay can have that one. C’mon, new attending. We have a waiting room to empty.”

Trinity sits up.

“You’re… optimistic today,” says Collins slowly.

“Ah, you know what they say.” Langdon smirks, snagging a pair of gloves as he leaves. “A cynic has to be an optimist at least some of the time.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Heather calls after him.

And Trinity would just chock that little interaction up to Langdon just being his normal brand of obnoxious if she hadn’t overheard Princess and Perlah in the breakroom.

“He smiled at me and told me to have a good day,” says Princess, audibly bewildered. “Has he ever done that to you?”

“No, but he asked me to tell Jamillah Roslyn happy birthday for her party,” says Perlah, bewildered. “I didn’t even know he knew her name.”

“Something’s up with him,” says Princess suspiciously and Trinity agrees. Parks it in her mind as she and the others steadfastly work through the onslaught of patients. Post-hysterectomy infection (and potential malpractice suit, the fucker didn’t prescribe the poor woman any antibiotics). A simple MI sent up to surgery in record time. A pulmonary contusion in an eight year old from a gnarly bumper car collision.

And then—

“Are you whistling?” Garcia asks, almost in disbelief.

“What, the patient is anesthetized,” says Langdon casually as he makes room for the ultrasound tech. “Don’t be knocking my bedside manner when the bedside isn’t awake.”

“Look,” says Garcia. “The Cure is low, even for you. At least do Bowie or Santana.”

“You would hate The Cure,” says Langdon and then whistles the first few lines of Smooth freakishly well.

“That’s more like it,” says Garcia.

“You treat me like a radio,” sighs Langdon. “Is that all I am to you?”

“Yes, especially because I am not needed here,” says Garcia. “Look at the head CT. Brain tumor. More than most likely caused the seizure. Far above my paygrade. He needs oncology and a specialized treatment plan, not emergency surgery.”

“Copy,” says Frank. “I’ll call up Blestner and get a consult.”

Garcia’s eyebrow slowly rises. “You’ll just ‘call up’ Blestner?”

“For a potentially glioneuronal mass that size?” Frank clicks his tongue. “Hell yeah I’m calling Blestner.”

“Blestner hates your guts,” interrupts Trinity. She’s too bewildered to stay quiet. “He called you a junkie and told you to put him on the phone with a real doctor last time.”

“And I went through the official channels and put in an HR complaint and everything’s been peachy since,” says Langdon, unbothered. “He loves me now.”

“Huh.” Garcia looks him over slowly. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Indubitably.” And Langdon strides out of the room, already on his pager.

“Keep an eye on him.”

Trinity looks up, surprised.

Yolanda is smiling, but there’s a tension around her mouth that Trinity recognizes from that time when she forgot to wash the pan after making eggs. The this thing is out of my control smile. “He is in a really good mood,” she says. “Which might be nothing. But it also might be something. I haven’t heard him whistle since he passed the Step 3. And that was 2021, so.”

“You don’t think—?”

“No, babe, I don’t think. I just worry.” Yolanda glances behind her, makes sure no nosy RN is looking, and presses a quick kiss to Trinity’s cheek. That was also something Trinity had to get used to. Yo’s touchyness. It’s a plus, she knows now, but there was a time she would’ve dodged away, wary. Now, she leans in.

“My worrier,” says Trinity, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah.” Yolanda Garcia backs out of the room, smiling. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And Trinity keeps a half-eye on Langdon, yeah. And maybe he’s a little too nice to Lupe, calling her a “badass” and then dapping up some random EMT after a successful code. But she’s not really concerned because she’s sure he’ll be back to his usual “I’m surrounded by idiots” self tomorrow.

Except he isn’t.

“He brought donuts,” says Mateo in the breakroom, looking like he’s seen a ghost. “And not Dunkin Donuts. Leonarda’s. The fancy shit. For Nurse Appreciation Week.”

“That’s not so weird!” Kim is sheepishly playing with her hair. “Dr. King gave me a personalized card.”

“Please call her Mel, Kim, no one calls her Dr. King and it’s lowkey a little weird that you do.” Mateo opens up one of the boxes (with gilded swirly writing on top, Trinity knows it’s bougie) and a heavenly smell envelopes them.

Donahue shakes his head. “This… this is some spooky shit.”

“Do you think this is like some NA thing?” Jesse asks. “Like, being nice to people?”

Trinity doesn’t speak, because being allowed in the nurse’s lounge is a privilege that gets easily revoked, but she thinks no fucking way to herself.

But then she kinda forgets about it because she’s pulled for Chairs. Bleh.

Flu case. Ten year old with influenza. Fifty year old with the flu. Eighteen year old with a headache and fever—influenza A. Seventy year old with—you guessed it—the flu.

“Fuck, I hate triage,” she tells the skittish med student who started last week. The name will come to her. Jessica. Jennifer. Something with a J? She’s red-haired, pretty in an effortless kind of way, and petrified of everything that moves and makes Trinity miss Whitaker, who matched into emergency medicine at Allegheny. “Don’t you want some action?”

“Huh?!” Jessica Jennifer Jayla blushes so hard, Trinity looks at her with concern. “No!! No I don’t!”

“Easy, easy,” says Trinity, undeterred. “So you like the boring ones?”

“Oh! You meant—“ the blush recedes and Jennifer Jessica Jaime clears her throat. “The cases. Yeah, uh, they’re alright. I don’t really like traumas that much.”

Trinity eyes her, slightly concerned. “Calm down, Mother Mary. I wasn’t asking you about your sex life.”

Jaime Joanna Jessica frowns. “My name is Julie.”

“Julieee,” says Trinity. “Cool. Just a joke.” And then she follows Julie’s eyesight, which is locked across the room to—Langdon, chatting with an EMT. “No way. He’s gotta be old enough to be your dad.”

“No!!” Julie is fumbling with her gloves. “He’s 33! And I’m 25!”

“You asked him his age?” Trinity says, absolutely delighted.

“He’s divorced!” says Julie. “It’s not a crime!”

“But it is definitely frowned upon. A resident and a med student, are you crazy?”

“You’re an R-2 with a new attending!” says Julie, suddenly fierce.

“Different departments, plus no one gives a shit.” Trinity could laugh. She could care less how Mother Mary knows about her and Garcia—probably a mouthy respiratory therapist or something. “Good luck with that HR violation, Julie. You should get some better taste.”

“What? He’s so nice. And hot. The day me and Yamaguchi started, he told us we’re on our way to being great doctors.” Yep, those are definitely stars in the med student’s eyes.

Langdon. Being overly nice to med students. An alarm goes off in Trinity’s brain. And she automatically says, “Yeah, he lies a lot,” and beelines straight to Robby, who is intensely charting and pretending not to notice a frequent flyer asking for a blanket (he has about five already). “Okay, is something up with Langdon?”

Robby slides his glasses down at her with intense scrutiny. “Let’s rephrase the question to something more specific, Dr. Santos.”

“He’s whistling in the ER,” says Trinity. “He’s happily doing all the shitty boring cases. He told Perlah to tell her kid happy birthday. He bought the nurses donuts for Nurse Appreciation Week. He’s being nice to med students. Med students. That’s weird.”

Robby sighs, slips off his glasses. “Maybe he’s just having a good day.”

“Try a good week.” And Trinity lowers her voice. “Look. Is it possible he’s relapsed?”

Her chief attending leans back in the chair. Clicks around on the computer for a minute. “Dr. Langdon’s drug screening results are private healthcare information that I cannot release to you, Dr. Santos. However, I can guarantee that as of this morning, Langdon is enthusiastically cleared to work in the ED.” He shoots her a look. “So whatever’s bothering you has nothing to do with his recovery. Okay? Conversation done.”

And Trinity stands there, frowning, because things aren’t clicking.

And they don’t until she bumps into Mel the next day.

“Heyyy, MelMel,” Trinity says, fresh off a Cliff bar break. “What the heck are you doing here? Isn’t today your day off?”

Mel beams, cute as ever with her hair up in two twin buns. It must be boiling outside, because she’s in little white shorts and her cheeks are pink from the sun. “Yeah, it is! But Becca and I stayed up late last night baking.” And Trinity does notice the brownie tray. “We might have gone a little overboard.”

“Ah. Baking.”

“Yes, Becca’s very into sourdough lately,” says Mel seriously. Trinity can’t help but have a soft spot for her. A tiny soft spot. “She’s been watching these TikTok videos. My kitchen is now her experiment station.”

“Ah. Your sister. Nice.” Trinity’s about to politely extricate herself from the conversation in favor of a patient when Langdon suddenly appears. And by suddenly, Trinity means he was on the other side of the room, and then he basically teleported to Mel’s side.

“Mel, what are you doing here?” He puts his hand on her shoulder like she’ll disappear otherwise. “Are you—oh! Nice shirt.”

It’s a normal shirt, light pink with a print of Hello Kitty waving. Mel smiles brightly. “Hi!! Yeah it’s—“

“Becca’s favorite,” Langdon finishes and they both laugh, even though it isn’t really funny, like it’s an inside joke. And then Langdon glances down at the tray and says, “Ah, the brownies, shit, sorry, I forgot you were going to bring those in.”

“Well, I felt bad, you got the nurses those fancy donuts and I only gave out cards.” Mel is—pouting? Not really, not in the exaggerated way Yolanda does to make Trinity give her attention, but actually genuinely. Mel’s mouth is a little downturned, her eyebrows are scrunched with mild displeasure.

“Stop, they’d take a card from you over anything from me any day,” scoffs Frank. “Donnie acted like I was trying to poison him. And I’m half fucking convinced Ramón thinks you’re an actual angel from heaven.”

“No, he doesn’t, we have a very good professional rapport,” says Mel.

“Bullshit, he likes you.” And then Frank… softens? Like all the muscles in his neck and shoulders relax and he leans down, looking at her with his weirdly intense eyes and Trinity feels like she walked in on something. And the hand, still on Mel’s shoulder, is sliding down, his long fingers curling softly around her wrist. “Maybe I can’t blame him, though.”

“Oh my god,” says Trinity and they both jump, like they forgot she was even there. “You’re getting laid. That’s why you’ve been so fucking weird all week. You’re boinking Mel.”

“Santos.”

“That’s not a very appropriate thing to say in the workplace,” says Mel, frowning. But she doesn’t deny it. Because they TOTALLY ARE.

“It all makes sense,” says Trinity in disbelief.

Like she knew they were close. Langdon gets her a hot tea from a cafe every morning (Robby always asks where his is and Langdon snarks, “The break room, hands off.”) And the way they follow each other around and bump into each other without comment. That one time Langdon handed her a hair tie when hers snapped during a procedure and her too-bright smile.

“The stupid whistling. The weirdly good mood. You bought donuts. Oh my god. Mel, you and him? For real?”

Langdon’s face is not a nice face. “Can you go one day with causing a potential HR crisis?”

“I know way hotter dudes I can hook you up with, Mel,” Trinity tells her, enjoying this way more than she should. “Like I’m not a man enjoyer, but there’s this guy from med school who all my hetero friends say is a god at eating puss—“

“Okay, enough of that,” says Langdon firmly, and his hand is on the small of Mel’s back, herding her away, and he’s scowling. But Trinity follows, she’s so delighted. Mel and Mr. Asshole? Together? That’s so gold, it’s like platinum level gossip. Princess and Perlah are going to die. “Don’t you have a patient to neglect or something?”

“Possessive much, Langdon?” Trinity waggles her eyebrows. “Or are you that shitty in bed that you’re feeling a little threatened?”

“Frank is very good at cunnilingus, Trinity,” says Mel over her shoulder and ugh, she calls him Frank? And Trinity regrets all the teasing, because she did not need to know that. Or picture that. “I’m very well satisfied, thank you.”

And Langdon is grinning, an evil smug horny grin that immediately takes the wind out of Trinity’s sails.

“I am so texting Whitaker about this.”

“Tell Dennis I said hi!” calls Mel as Langdon ushers her into the break room. Where they’ll probably make out or say lovey dovey words to each other. (Probably not. Mel is a classy lady after all).

“This hospital,” Trinity says and then rushes off to hunt down Garcia.

[melaninfury]

ASTROLOGY HARSH OPINIONS |||

Hi. So I heard you were looking for me...

Welcome to some good television. Its always 18+ round here so gear up.

Please don’t take this as astrological facts. These are more my experience and perspective. The whole chart and aspects must also be considered

~ Mars conjunct Neptune try stepping out of your illusions for me, no like take your foot and move out of LA LA LAND. Put down the vice, quit the maladaptive daydreaming, focus your mind off that person that didn't say anything just gave you the look and get to stepping towards your reality please...thank you bookie thank you. Not only that if you don't have an outlet why are you storing fucking trauma in your goddamn mind and body huh...? To many questions try answering them instead of letting them accumulate like a 18 question multiple choice quiz.

~ Mar conjunct Jupiter, let it be known that we all tried to tell you at some point you are alot to unpack, beliefs actions and change. When an idea or understanding hits your body it literally just explodes into the major truth or effect anything you touch can grow bad or good. Don't nobody got to give you the courage when this is placed a certain way. 9 times out of 10 you already started. Can be loud but not speak wise...Big Dog Vibes literally...lol

~ Mercury in Cancer tighten tf up or keep getting talked over plain and simple that sweet shit which is really trying to not upset people shit is going to turn you into a huge crab of an asshole no pun intended until you face that emotional baggage.

~ If that person has multiple placements in your 12th, and Chiron and malefic contacts that leave little to no room for joy, peace and love leave it thats a fucking enemy believe it because it will show you.

~ If your Saturn is in Aries and you have an anger problem and not a i start my own business or have my own or I am secure in leadership and discipline you just have one big ass problem. Get disciplined and I do mean fast cause your lesson are quick and harsh.

~ 8th house moons I repsect your deep profound psychological study on your parent and in turn yourself but please let that body see some sunlight and vitamin D including on the hard days no cave man tendencies will make you feel less in the dark. You isolator. Still one of the worst pains can come from this so be easy on yourself now.

~ Sun Conjunct Mercury is the real ego problem in our society.

~ I AM SO SORRY LEO and ARIES. I misjudged and misplaced my deep understanding of fire tragedy and absolute fucking ego that truly and will only stem from loins of a SAGITTARIUS. The literal evil of the fire signs. Fake easy going bull I tell you and trust me tooo much to say. The ego on these things runs forever, especially if they were ugly (to themselves) before i'm sorry. They are way to deep into the social pool and hierarchy anything at that point including you they think they can "analyze" boy just plug your ears if this one isn't to healed cause....

~ Y'all know that scene in another cinderella story, TOO MESSY! Boooooooooooo do better lol

~ Libras my libras the messiness has to stop, the unhealed ones are giving us all a bad name and I refuse to be surrounded by low class bitches that obviously has never seen BALANCE in their life claiming to be libra gang under guise of deviancy. Shame.

~ Never have a boss thats a Libra and the energy isn't grounded that bitch is fake... JKJK but especially with a cancer whammy no fire or earth outside of Capricorn selfish overworking ass energy to ground it. I'm telling you now its is a disaster.

~ If your workplace has a bunch of cardinal people....treat it like a carnival you do not know these people nor trust them in or outside of work. Special cases included getting everybody info and doing synastry to triple check I don't make the rules.

~ Virgo Energy is the real I wish a bitch would.

~ If that man has planets like Mars and Mercury and Saturn all over that Sun and Moon just know he is lords pet project and its best you leave him alone, most likely a lesson waiting to happen for the both of yous.

~ Scorpio mars will sexually manifest you even when you don't want them. Don't be toxic with it leave it alone because they like that they thrive off that they are in their power with that.

~ Chiron is something I notice people like to ignore then i look at their Chiron placement and i see exactly why for example homie your Chiron is in libra in your 5th house maybe your ways and the people you like are just not the best for you. When this is conjunct Juno IN MEN PLEASE RUN. Associating love or connection with this placement especially unhealed is not the healing bond you think it is

~ Somebody's Chiron conjunct your Lilith and/or mars can be a threat to you or perceive you as one.

~ Well how many times are you going to hide your trauma mars in the 8th. its right there but you want get angry at people when they trigger you but don't nobody know whats wrong with you.

~ Look to your Saturn to understand your hardships on a deeper even ancestral level, generation curses, losses and debt even lack of self worth. Master that Saturn and start uncovering your pain.

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