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brookghaib-blog · 2 months ago

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The ghost I left behind- III

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Note: I kinda wanted to make this more of a filler chapter, because I didn't want to write the whole movie when it doesn't really make sense for this idea, I promise you a more fullfilling chapter next, and the emotions and action will be there!

Word count: 6.3k

Chapter II, IV

O.X.E Research Lab. - Malaysia

The hum of fluorescent lights was constant — like static pressed against Bob’s skull. The air was cold, colder than it should’ve been for a place buried under the jungle. Concrete walls closed in around him like a tomb.

He sat alone on the cot in the corner of his cell — no, not a cell, they called it a room. White-walled, sterile, like something out of a hospital, only there was no comfort here. Just observation windows and cameras that never blinked. On the wall across from him, a single metal shelf held the only thing they’d let him keep — a small, worn photograph of Y/N, curled slightly at the corners. She was smiling in the picture, standing barefoot in their kitchen, holding a mug of coffee. Her hair was messy, her eyes tired but warm.

Bob stared at that picture like it was oxygen.

He hadn’t seen her in months. He hadn’t heard her voice, hadn’t felt her hand on his back when the nightmares got bad. But he remembered everything — the sound of her laugh when she teased him about the chicken suit, the way she’d breathe when she fell asleep next to him. The feel of her lips against his shoulder. The way she’d told him she was pregnant — shaking, terrified, and hopeful all at once.

He remembered what he’d said to her that night.

“I’ll get clean. I’ll be better. I want to be the kind of man our kid looks up to.”

And then he left.

He hadn’t told her. Hadn’t said goodbye. He boarded a plane with a one-way ticket and a pocket full of cash he’d scraped together, believing that leaving would present her with a greater good. They promised change. Power. Control. All the things he’d never had. All the things he thought he needed to deserve her.

And now?

Now the power was eating him alive.

The door to the room opened with a hiss. Two armed guards stepped aside as Dr. Lenhart entered, clipboard in hand, eyes cold behind her glasses.

“Subject 44. The team is ready.”

Bob didn’t look at her. His fingers grazed the edge of the photograph once more before standing. He didn’t resist as the guards strapped a control collar around his neck and led him down the corridor.

The room he entered was massive. Sterile. Circular. Glass walls separated the observation deck from the inner chamber. Bob stood in the center, machines humming to life around him, sensors pulsing against his skin.

“Begin neurological synchronization,” a voice echoed overhead.

Bob closed his eyes.

At first, there was silence.

Then came the whispering.

Not in words — not exactly — but in feelings. Rage. Hunger. Emptiness.

He clenched his fists, his breath growing erratic. The air around him shimmered, warped. Lights above flickered, then dimmed to nothing. A black mist seeped from beneath his feet like smoke rising in reverse.

“Restrain output—he’s losing control!” came a panicked voice behind the glass.

But it was too late.

The shadow lashed out like lightning — instinctive, desperate, alive. It slammed against the walls, shrieking with a sound that wasn’t made by any throat. Two technicians in hazmat suits tried to flee, but the black tendrils struck faster than thought. One hit the floor, his body shriveling in seconds. The other screamed — then there was only silence.

And in the middle of it all stood Bob, hovering inches above the ground, his eyes pitch-black, veins glowing faint blue beneath his skin.

Then — darkness.

Bob woke up on the floor, shivering.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours?

He pulled himself to his knees, the collar around his neck heavy like guilt. His head pounded, his limbs ached, but worse was the silence in his mind — not peace, but absence. Like something had used him, then left.

He looked up and saw the bloodstains. The security footage, replaying silently through the tinted glass window. Two lives lost. His hands.

“No,” he whispered, scrambling back, pressing his back to the wall.

His breath hitched as he fumbled for the shelf — for the photo.

There she was.

Still smiling. Still beautiful.

Still waiting.

“I didn’t mean to…” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this, Y/N. I just wanted to be enough.”

He buried his face in his hands, shaking.

“I miss you,” he whispered into the silence.

A sob broke loose. He clutched the photo against his chest like it could stitch his soul back together.

“I’m trying to fix this. I swear I’m trying. I just… I thought that I would be dead by now.”

No answer. Only the sound of the distant hum of machines and the slow drip of water somewhere in the corner of the room.

He leaned his head back against the cold wall, eyes glassy, voice no louder than a prayer.

“Please… wait for me.”

2 months after

The corridor had no way out, and the new team was looking for an exit, Bob just stays put.

“Bob,” Yelena snaps over her shoulder, pausing. “You’re falling behind.”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are hollow, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and grief. The ground beneath them trembles—security drones are drawing near.

“I'll stay” he finally says, voice like crushed gravel. “I’ll just slow you down. It's better for everyone if a just...stay put.”

Yelena walks back toward him. “No, Bob, if you stay you will die.”

“Well it's...whatever” he breathes out. His jaw is tight, his fists clenched. “I don't deserve people saving me, I'm just being a burden to you guys, it's ok, go.”

Yelena’s expression softens, barely perceptible beneath her hardened demeanor. She steps closer.

“Hey, hey, wow, ok, I get it, we all have a void inside of us, we all feel like shit, and alone, but don't let that consume you, you are someone. You just have to control it.”

Bob doesn’t answer. His jaw trembles.

“What do you do to control it?”

Yelena gives him a small smile. "You push it down, like down, you push it."

Walker turns, a huge hole he punched in the wall. “Hey! If the therapy session is over, we have to go.”

She walks ahead without waiting for a response.

He starts walking behind her.

Back in New York

Across from her, Mr. Cooper grunted as he settled onto the floor with a sigh of relief, one leg stretched out, the other bent to cradle his back.

Sunlight poured through the open windows, warming the small apartment with its soft, golden glow. The living room was a mess of wooden planks, screws, and folded instructions spread across the floor like a chaotic puzzle. In the center of it all, Y/N sat cross-legged, squinting at the manual with a furrowed brow and a pencil tucked behind her ear, like that somehow made her more capable of interpreting the impossible hieroglyphs IKEA had decided passed for “assembly instructions.”

“I think I pulled something just by looking at that Allen wrench,” he muttered, rubbing his hip.

Y/N giggled softly, setting down the manual. Her belly, now visibly showing as she reached five months, shifted with the movement, and she instinctively rested her hand on it. “We’re not even halfway done. Are you telling me you’re tapping out already?”

“I’m old, sweetheart,” he said with a gruff smile. “I tap out every time the weather drops below seventy.”

She shook her head with a grin and leaned over to pick up a wooden side panel of the crib. It was pale honey-colored oak, sanded smooth, gentle with age. It had once belonged to Cooper’s granddaughter, and now it would belong to her baby.

“You really didn’t have to give me this,” she said, her voice softening.

“Yes, I did,” he replied without missing a beat. “No child deserves to sleep in one of those plastic nightmares. And no mother should go through this alone.”

That word — mother — still settled strangely on her shoulders. Like a coat she was trying on, not quite fitted yet.

She glanced at him, her smile more subdued now, thoughtful. “Thank you.”

He waved it off, leaning back against the wall. “Enough of that. Tell me how the new job’s going. Still wrangling tiny lunatics all day?”

Y/N laughed, genuinely this time, the sound echoing off the walls of the small room. “Yeah. It’s chaos, but kind of... perfect chaos. I mostly work with toddlers. I feed them, change them, read stories. Try to keep them from painting on the walls or eating glue. It’s exhausting sometimes, but... I really love it.”

Cooper watched her closely as she spoke, the weariness on her face dulled slightly by something new—something lighter. Peace, maybe. Or the distant shape of it.

She picked up a small wooden bar and held it like a sword. “Today one of them tried to put mashed peas in my shoes. Another fell asleep on my lap mid-story and started snoring like a little old man. And during snack time, this one girl kept hugging my belly like she knew. Like she knew, you know?”

Her voice softened. “And every day I’m there, I realize more and more... I want this. I want to do all those things with my baby. The feeding, the stories, the naps. I want to see them take their first steps. Hear their first words. I don’t want to miss that.”

She paused, tears stinging lightly at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall. “I stopped looking for couples. I think I knew deep down I couldn’t go through with it. I was just scared... not of the baby. Of doing it alone.”

Mr. Cooper didn’t speak right away. He reached over and gently patted her hand. His weathered fingers were rough but warm.

“You’ve been through hell and back, Y/N. And you’re still here. That baby’s lucky already.”

She gave a teary smile. “Sometimes I still hope he’ll come back. That Bobby will just... walk through the door one day, stupid grin on his face like nothing happened.”

“That kind of love,” Cooper said, after a long moment, “is the kind people go their whole lives never finding. But love’s only half the battle. Raising a child, choosing to stay... that’s the rest. That’s the hard part.”

Y/N nodded, looking down at the crib pieces. Her fingers grazed over the smooth wood, the future taking shape beneath her hands. She felt a soft flutter inside her, the baby moving, stretching gently like they knew she was talking about them.

“I just want to give them a better start,” she whispered. “Better than what I had.”

“You already are,” Cooper said.

They sat in quiet for a while, sunlight casting long shadows on the floor. The crib still unfinished, the future still uncertain—but for the first time in a long while, the air felt different.

A thought crossed her mind. "You think he's okay Mr. Cooper?"

He looked at her, a sad smile in his face, "I hope so sweetheart, I really do."

Bob was indeed not okay

The room was colder than he remembered.

There were no windows. No clocks. No reflections. Only the hum of warm orange lights above. He was laying on a bed, rather confortable if he's allowed to say.

The door creaked open, slow and theatrical, and in walked Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, a ghost in high heels and silk. She didn't sit immediately. She liked to hover, to stalk, her movements measured and deliberate.

“Hi Bob! How are you? <Are you confortable?” she said casually, as if they were old friends catching up over coffee.

Bob didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on the floor. The room felt like a trap, but he was too tired to pretend he wasn’t already caught.

“I imagine you’re wondering why you’re still alive,” she continued, circling him. “I thought you were another failure, turns out here you are.”

His breath hitched. “Where am I?”

“Home, for now” she said sweetly.

She finally took the seat across from him, folding her arms on the table like a therapist in disguise.

“You’re a miracle, Bob. My miracle. A walking success story. Do you know how many billions were poured into the O.X.E. Project before we got it right? You’re the first. You’re what we’ve been trying to make for years. You’re the product of patience. Genius. Sacrifice.”

“Don’t,” he muttered.

Valentina’s voice sharpened. “I’m not here to coddle you. I’m here to offer you purpose.”

“You signed up for a medical study, which was, as advertised, at the cutting edge of human improvement. But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness that we had in mind—”

His gaze flickered up to her, hazy and wet. “You used me.”

“We made you,” she snapped, then caught herself, letting the corners of her mouth twitch back into a smile. “And you’re more than even you realize. You just need someone who believes in you. Someone who knows what you’re capable of.”

Bob swallowed, teeth gritted. “Where's Yelena ?..., they’re good people. They don’t deserve whatever you’re planning.”

Valentina tilted her head. “They’re weapons, Bob. Trained killers. Criminals really. You think they’ll stop if I tell them to go after someone? You think they won’t? That’s the kind of world you’re in. And that’s the kind of world she’s in, too.”

She slid a photograph across the table.

His heart stopped.

It was her.

The same photo he almost forgot he had on his room in the facility he went to for the experiment.

Bob reached for the photo like it might disappear if he blinked. His fingers trembled as they hovered over it, then finally closed around the edge.

“She’s okay,” Valentina said, almost kindly. “Five months now. Still looking for you. Still crying over you. Still believing in you. Kinda of a bummer that she's alone isn't it?”

A tear slipped down Bob’s cheek as he stared at the image. “I never wanted to leave her. I—I thought if I got better, if I could just fix myself, I could come back. I wanted to come back.”

Valentina leaned in, voice low. “You can.”

He looked up at her. "Where is she? How did you find her?"

“I know a lot about you. I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction,your fathe. But does that matter? You can come back stronger. Better. As someone who can protect her. Provide for her. Be a real father. A real partner. But you have to work for me, Bob. You have to give me loyalty. Just a little time. Just a few assignments. And then, I promise—on my name—she’s yours again.”

Bob shook his head slowly, horror creeping in. “You’re threatening her.”

“I’m protecting her,” Valentina said calmly. “From you. From the others. From this world that doesn’t care who she is or what she’s been through. You want to keep her safe? You work with me. You do what I say. Because if you don’t... there are people out there who won’t hesitate to use her against you.”

Bob’s hand clenched around the photo, crumpling the edge.

“You don’t understand my love,” he said, voice cracking.

“I don’t have to,” she replied. “But I can use it.”

He looked at her then, really looked. The truth was a blade in his chest. He was powerful, but powerless. Strong enough to rip holes in the sky, but too broken to say no.

“She’ll hate me.” he whispered.

Valentina stood, brushing invisible dust from her lapel. “Maybe. But hate is a lot like love, Bob. It sticks. It burns. It means you still matter.”

She walked to the door, heels clicking.

“I'll be back when you're feeling better, it's your best interest to control yourself and all your powers.”

The door closed behind her with a final click.

And Bob sat there in silence, holding the photo of the only person who ever saw him as more than his darkness.

His fingers trembled as he whispered her name.

“How did I ended up here baby...”

Y/N's pov

The lights were dimmed in the small examination room, a soft hum of fluorescent bulbs vibrating overhead. Y/N lay back on the cold, paper-covered chair, the crinkling noise far too loud in the silence. Her shirt was rolled up, exposing the gentle curve of her belly. She was twenty weeks now, and this was her first real appointment.

She hadn't meant to wait this long, but money and despair had a cruel way of making even basic things feel unreachable. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Cooper, gently reminding her, pushing through her deflection, she might’ve kept pushing it off until she gave birth alone.

The doctor entered with a warm smile, her presence calm and kind, a middle-aged woman with soft eyes and a practiced touch.

"Hi, sweetheart. I’m Dr. Hale. Let’s have a look at this little one, okay?"

Y/N nodded, her throat too tight for words. She tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to relax. She hated that her hands trembled.

Dr. Hale squirted the cold gel onto her stomach, and Y/N winced. "Sorry about the chill. It’ll warm up in just a second," the doctor said, already moving the wand across her skin.

The screen flickered to life beside her. Grainy black-and-white shapes slowly came into focus — shifting, fluttering motion, something alive. Her baby.

Y/N stared. She forgot to breathe.

"There we are," Dr. Hale whispered, smiling at the screen. "Look at that heartbeat. Strong little one, isn’t he?"

Y/N blinked. “He?”

"It’s a boy," Dr. Hale said gently. “Congratulations, mama.”

Y/N’s mouth opened but no sound came out. Her eyes welled up fast, tears rising before she had time to prepare for them. Her lips trembled and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, the other resting gently over her belly.

A boy. She was having a son.

“He’s measuring well, right on time,” the doctor continued, her voice soft, respectful of the emotion clouding the room. “You’ve done a good job, keeping him strong.”

But Y/N was crying now — quiet, broken sobs — as she stared at the screen. Her baby. Bobby’s baby. And she was seeing him for the first time. A little fluttering shape that would one day have Bobby’s eyes. Maybe even his shy smile.

Dr. Hale handed her a tissue. “It’s okay. First appointments can be overwhelming.”

Y/N laughed softly through the tears, nodding. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

“Your partner must be so happy too,” the doctor added casually, glancing at the monitor. “First-time dads are always in awe during these appointments.”

Y/N’s face froze. She didn’t correct her. She just offered a small, practiced smile. “He is. He… just couldn’t be here today. But he..he's really happy.”

Dr. Hale nodded, not pressing. “Well, this little boy is lucky. You clearly love him very much.”

Y/N looked back to the screen, to the blurry shape moving softly on it, and swallowed hard. Her fingers tightened around the paper sheet beneath her.

“He’s everything.” she whispered.

2 years ago

The scent of warm fries lingered in the car, mingling with the soft hum of the engine and the quiet tune playing from the radio—something 90s, something nostalgic. Rain tapped gently on the windshield, coating the windows in glistening beads that shimmered under the glow of the streetlight outside the McDonald’s parking lot. The inside of her old sedan was cozy and dim, fogging slightly from their breath and the comfort of shared laughter.

Bob was in the passenger seat, slightly turned toward her, his long legs awkwardly folded into the too-small space. A crumpled paper bag sat between them, half-spilled fries poking out. He held a burger in both hands, but he hadn’t taken a bite in at least a minute—too caught up in the way she was telling her story, animated and full of wild hand gestures, her eyes lit with mischief.

“No, no, wait,” Y/N laughed, nearly choking on her own drink as she swatted his arm. “You have to picture it—this man, right? Full suit. Hair greased back like he’s somebody’s boss. He’s barking at me because his order had pickles when he said no pickles—like it was a personal betrayal. So I’m standing there, biting my tongue, trying not to say ‘Sir, I don’t make the sandwiches, I’m just handing them to you.’”

Bob chuckled, already smiling because he could hear how this story ended. “And then?”

She grinned, pausing for dramatic effect, fries in hand like a microphone.

“He turns too fast, slips on his own spilled soda, and I swear to God, it was like a slow-motion movie scene. Both arms flail, legs go out, and bam—on his ass. The sandwich goes flying. The drink lands on his lap. And everyone just… stares.”

Bob was wheezing, struggling not to spit his drink out. “You’re lying.”

“I swear,” she said, holding up two fingers in mock oath. “The ketchup packet even exploded. Right on his white shirt. Like something out of a damn Tarantino film.”

They both laughed so hard it hurt, leaning toward each other in the cramped space of the car. Bob wiped a tear from his eye and looked at her, still giggling with her hand pressed to her chest, eyes watery from the laughter.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

He’d never met anyone like her before—someone so unapologetically alive. She wasn’t like the people from his past, people who only spoke in hushed tones and looked at him like he might break. She was loud and kind and brilliant and chaotic in the most mesmerizing way. And somehow, for reasons he still didn’t understand, she liked him.

Y/N caught him staring, mid-fry. She tilted her head. “What?”

Bob blinked, startled. “Nothing. You’re just…”

“What?”

He gave a shy shrug, reaching down for the last fry in the bag. “You’re just…funny.”

“Funny?” she repeated with a smirk. “That’s it?”

“And cool,” he added quickly. “And smart. And, uh—” he hesitated. “Your storytelling is…top-tier.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully and leaned back in her seat. “You’re weird, Bob.”

He smiled at the dashboard, face warming. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

She nudged his arm with hers, shoulder to shoulder. The warmth of her touch buzzed through him. “Wanna come back to my place?”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“I mean,” she added, lifting an eyebrow. “We could watch something. A movie or whatever.”

Bob turned red instantly, so red it almost glowed through his hoodie. “Uh…”

“Oh my God,” she laughed, leaning toward him with her lips curled in amusement. “What were you thinking I meant?”

“N-Nothing!” he stammered, though his voice cracked. “Just—just a movie. Yep.”

She tilted her head and smiled wider, teasing. “You totally thought I was seducing you.”

“No, I didn’t!” he said, his voice too high, too defensive.

“You absolutely did.” She laughed again, softer this time. “I could see it in your eyes. You went all deer-in-headlights, Bobby.”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean… It’s our third date…”

“And we haven’t even kissed,” she said, more gently this time. She was looking at him, really looking. “That’s okay, you know.”

Bob nodded slowly, still not meeting her eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

The car grew quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward—just full of unspoken things. The rain was heavier now, soft and steady, a lullaby on the roof.

Then Y/N leaned over slightly, not enough to make it too serious, just enough that her shoulder brushed his again. “So… you wanna come over or not?”

He turned toward her again, finally smiling that crooked, shy smile of his. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She winked and started the car.

Y/N unlocked the door with one hand and flicked on the hallway light with the other, her apartment filling with a warm, amber glow. It was a small space—cozy more than cramped, cluttered with personal touches: a stack of books that lived on the coffee table, mismatched throw pillows that had clearly been collected over time, a framed Polaroid of her and some friends stuck to the fridge with a glittery magnet shaped like a donut. It smelled faintly like vanilla and old incense.

“Home sweet home,” she said, kicking off her sneakers and tossing her keys into a little ceramic bowl by the door.

Bob stepped in behind her, moving like he didn’t want to disturb the air. His eyes flicked around the space, taking in everything, silently noting how her this place felt. It was lived in. Warm. Safe.

“Nice,” he said with a shy smile. “It’s… you.”

She grinned. “That better not be your way of calling it messy.”

“Messy’s charming,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh… where’s the TV?”

She pointed to the living room. “Couch is yours. I’ll get the snacks. No movie night without popcorn, it’s illegal.”

Bob shuffled into the living room and plopped onto the couch, sinking slightly into the cushions. A large fuzzy blanket was already thrown over one armrest, and the TV remote rested on the other, just waiting for someone to grab it. He picked it up and started scrolling through her cable channels—no Netflix login anywhere in sight.

From the kitchen, she called out, “Don’t bother looking for Netflix, by the way. I refuse to pay for it on principle.”

Bob blinked. “Wait, what principle?”

“The principle that I already pay for internet, rent, utilities, and my crippling caffeine addiction. Something’s gotta give.”

He laughed, glancing toward the kitchen where she was pouring kernels into an old stovetop popper like a professional. “So, no Netflix. What are our options then?”

She popped her head out from behind the doorframe, holding up a giant metal bowl with flair. “Cable roulette, baby. Let the gods decide.”

Bob chuckled as he continued to flip through. A couple of random sitcoms, a rerun of a baking competition, something that looked like a low-budget horror movie.

Then he paused.

“Oh—this one,” he said, perking up. “It’s just starting.”

It was one of those timeless adventure films—part comedy, part heart, with a little magic thrown in. The kind of movie people quote years later like it shaped their childhoods.

She returned a minute later, carrying the giant bowl of buttery, still-warm popcorn, and proudly presented it to him.

“Tada.”

Bob looked up at her, eyes soft. “Is it bad that all your surprises are food-related?”

She gave him an offended gasp. “Food is a great love language.”

He took a handful of popcorn and grinned. “I’m just saying—at this rate, our next date’s gonna have to be a jog.”

“You calling me out on my snack habits, Reynolds?”

“Just looking out for future me,” he joked. “Don’t want to get fat and slow while trying to impress you.”

They both laughed as she curled up beside him on the couch, pulling the blanket over their legs without even asking. She sat close, the bowl between them, legs pressed lightly against his. He tried not to think about how good that felt—how even the slightest brush of her thigh against his sent a heat curling into his chest.

The movie played on, and they made the occasional sarcastic comment under their breath, snickering over cheesy dialogue or pointing out ridiculous plot holes. Bob tried to focus on the screen, but every so often, his eyes drifted to her. The flicker of the TV cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the way her mouth twitched when she was trying not to smile. She didn’t know she did that. He found it endlessly fascinating.

And then, their knees bumped again—just slightly—and she turned her head, catching him.

He froze, mid-popcorn bite, like a raccoon in a trash can caught with a flashlight.

She raised an eyebrow. “Something you like ?”

He flushed instantly, face going pink. “Wasn’t— I wasn’t—”

“I’m gorgeous, I know,” she said with a grin, bumping his leg. “You’re so lucky.”

He let out a small, bashful laugh, looking down at his lap, embarrassed beyond belief.

But then, she shifted.

Her teasing smile softened into something quieter. She reached out, gently brushing her hand against his arm, and leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, then slowly, against his chest. She tucked herself under his arm like she belonged there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I really do like you, Bobby,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Like, a lot.”

Bob didn’t breathe for a second. He just stared down at the top of her head, her hair catching the light. He felt her heartbeat, steady and close, against his ribs.

And he knew.

He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, letting himself melt into the moment he didn’t think he’d ever deserve.

“Guess I was the one who got the lottery ticket in the end,” he whispered.

The soft flicker of the television still lit the room, casting warm shadows over the now half-empty popcorn bowl that had long gone cold on the coffee table. The movie had played on quietly in the background, its third act slowly winding into an emotional crescendo neither of them saw coming—because somewhere between one of her whispered jokes and his quiet chuckles, they had both drifted off to sleep.

Y/N stirred first.

A sudden loud crash from the film’s climax jolted her upright, eyes wide and heart pounding. She blinked a few times, trying to process where she was. The room was dim now, just the blue glow from the credits rolling across the screen. Bob, still curled up beside her with his head resting slightly back against the couch cushion, blinked awake seconds later, startled.

“Wha—what happened?” he mumbled groggily, sitting up, his voice rough with sleep. “Did something explode?”

Y/N grabbed her phone from the armrest and squinted at the screen, the harsh light making her wince. “Shit—it’s past 1 a.m.”

Bob straightened up quickly, suddenly aware of the late hour. “1 a.m.?” he echoed, rubbing at his face with both hands before reaching for his jacket on the couch arm. “I should get going then. Damn, I didn’t mean to pass out.”

She sat up beside him, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. “Wait—are you seriously going to walk home right now?”

He was already halfway standing, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I mean... yeah? I live like forty minutes away, but it’s not that bad—”

“Bob,” she said, more firmly now, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “It’s freezing outside, it’s stupid late, and you’re literally half-asleep. I’m not letting you walk home like that. Stay.”

He looked at her, hesitating, his hand resting awkwardly on the back of his neck.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice softer now, uncertain. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she said without missing a beat. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, but she was already grabbing the blanket from the couch.

“You can take the bed,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s comfier. I’ll grab some blankets and crash here.”

Bob's eyebrows shot up. “Wait—what? No, no way. You’re not giving up your bed for me.”

“Bob—”

“I’ll take the couch. Seriously. You already cooked the popcorn and laughed at all my dumb jokes. I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed.”

Y/N stopped mid-step, holding a pillow against her chest.

She looked at him, a little sheepish now, something almost shy in the way she bit her lip.

“Well…” she started slowly, “the couch isn’t exactly five-star hotel material. Springs kinda poke you if you sit the wrong way.”

Bob blinked.

She hesitated, clearly fighting her own nervousness, and then said it:

“We could just… share the bed?”

Bob froze.

It wasn’t a suggestive offer—it was soft, hesitant, spoken with a touch of nervous laughter that told him she wasn’t trying to rush anything or make it weird. Her cheeks were pink, and she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I mean,” she continued quickly, “we could do the whole back-to-back thing, or throw a pillow wall in the middle. Just sleep. It’s really not that big of a deal, right?”

He could feel the heat rising in his face, all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I—uh…” He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Okay. That makes sense.”

She looked up at him now, really looked at him, and smiled—gentle, reassuring.

“We’re comfortable with each other, right?”

Bob nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

A few minutes later, they were both in her bedroom.

It was small and soft, the kind of room that smelled like lavender detergent and something warm and feminine. There were string lights hanging above the bed, giving off a golden glow, and the sheets were already turned down from earlier.

Y/N had quickly slipped into a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt in her bathroom, her hair tied up messily. Bob stood at the edge of the bed looking impossibly awkward, holding a folded blanket in his arms like it was a shield.

“I promise not to snore,” she teased lightly, climbing into her side of the bed and fluffing her pillow.

“I make no promises,” he mumbled, still blushing, as he awkwardly lowered himself onto the other side of the bed, fully clothed, stiff as a board.

They lay there for a moment in silence.

Then she turned to him slightly. “You okay?”

He exhaled. “Yeah. Just, you know… never done this before. Like this. Not with someone who—” he paused, “—who makes it feel like something more.”

She smiled faintly, turning her face toward him in the dark.

“Good. Me neither.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other—barely visible under the soft fairy lights, but everything was clear in their expressions. They were still new, still learning, but something about it already felt like home.

Bob shifted slightly, adjusting to face her fully. His arm folded beneath his head, and hers rested lightly on her pillow, fingers curled near her chin.

“That movie sucked,” Y/N whispered with a grin.

Bob laughed under his breath. “You were the one who picked it.”

“Excuse you, you said it looked ‘promising.’ I distinctly remember that.”

“Only because the poster had, like, three explosions and a dramatic tagline,” he teased.

She snorted. “Yeah, and it delivered… exactly none of that.”

They giggled together quietly, their voices softened by the late hour and the closeness of the room.

Bob let the laughter fade into a quieter breath, and for a beat, he just watched her.

She noticed.

“What?” she asked softly, her lips curving gently.

He hesitated, visibly battling the nerves crawling under his skin. His fingers twitched slightly on the sheets between them.

“I…” he started, voice quiet but sincere, “Can I kiss you?”

Her breath caught slightly, a small smile forming — but not a teasing one this time. It was soft, touched with warmth and surprise.

“Yes,” she said, her voice just as quiet. “Yeah. Please.”

He moved closer, slow like he was approaching something sacred. Their noses brushed, and he hesitated one last second—then kissed her.

It was gentle. Soft. The kind of first kiss that made the world feel like it shifted ever so slightly beneath you.

She responded immediately, her fingers lifting to gently brush his jaw, encouraging him, guiding him. The kiss deepened slowly, breath mingling, hands finding each other. It was warm, explorative, delicate — but full of something real.

Bob’s hand slid around her waist, his thumb stroking just under the hem of her shirt. Her own hand, featherlight, slipped under his t-shirt, her fingers skimming across his chest. The touch made him gasp softly against her mouth, his heart racing.

Then he froze.

Just for a second.

He pulled back slightly, breath shaky, eyes searching hers with something between awe and panic. “Sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to—was that too fast? I didn’t want to mess anything up, I—”

She only looked at him, calm and radiant in the glow of the lights, and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Hey,” she murmured, brushing her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay.”

His eyes blinked up at her in awe, lost for words.

Then she shifted, slowly, confidently — straddling him with ease and grace, the quiet rustle of the sheets following her movement.

She pulled her shirt over her head and let it drop to the floor beside the bed, the strands of her hair falling loose around her shoulders. There was no nervousness in her gaze—only love. Trust. And a bit of playful spark.

Bob's breath hitched, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch something so precious.

She leaned down and kissed him softly, her lips brushing his cheek before she whispered close to his ear:

“Do you want me, Bobby?”

His voice came out in a breathless rush. “Yes. Yes.”

She smiled at his answer, biting her lip. “Then you’ve got too many clothes on, Bobby.”

He looked up at her, stunned and overwhelmed in the best way, his heart thudding so hard it echoed in his ears.

562 notes · View notes

authorhjk1 · 7 months ago

Text

Heaven on earth

(Minnie X Miyeon X Male Reader)

The stage lights dimm to a roar of applause, the crowd chanting their names like a battle cry. Minnie takes one last bow alongside her groupmates, before retreating backstage. The adrenaline coursing through her veins makes her legs feel shaky, but the energy of the fans carries her forward.

“That was... insane."

Miyeon pants, her arm slung over Minnie’s shoulder as they stumble towards the dressing room.

“Best crowd yet."

Minnie agrees, clutching her water bottle like a lifeline. Her voice is hoarse, her chest heaving from the effort of their two-hour performance.

Soyeon, ever the composed leader, walks beside them with effortless grace. Not a strand of her hair is out of place, her makeup still flawless despite the intensity of the concert.

“You two look like you’ve been hit by a truck."

She teases, flashing them a smirk.

“Feel like it too."

Miyeon groans, collapsing onto the couch as soon as they reach the dressing room. Minnie follows, slumping into the cushions beside her.

“How do you do it?”

Minnie asks Soyeon, who has already begun touching up her lipstick at the vanity.

“You’re like a robot or something.”

“Discipline."

Soyeon replies, capping her lipstick with a flourish.

“And knowing how to recover properly.”

“Recovery?”

Miyeon rolls her neck.

“If you’ve got some secret, now’s the time to share it. My entire body feels like it’s falling apart.”

Soyeon turns to them with a knowing smile.

“I might have just the thing.”

She reaches into her designer handbag and pulls out a small, elegant black-and-gold card. She tosses it onto the coffee table, where it lands with an air of finality.

“What’s this?”

Minnie asks, picking up the card. The text was embossed in gold, reading:

"Heaven on earth."

Beneath it is a residential address in one of Seoul’s wealthiest neighborhoods.

“A massage parlor?”

Miyeon asks, sitting up and squinting at the card.

“Not just any massage parlor."

Soyeon says, returning to her seat with a graceful ease. “It’s exclusive. Appointment-only. The kind of place you’d never find unless someone like me pointed you in the right direction.”

“And you’ve been?”

Minnie flips the card over. It is blank on the back.

“A few times."

Soyeon replies with a sly smile.

"Trust me, it’s worth it. They’ll have you feeling like new.”

“Sounds expensive."

Miyeon says, though the intrigue in her voice was clear.

“It is.”

Soyeon stands up and grabs her bag.

“But you get what you pay for. Oh, and if you decide to go, ask for Mr. Shin.”

“Who’s Mr. Shin?"

Minnie looks up at her.

“The best therapist there."

Soyeon says, her smile turning mysterious.

"You’ll see.”

The next afternoon, Minnie and Miyeon find themselves driving through a quiet street in Cheongdam-dong, a neighborhood known for its old-money charm. Unlike the flashy high-rises of central Seoul, this area has an understated elegance. The houses are large, each tucked behind manicured hedges or stone walls, their gates hinting at secrets rather than wealth.

“This can’t be right. It looks like someone's house."

Minnie murmurs as the car pulls up to an unassuming white stucco house. Miyeon checks the address on the card again.

"But it’s the right place.”

The gate opens automatically, revealing a beautifully landscaped front yard. A small pond glimmers in the afternoon sunlight, its surface dotted with lily pads. Wisteria climbs the side of the house, its purple blossoms trailing like draped silk.

“This is way too fancy for a massage parlor."

Minnie steps out of the car, followed closely by Miyeon.

A woman in her thirties greets them at the door. Dressed in a tailored black suit, she exudes a calm professionalism that seemed incongruous with the cozy facade of the house.

“Welcome to Heaven on Earth."

She gives the two of them a polite bow.

“You must be Miss Miyeon and Miss Minnie. Please, come in.”

The interior of the house is just as luxurious as the exterior, though it feels more like a curated gallery than a home. The floors are polished dark wood, the walls painted in soft neutrals accented with minimalist art pieces. A chandelier made of cascading glass droplets hangs in the entryway, casting soft rainbows on the walls.

“This way."

The woman leads them down a hallway to a spacious lounge.

The room is an embodiment of indulgence. A sunken jacuzzi bubbles softly in the center, steam curling lazily into the air. To the left, an L-shaped sectional sofa surrounds a sleek glass coffee table, while to the right, three armchairs are arranged around a low, polished wooden table. In another corner, a mahogany bar holds crystal decanters filled with amber liquid.

“This is... not what I expected."

Miyeon's voice is tinged with both awe and confusion.

“Where’s the massage table?”

“The setting is designed for your comfort. Please take a moment to fill out these forms while we prepare for your session.”

She hands them clipboards with thick, gold-edged forms. Minnie and Miyeon exchange a glance before sitting down in the armchairs to fill them out.

The first page of the form is standard enough. Name, age, and medical conditions. But as they turn the page, the questions become stranger.

“‘Do you prefer a calming or commanding energy?’”

Minnie reads aloud, her brow furrowing.

"What does that even mean?”

Miyeon glances at her form.

"‘How important is discretion in your experience?’ That’s... oddly specific.”

“It gets weirder."

Minnie says, pointing to a section labeled Personal Comfort Preferences.

"Physical boundaries: open to touch, selective, or exclusive?’ This doesn’t feel like a normal massage parlor.”

Miyeon hesitates, then shrugs.

“Maybe it’s just rich people being extra. You know how Soyeon is about her fancy things.”

They continue filling out the form, though the questions make Minnie feel increasingly uneasy. The final page asks if they’d like to request a specific therapist.

“Soyeon said to ask for Mr. Shin."

Miyeon writes his name in the blank field.

Minnie follows suit, though a part of her wonders what exactly they are signing up for.

After a while, the receptionist returns to collect the forms, her smile never faltering.

“Thank you. Please make yourselves comfortable. Mr. Shin will join you shortly.”

The lounge grows quiet after the receptionist leaves. Miyeon pours herself a drink from one of the decanters, swirling the amber liquid in a crystal glass before taking a sip.

“This is the fanciest waiting room I’ve ever seen."

She settles onto the sectional sofa.

“Soyeon was right about it being exclusive.”

“It’s more than fancy."

Minnie says, pacing the room.

“It’s weird. There’s no massage table, but there’s a jacuzzi, a bar, and enough furniture to host a party. Doesn’t this feel... off?”

Miyeon hesitates, glancing around the room.

"A little, maybe. But if Soyeon comes here all the time, it can’t be that bad.”

Minnie opens her mouth to reply, but the door opens before she could speak. A tall man steps inside, and the atmosphere seems to shift.

His clean, dark suit seems to fit him perfectly. Miyeon notices his broad shoulders. His warm, but piercing eyes. His welcoming, but professional smile.

“Miss Miyeon. Miss Minnie."

He bows slightly.

“I’m Mr. Shin. Welcome to Heaven on Earth.”

Minnie and Miyeon exchange a glance, suddenly unsure of what exactly they've signed up for.

Mr. Shin’s presence fills the room, calm yet imposing. He stands by the door for a moment, his dark eyes seem to look them up and down for just a second. His polite smile widens just enough to feel both professional and unnerving.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. We’ll begin shortly.”

You gesture towards the seating arrangements.

Minnie and Miyeon hesitate before moving to the L-shaped sectional. The rich cream sofa feels almost too soft, as though it might swallow them whole. Minnie shifts uncomfortably, her senses tingling as you walk towards the bar.

“Would you like a drink to help you relax?”

Your question is directed at Minnie, after seeing that Miyeon has already helped herself. You pour a measure of amber liquid into a crystal glass without waiting for a reply, then place it on the coffee table in front of them. The way your hands move - controlled, deliberate - makes Minnie's stomach tighten.

Miyeon reaches for her own glass, but Minnie stops her with a light touch on her wrist.

“Maybe we should wait.”

Minnie says, her voice low. Something about the situation feels too orchestrated, too precise.

She sees you raising an eyebrow, your expression unreadable.

“Of course."

You say, stepping back.

"The choice is always yours.”

Minnie’s pulse quickens. The words seem innocuous, but there was an undertone to them that she can't quite place.

Your posture remains impeccable as you take a seat in one of the armchairs.

“I’ll need to review your preferences before we begin."

You pull out a tablet from a discreet drawer in the coffee table. Tapping the screen, your eyes scan whatever notes have been transcribed from their forms.

“You mentioned physical tension and overall fatigue."

Your gaze flicking briefly to Miyeon.

"Is there anything else I should know about what you’re hoping to achieve today?”

Miyeon blinks, caught off guard by the directness of the question.

“Uh, just… to feel more relaxed, I guess.”

“Relaxation is our specialty."

You turn towards the other woman.

“And you, Miss Minnie? Any additional concerns?”

Minnie hesitates, her instincts screaming that something isn’t right. But she can't deny the lingering ache in her body from the grueling schedule they've been under.

“No, just the same. Relaxation.”

“Perfect. I-"

You get interrupted by the door being opened. Ms. Lee, the receptionist, bows politely in the women's direction.

"I apologize."

She looks at you.

"I have one of your regulars on the line."

You smile, standing up in one fluid motion.

"Please excuse for a minute."

Miyeon nods in understanding.

When the door clicks shut behind you, Miyeon lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

“Okay, is it just me, or is this the strangest massage parlor in existence?”

Minnie nods, leaning forward to whisper.

“Did you see that form he was looking at? Why does a massage therapist need that much detail about ‘intimate boundaries’?”

“Maybe it’s like a medical thing. You know, to avoid lawsuits or something.”

She doesn't sound very convincing.

“Maybe."

Minnie mutters, though the uneasy feeling in her stomach refuses to go away.

A mischievous smile plays around your lips when you reach for the door. The one who just called was Soyeon. She only confirmed what you already expected. The two women don't know what kind of place this is. It's always fun having someone new, who slowly figures it out over time. The older woman asked you to properly take care of them. The way you usually take care of her. Which means you'll need to move them to the room next door eventually.

You step back inside the lounge, two large white towels hanging off your arm. After neatly placing them on the sofa, you keep standing.

“Before we proceed, I’d like you both to relax fully. The body cannot release tension unless the mind is at ease.”

You gesture toward the jacuzzi, its bubbling water glinting like liquid gold under the low lighting.

“You’re welcome to use the jacuzzi to begin loosening your muscles.”

Minnie and Miyeon exchanged a glance. The suggestion seems innocuous enough, but there is something in your tone that makes Minnie’s skin prickle.

“I think we’re fine here."

She says quickly, crossing her legs and sinking deeper into the sofa. The plush cushions envelops her, but she feels no comfort.

Miyeon, however, seems more willing to indulge. “It does look tempting."

She admits, though she makes no move to stand. “But maybe later.”

You nod, your expression neutral. How long is it gonna take until they figure it out? Should you be more straightforward?

“As you wish. Comfort is always a priority at Heaven on Earth.”

Miyeon picks up her glass, taking a cautious sip. She tries to hide her own complex thoughts. Everything looks so professional. And yet it feels odd, almost mysterious. The lack of massage tables, a jacuzzi, the fact you're wearing an expensive looking suit and not a uniform or something. It all has her mind racing. And yet, she doesn't feel threatened or scared. After all, Soyeon seems to be here often.

Minnie hesitates before taking her own glass, her eyes scanning the room for anything that might hint at what this place really is. The furniture, the lighting, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine - it all feels carefully curated, but for what purpose?

As they sit in silence, you lower yourself into one of the armchairs across from them, your posture impeccable. You rest your hands on the armrests, your fingers tapping lightly as though you are gauging their reactions.

“This space,"

You begin, gesturing subtly to the room,

“is designed to help you shed the weight of external pressures. It is a sanctuary for those who give so much of themselves to the world.”

Your words are soothing, almost hypnotic, but Minnie’s unease only deepens. She glances at the bar, at the jacuzzi, at the way the chaise lounge seems positioned as if it is waiting for something - or someone.

She finally breaks the tension.

“So, uh, how exactly does this work? I mean, it’s not like any massage place I’ve ever been to.”

“We believe in offering more than just physical relief. Our approach addresses the whole self - body, mind, and energy.”

Miyeon leans forward, intrigued despite herself.

"And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means we tailor every experience to the individual. To their needs, their desires. No two sessions are the same.”

Minnie’s grip tightens around her glass. The way you said desires sends a shiver down her spine, though she can't explain why. She exchanges a glance with Miyeon, who looks intrigued but wary. “C-Can you explain that further?”

Minnie asks, her voice tinged with skepticism.

“Everything here is tailored to help you rediscover yourselves. As performers, you expend so much of your energy giving to others. This space is designed for you to receive.”

The way you said receive makes Minnie’s stomach tighten. She shifts in her seat, her unease mixing with a strange curiosity. Miyeon, meanwhile, seems more relaxed, her posture softening as you continue.

“To begin, I’d like to help you release the tension you’re holding."

Leaning forward, your gaze settles on Miyeon first.

“May I?”

Miyeon hesitates, glancing at Minnie before nodding.

“I... guess?”

You move with deliberate grace, taking Miyeon’s hand in yours. Your touch is warm but firm, your thumb pressing lightly into her palm.

“Tension often begins here. The hands carry the weight of everything we hold onto.”

Miyeon’s breath hitches slightly as you begin to massage her hand, your fingers working expertly over the delicate bones and tendons. She closes her eyes, leaning back against the sofa.

"Wow. That’s... really good.”

Minnie watches, her wariness deepening even as she feels a twinge of envy. There is something intimate about the way you work, you focus entirely on Miyeon. It is professional, yes, but there is a closeness to it that feels almost too personal.

“Miss Minnie, may I assist you as well?”

Your words have her comeback to her senses.

Minnie hesitates, but Miyeon’s relaxed expression seems to reassure her.

"Okay."

She offers her hand to you.

Your touch is the same. Firm, deliberate, yet oddly tender. As your fingers press into her palm, she feels the tension in her muscles begin to melt away, replaced by a strange warmth that spreads up her arm. It isn’t just physical. It is as if the room itself shifts, the air growing heavier, more charged.

You guide them gently, your voice steady as you are now standing behind them. The session transitions into a guided relaxation exercise, with you encouraging them to let go of their insecurities, to embrace the moment without judgment.

As the atmosphere grows more intimate, your touch lingers a fraction longer, your voice dipping into a lower register. The boundary between professional and personal begins to blur, and Minnie finds herself caught between unease and a strange sense of surrender.

“Your bodies carry so much tension."

Your hands moving to Miyeon’s shoulders.

"You deserve to feel free.”

Miyeon’s eyes flutter shut as she leans into your touch, her breathing deep and steady. Minnie watches, her chest tightening as the charged atmosphere wraps around them like a cocoon.

When your attention turns back to Minnie, your touch is as deliberate as before, but there is a new intensity to it. A quiet demand for trust.

“You’re holding back. Why?”

“I don’t know."

Minnie whispers, her voice barely audible.

“Let go. Allow yourself to feel.”

The air in the lounge seems to grow thicker, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine wrapping around Minnie and Miyeon like an invisible tether. You move with the same deliberate grace, but your presence has changed. It is no longer just calm. It is commanding, almost magnetic.

“You’ve been carrying this tension for too long.”

Once more you move onto the older girl. Miyeon tilts her head back slightly, her breath hitching as your hands begin to knead the muscles at the base of her neck. Your touch is expert, but there iss a weight behind it now, a quiet insistence that seems to demand more than just physical surrender.

Minnie watches, her heart thudding in her chest. She wants to say something, but the words catch in her throat. There is something about the way you move, the way your voice fills the room, that makes it impossible to look away.

“Relax."

Your hands sliding down to Miyeon' upper arms. Your fingers brush against the edge of her collarbone, lingering just long enough to make her shiver.

"You deserve to let go.”

Miyeon’s eyes flutter shut, her lips parting as she exhales slowly.

“That feels... really good."

Her voice barely a whisper.

“And you, Miss Minnie."

You say, your tone now carrying a quiet authority. “You’re still holding back.”

Minnie’s pulse quickens as you step closer to her. “I... I’m not sure."

“You don’t have to be sure."

You reply, your voice soft but commanding.

“You only have to trust me.”

Before Minnie can respond, you reach for her hand. Your grip is firm yet gentle, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a way that makes her skin tingle. You guide her to stand, your movements deliberate as you position yourself behind her.

“This isn’t just about touch. It’s about connection. About giving yourself permission to feel.”

Minnie’s breath hitches as your hands rest on her shoulders. Your fingers press into the tense muscles there, drawing a gasp from her lips. Your touch growing firmer as you work your way down her back.

“Good, you’re starting to let go.”

As your hands continue to move, Minnie feels a flicker of something unfamiliar. An awareness that goes beyond the physical. Her cheeks flush as your fingers brush against the curve of her waist, your touch straying just enough to make her wonder if it was intentional.

Miyeon, meanwhile, has leaned forward slightly, her head resting in her hands as you return your attention to her. You kneel in front of her, gesturing Minnie to sink back into the sofa, your hands sliding up Miyeon's calves to her knees.

“Tension gathers here too."

You look up at her.

“May I?”

Miyeon nods, her cheeks pink.

"Yes."

Your hands move higher, kneading the muscles just above her knees. Your movements are precise, but there is a deliberateness to them that makes the air between them feel electric. Your thumbs press inward, just shy of the hem of her dress, and Miyeon inhales sharply.

The silence in the room is broken only by the soft hum of the jacuzzi and the sound of breathing. You rise to your feet, your presence towering over both women as you step back slightly.

“You’re both carrying more than just physical tension. There are walls you’ve built around yourselves. They’re keeping you from fully releasing.”

“What do you mean?”

Miyeon's voice shaky.

“Allow me to show you."

You reach for the top button of your tailored jacket, unfastening it with slow, deliberate movements. The sound of the fabric sliding over your shoulders is almost deafening in the quiet room.

Minnie’s eyes widen as you set the jacket aside, revealing a crisp black shirt that clings to your frame. You roll up your sleeves, exposing strong forearms that seem to radiate power and control. The simple act feels charged, as though you are peeling away more than just clothing.

“Relaxation requires vulnerability."

You reach out to Miyeon. Your fingers brush against the strap of her dress, sliding it off her shoulder with a precision that feels both practiced and personal.

“It requires trust.”

Miyeon’s breathing quickens, but she doesn't stop you. Her cheeks flush as you repeat the gesture on her other shoulder, her dress slipping slightly as your hands move to her collarbone.

Minnie’s throat feels dry as you turn to her, your gaze penetrating.

“And you, Miss Minnie. Are you ready to let go?”

Her heart pounds as you reach for her, your hand resting lightly on her jaw. Your thumb brushes against her cheek, sending a jolt of heat through her.

“I... I don’t know."

She admits, her voice trembling.

“You don’t need to know. You only need to trust me.”

And as the line between professionalism and intimacy blurs, Minnie and Miyeon find themselves stepping into uncharted territory, their inhibitions slipping away under your guiding touch.

“You’re so used to holding everything inside. Your body carries it all. Your fear, your doubt, your desire.”

Your voice makes Minnie's breath quicken.

The last word linger in the air, heavy and deliberate. Minnie feels her cheeks flush, but she can't look away from you.

“Let me help you."

You say, your voice dropping into a deeper register. Your thumb traces the line of her jaw before your hand moves to her shoulder, your fingers brushing the edge of her neckline.

“You don’t have to hold onto it anymore.”

Minnie’s breath hitches as your touch grows bolder, your hand sliding down her arm. She feels a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation, her mind racing even as her body seems to respond instinctively to your presence.

You turn your attention back to Miyeon, who sits on the sofa, her posture tense despite the warmth in her cheeks. You move with the same measured grace, kneeling in front of her again, your hands resting lightly on her knees.

“You’re more open. But you’re still holding back.”

“I’m not...”

Miyeon starts, but her voice falters as your hands move higher, your thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above her knees.

“You’re used to giving up control in small ways, but not fully. Not here.”

Your hands slide up further, brushing the hem of her dress as you lean in closer.

“Trust me.”

Miyeon’s breath quickens, her lips parting slightly as she nods. Your hands move to her hips, your fingers firm but careful as you guide her to relax against the cushions. Your movements are deliberate.

“You’re starting to feel it.”

Minnie’s heart pounds as she watches the interaction. There is something mesmerizing about the way you move, the way you speak, the way Miyeon seems to melt under your touch. But there is also something deeply unsettling. Something that makes her question whether you have gone too far.

Before she can process her thoughts, you turn your attention back to her. You rise to your feet, your presence towering over her as you extend a hand.

“Stand."

Minnie hesitates, but the weight of your gaze compels her to obey. She places her hand in yours, her legs trembling slightly as you guide her to stand in front of you again.

“You’re stronger than you think."

Your hand moves to her lower back. The pressure of your palm is firm, steady, grounding.

"But strength doesn’t mean closing yourself off.”

Your free hand moves to her waist, your fingers brushing the fabric of her dress. You're close now. So close that she can feel the heat radiating from your body, the faint scent of your cologne mingling with the jasmine and sandalwood in the air.

“You’re holding your breath. Let it go.”

Minnie exhales shakily, her body softening under your touch. She feels your hands shift, one sliding to the curve of her hip while the other moves to her shoulder. Your movements are slow, deliberate, giving her just enough time to process but not enough to resist.

“Good. Now, let me show you what it feels like to truly release.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Your movements grow bolder, your hands exploring the boundaries of her comfort with the precision of someone who knows exactly how far to go. Your fingers brush the small of Minnie’s back, trailing up her spine in a way that makes her shiver. Your touch isn’t rough, but there is a dominance to it. A quiet insistence that makes her heart race.

Miyeon, still reclining on the sofa, seems completely under your spell. Her dress has slipped lower on her shoulders, and she makes no move to adjust it as you returned to her side. Your hand moves to her thigh, your fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above her knee.

“You’re doing well. But you can give more.”

Miyeon’s breath hitches as your hand moves higher, your touch deliberate but never hurried. She closes her eyes, her body sinking further into the cushions as she lets herself be guided by you.

Minnie watches, her chest tightening as the tension in the room reaches a breaking point. She feels your hand on her waist again, your touch grounding her even as her thoughts spin out of control.

“You’re thinking too much. Stop thinking. Just feel.”

Minnie closes her eyes, her body responding to your words even as her mind screams at her to pull away. But it is too late. Your lips meet hers.

Once again, only the jacuzzi breaks the silence. Minnie's whole body is frozen. Miyeon looks at the two of you with wide eyes. Your sudden move has them both stunned. But to Minnie's own surprise, she can feel her body trying to reciprocate the kiss. Her lips almost move on their own. Why isn't she stopping this? She should pull away, say something. But her body refuses. Instead, she sinks even deeper into your touch.

As the blonde deepens the kiss, you slowly let your hands wonder along her waist. Miyeon bites her lip as she watches you feeling Minnie's ass. Your sudden advance stirs something unexpected inside her. Jealousy? Curiosity? She can't tell, but the older girl's body seems to edge closer on its own.

The two of them have gotten used to your touch. Their bodies reacting positively to every one of your movements. When you finally do break the kiss, Minnie leans back. She can feel your hands on her ass and yet, she can still feel the professionalism in your eyes. Not that horny look she sees in some men's eyes when they walk past her. But a look that makes her curious as to what the next step is.

Her breath hitches, when your left hand moves to the front. It almost seems like a coincidence as it slips beneath the long brown skirt. Minnie's eyes are still focused on yours. You place your hand right above her core. Only her underwear separates your hand from her snatch. But you don't apply pressure, or start to move your hand further. You just hold it there.

Leaning closer again, you let your lips brush against hers, before kissing her cheeks instead. Minnie holds her breath, when she hears your voice.

"Be good girl."

You nod towards the space on the sofa, right next to Miyeon.

"Touch yourself."

Pulling back, you can see all kinds of different emotions reflected in Minnie's eyes. Surprise, uncertainty, and a hint of anger. But her look is too soft. She already feels good, her body relaxed. Why not relax her mind as well?

"Trust me."

Your words already seem so familiar to her. Minnie decides to go with the flow. Unconsciously, she finally realizes what is actually going on here. This is not a massage parlor. At least not an ordinary one. Soyeon must know what place this is. Minnie sinks into the sofa, doing her best to give up control. Soyeon said, you're the best.

Miyeon's cheeks show a deep red as you focus on her. Just like Minnie, she comes to her own realization. She isn't just paying you for a massage. She is paying you for...for sex.

"May I?"

Like before, you ask Miyeon for permission.

She hesitates, but eventually nods. Holding her breath, she expects a kiss from you as well. Instead, you kneel down again. But this time, it's not your hand on her thigh. You plant a kiss right above her left knee.

Miyeon looks down on you, slowly exhaling. She feels an odd mix of disappointment and excitement. Another kiss, above her right knee.

She feels your trail of kisses move along her thighs, alternating between left and right. With every step forward, she lets out a weak gasp.

Reaching the hem of her black dress, you glance at Minnie. She didn't get rid of her skirt yet, but you see that her hand has disappeared underneath it. Her eyes are half closed, looking back at you. Her lips are slightly parted as if she's letting out a soundless moan.

Miyeon instinctively reaches for your wrists as you slowly reach for the hem of her dress.

"Trust me."

Your smile makes Miyeon hesitate. She can feel the sincerity, the professionalism. You aren't a random guy who is taking advantage of her. You're just doing your job.

When her grip loosens, you push up her dress. You expose more and more of her porcelain like thighs, until you expose her core. The sight almost has you surprised. Miyeon must have assumed that she'd change into a proper massage outfit anyway. So she didn't bother wearing underwear. You have to stop your urge to just dive in. Her lips slightly glisten with building arousal. You catch a hint of her clit, almost begging you to take care of it.

Focusing back on her thighs, you start right where you left off. You earn a disappointed sigh, which is quickly replaced by slight moan. Miyeon's beautiful voice accompanies every single one of your kisses, until you finally reach her center.

You start to hear Minnie properly moaning now. You can only guess how she must feel, watching how her friend is going to get eaten out right in front of her. She is still moving her hand relatively slow, showing how relaxed her body really is.

When you finally reach Miyeon's pussy, you decide to give it a long, steady lick from bottom to top. A loud, drawn out sigh leaves her body. Another lick earns you another sigh. The third one makes her moan. You let your hands glide along her thighs as you bury your head between them.

Miyeon's eyes flutter shut as she feels your tongue roaming her pussy. Her head rolls back, when you give her thighs comforting squeezes. You suck on her folds, making her moan out, before finally capturing her clit with your mouth.

Minnie finally inserts two fingers inside her pussy as she watches Miyeon moan and quiver under your touch. She imagines your tongue on her own clit. How you draw patterns on it, how you occasionally let your tongue dart inside her snatch.

You feel Minnie's hand hold onto yours, which is still resting on Miyeon's thigh. The older girl's hips have started to buck in your direction, her body desiring more and more of the pleasure you're giving her. She keeps melting into the sofa the longer you feast on her pussy. Her surroundings become blurry, only your tongue exists.

"I think..."

Miyeon tries to say something, but her mouth won't listen. She barely hears Minnie's loud moan, too busy with feeling arousal flooding her senses.

"Close."

It's the only words she can get over her lips. Her breathing becomes quicker. You feel one of her hands finding the back of your head, pushing you further towards her. Her back arches as her body prepares herself for the incoming orgasm.

Miyeon climaxes with your tongue buried deep inside of her. All the tension suddenly leaves her body as she sinks back into the sofa. Her eyes are still closed as she tries to catch her breath.

You stand up and move over to Minnie, who finally stops pleasuring herself. She waits for you to do something. You leave her hanging for a second, before you reach down and start to unbuckle your belt. The two of you keep eye contact, while you take off your pants. Once they're on the floor, you step out of them. You expect Minnie to hesitate, or be surprised. Instead, she reaches forward, eyes still locked onto yours.

You feel one of her fingers trace along the outlines of your cock, the material of your boxers barely disrupting her touch. After her little teasing, Minnie reaches upwards to take off your underwear. When it hits the floor, her eyes move from your own to your dick. You catch her biting her lip, her hand slowly wrapping around your length. She gives you a couple of slow strokes as you look over at Miyeon. The older woman, still a little red, watches her friend's hand move up and down. One of her own is already resting on her thigh, her need for more pleasure obvious.

But you have focus on Minnie now. Soyeon did tell you to properly wear them out, so you get on the sofa, kneeling above Minnie's torso. She looks up at your again, slowly opening her mouth. Guiding your cock towards her, you watch her lips close around your tip. You feel her tongue roaming your length as you push deeper into her. Minnie lets go of your cock, her arms now stretched out on the backrest as she leans back a little.

You hear Miyeon moaning beside you as you place both hands on either side of Minnie's head.

More of your cock disappears inside her mouth, until most of it is buried inside of her. Her eyes still look up at you. It's a mix of plea and challenge, which makes you move back, before pushing back into her again. You feel her tongue pressed flat against the underside of your cock as you give her mouth long, powerful strokes. Not wanting to go too quick from the get go, you decide to enjoy her warm mouth.

Miyeon is now doing the same thing Minnie did earlier. Her fingers are slowly rubbing her clit as she watches you fucking Minnie's mouth. You can tell that Miyeon was more willing to let go during the beginning, but is now more hesitant when it comes to intimacy. Wanting to help her ease into it a little more, you reach out with your right hand. Miyeon gets the hint as you extend your ring- and middle finger. You watch how she leans forward, her lips then slowly closing around your fingers. Miyeon's eyes close again as she starts to suck on your fingers, while she keeps playing with herself.

Minnie makes you focus back on her by holding onto your thighs with both hands. The two of you lock eyes again. You move your hand towards the back of her head and now pull her in your direction as you thrust forward. Minnie's moan sends vibrations up your spine. You now increase your pace as you begin to feed her your whole length.

The room is now filled with the beautiful sounds of both girl either sucking on your fingers, or slightly gagging on your cock. You feel Miyeon making you extend a third finger, before she takes all three of them into her mouth. At the same time, you start to properly fuck Minnie's face, not wanting to disappoint Soyeon, if she asks her friends afterwards about their experience.

Minnie opens her mouth a little wider, trying to make it easier for her to take all of you. Saliva starts to escape the corners of her mouth as you keep thrusting into her. Miyeon lets her tongue swirl around your fingers, while she keeps sucking on them. You can hear her fingers going in and out of her pussy, the sounds telling you how wet this is making her.

After you give Minnie a couple more especially hard thrusts, you slowly retreat out of her mouth. Her spit connects her lips with your cock for a while, until the small strings snap. You remove your wet fingers out of Miyeon's mouth and stand up again.

You head over to a small drawer and take out two items. Minnie and Miyeon watch you while doing so. When you turn back to them, Minnie smiles, while you can still see uncertainty on Miyeon's face.

"They're supposed to be identical to mine."

The younger girl takes both transparent silicon dildos from you, before passing one of them to Miyeon.

"I want you two to show me how good you can suck cock."

You step behind them, your voice still soft, like it was at the beginning. But this time it doesn't ask for permission.

Miyeon hesitates once more, but Minnie gladly pushes the dildo past her lips. When you reach down with both hands, letting them slowly glide down their bodies, Miyeon finally follows the younger girl. Your right hand dives underneath Minnie's skirt, and pulls her panties to the side, while the other directly heads towards Miyeon's pussy.

Only moments later, you have both girls sitting next to each other, sucking on dildos that are shaped like your cock, while you start to finger both of them. Your position behind them enables you to penetrate them further and curl your fingers upwards to find just the right spot. Minnie's mouth produces gagging sounds once more as she does the same to herself as you did barely a minute ago. Miyeon is being more sensual, her lips slowly gliding up and down the hand made length, but focusing on the tip, whenever she is about to pull it out completely. The two women's moans are muffled, but you can clearly hear them. As you continue to move your fingers inside of them, they become louder. It only takes you a couple of minutes, to have both of them melting into the sofa, their eyes shut and the dildos inside their mouths coming to a halt.

Miyeon is quickly overwhelmed by her second orgasm, her body soon quivering once more. Her feet shuffle around on the floor as she sees stars. Minnie, on the other hand, freezes, only her eyelids fluttering. But once the orgasm has washed through her, she shakes for a couple of moments as well, until both finally calm down again. Both their pussies have been massaging your fingers throughout the whole experience, making you want to finally feel them around your cock.

"Strip."

You whisper into Miyeon's ear as you slowly pull your fingers pit of both women. The older girl does what she's told. She stands up and lets her dress slide down her body. You admire her naked body for a moment. But wanting to keep it professional, you just nod towards the middle of the room.

"I want to see you in the jacuzzi on your knees, pretending to suck me off."

You see Miyeon's head trying to have an inner discussion with herself. But despite your unyielding words, you give her a reassuring smile. She takes a deep breath and finally lets go of all the control she has kept over her own body.

"On your knees."

You give a different command to Minnie, but not without playfully giving her ear a small bite afterwards. It was obvious from the beginning that, once she let go of her idol image, Minnie would turn out to be the kinkiest out of the two.

You slowly walk around the sofa, while watching Miyeon slowly stepping into the jacuzzi. She turns around, the toy in her hand, before slowly sinking to her knees. After giving her one last reassuring nod, Miyeon takes the dildo back into her mouth.

Kneeling behind Minnie, you let your hands roam her ass once more. It looks great, even when it's hidden underneath the brown fabric.

She looks back at you as you take off her skirt, wanting to see how you push inside of her. You lean over to capture her lips once more. Minnie loses herself in the kiss, while you push her panties down her thighs.

You lean back again when you hear Miyeon moaning. The older woman is still kneeling in the jacuzzi, her lips wrapped around the toy in her hand. But her other hand is underwater, visibly trying to make herself cum for a third time.

Minnie watches as you take your cock and align it with her entrance. She feels you brush against her folds, before you finally penetrate her. A deep sigh leaves her body as you bury half of your length inside pussy. Her tight walls wrap around your cock like they were made for it. Her head drops down between her shoulders when you pull out and thrust into her again. Minnie's whole body reacts with every thrust.

With both hands on her slim waist, you establish a steady pace, while watching Miyeon acting like a slut in the jacuzzi. The fact that she seems to be the most reserved out of the two makes it even more beautiful. She instinctively started to write two of her own fingers, which are buried inside of her. Her other hand keeps pushing the dildo in and out of her mouth.

After a couple of minutes, you see Miyeon coming to a halt, while you keep fucking Minnie. The older girl's posture weakens and you watch her orgasm yet again. It looks like Miyeon really was in need of a proper relaxation.

You place a hand on Minnie's lower back, pushing her upper body down. It creates a better angle for your cock. You know reach even deeper places, which makes Minnie moan even louder.

"Oh my god, yes! Fuck me harder!"

She's fully embraced the situation by now. Not just giving up control, but also working towards a common goal. Which is to have fun.

As you keep fucking Minnie, you watch Miyeon sitting down in the jacuzzi. She is looking at the two of you, but you can tell that she needs a moment to collect herself. That's why you're focusing on Minnie now, making sure her pussy is being properly stretched out. She can feel it. How your cock parts her walls. How your length continues to hit the deepest spots inside of her.

"Oh, yes. Keep going."

Her voice is reduced to a whine. Minnie is slowly falling apart underneath your relentless assault. You keep pressing her into the sofa, so now her ass is in perfect position. You give her a couple of spanks here and there. Each spank makes her let out a gasp. Her face is pressed into the armrest as Minnie starts to touch herself, while you keep fucking her. The added pleasure soon proves to be too much for her.

She orgasms for a second time today, her body freezing up. You stop pounding her, waiting for her to calm back down. Minnie's body starts to move again, more and more tension leaving her body. But you have to pull out. Otherwise you would've cum right there. Her tight pussy was about to trick you into cumming inside.

As Minnie gets back up into a seating position, you head towards Miyeon, but not without doing another stop at the drawer from earlier. You decide to step it up, hoping that Miyeon is already up for this. She just stepped out of the jacuzzi and is now standing in front of you. Her lower half is glistening due to her wet skin. You capture her lips with yours, make Miyeon melt into the kiss, while reaching down to stimulate her pussy further.

When Miyeon feels your fingers brush against her folds, she moans into your mouth. But her breath hitches, when she suddenly hears something buzzing.

"Just relax."

You mutter into the kiss. The small vibrator, you just took out of the drawer, slowly parts her lower lips. It is not very big, but that's not the point anyway. Miyeon starts to moan when the small toy starts to send vibrations through her body.

"Put your hands behind your back."

Miyeon takes a moment to follow your command, the vibrator a new found experience for her right now. After taking off your tie while walking around her, you bind her wrists together behind her back. Miyeon tries to turn her head, wanting to now what you're up to. You press your body against hers from behind, your cock resting right between her cheeks. Reaching around her, you give her tits a squeeze. The combination of you starting to play either breasts and the vibrator inside of her turns Miyeon's brain into a mess. She moans louder than before, her body already trembling.

"Minnie."

You call the younger girl over and make her take her dildo with her.

"Pick hers up as well."

When she stands in front of you with one in each hand, you nod towards the floor.

"Ride both of them."

You see her hesitating for a second. She might've never tried taking two cocks at once.

"Be a good girl for me, hm?"

Minnie finally nods. To the sound of Miyeon's continuous moans, she places the flat ends of the dildos on the floor. They're right next to each other. As she lowers herself onto them, she has slight trouble to get the two tips into the right positions. But once she does, Minnie slowly takes both cocks at once. Not the full length, but you know she'll eventually work up to that.

You and Miyeon both watch as Minnie rides two dildos at once. She is slow at the beginning, but eventually picks up her pace a little. Her eyes are wide open the entire time. She bites her lip, trying to muffle moans, which would be too loud for the room.

Once you made sure Minnie is doing fine, you return back to Miyeon. You bend your knees a little and suddenly you're just at the perfect hight. Taking a small step forward, you push upwards. Miyeon gasps when she feels your tip push past her entrance. She is now filled with the vibrator and your cock as you keep stuffing her. Eventually, your tip hits the toy, sending vibrations through your body.

Both girls are now filled to their limits. Minnie slowly keeps riding the two dildos. You can see how much her pussy is getting stretched out. Her mouth eventually falls open as she starts to let the moans just flow out of her mouth. Miyeon isn't in a much better state. She's slightly leaned forward, pushing her ass further into you. You're holding onto her tits, occasionally giving them a squeeze. While you fuck her, you hit the vibrator with every thrust.

"Your pussy feels so good, when it's completely stuffed."

Miyeon blushes at your lewd compliment. She can't do anything but watch Minnie riding the two silicon dildos. The younger girl is now starting to drool, saliva slowly dropping out of her mouth and onto the floor.

As you keep ruining her tight pussy, Miyeon is kept on the constant edge of orgasm. To her, it feels like every thrust could be the last. The vibrator gives her a steady wave of pleasure, while your thrusts make her almost tumble over the edge. You can feel how you push the vibrator further and further inside Miyeon. Her pussy is still able to take your cock though. You're just wondering for how much longer.

Because you eventually start to run out of energy and resistance as well. Miyeon's tight snatch and the vibrator leave their marks on your cock as well. You enjoy groping her tits as well. And the sight of Minnie, struggling to ride two cocks, is almost enough on its own.

After a couple more minutes of endless moans and pleas, Miyeon finally experiences the hardest orgasm of the day. The combination inside of her makes her clamp down on your cock, almost squeezing you a little too hard. To her own surprise and embarrassment, Miyeon squirts. You didn't expect it to be much, but you suddenly feel yourself getting forced out of her tight cavern. It would've been a great shame, if it wasn't for what happens after. Because Minnie is basically kneeling right in front of Miyeon, she is the one who gets hit first, not the floor. The older girl destroys even the very last bit of dignity that Minnie had left.

Miyeon's squirt ruins the younger girls face. But instead of turning away, Minnie keeps her mouth open. You can tell she is swallowing some of Miyeon's squirt, making you wonder if something similar has happened between the two of them before.

The older woman's pussy and the sight of Minnie getting drenched in her friend's juices has you now on the verge of climax as well.

"Kneel next to her."

You let go of Miyeon as you slowly pull out of her. Her legs are weak, but she manages to do as you say. Only a couple of moments later, you finally cum on both their faces. Minnie's is now a mixture of squirt, cum and ruined makeup, while Miyeon looks quite decent, despite the amount of cum she has on her left cheek and the bridge of her nose.

Because of a waiting customer, you, Minnie and Miyeon had to switch rooms. Which isn't inherently bad, since this room fits your personal taste a little more. The whole massage parlor act just doesn't work really well though, if you walk new clients into a room with a king sized bed that has ropes tied to it on all four bed posts. Actually, the whole room has a completely different vibe, which Minnie and Miyeon are currently experiencing.

Miyeon is standing against one of the brick walls, her hands not tied by your tie anymore, but by chains. They're hooked into the wall above her head, making her raise her arms. Her forehead is leaning against the wall, your cum leaking out of her freshly fucked pussy. Her ass is covered in big red stripes, the whip you used is lying next to her on the floor.

After making sure that Miyeon is still fine, you move over to Minnie. The younger girl is tied up on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The bullet vibrator strapped to her clit explains her pleasure wrecked face and the wet sheets underneath her.

You reach for the candle that has been burning on the nightstand for a while now. Minnie follows the candle with her eyes, until you hold it up around a meter above her torso. She bites her lip, but instead of closing her eyes, she arches her back off the bed. Taking it as an invitation, you tilt the candle, letting a couple of drops hit her flawless skin.

"Oh, gos! That's hot!"

Minnie cries out, the black wax slightly burning her skin. Another tilt of the candle makes another drop hit her right breast, right next to her nipple. Her breath quickens as you cover her body with more wax.

Wanting to let it cool for now, you put the candle back to it's original place, before climbing on top of Minnie. She instinctively opens her mouth wide as you kneel above her chest. You push your cock into her mouth. Within a couple of seconds, you're already face fucking Minnie for the second time today. Her face is already a mess anyway, so what's the problem?

Soon her gags fill the slightly smaller room. The two of you keep eye contact as you thrust into her mouth.

"You like to get used like this, don't you?"

Minnie can't say anything or shake her head. There is no use denying it anyway. Her eyes only glisten with excitement when you reach for the candle once more. There's is a reason to why idols or actresses have to disclose the date of their next official schedule.

Another tilt of the candle has Minnie moaning and crying around your cock. The black wax hits her left cheek, probably leaving a visible mark for the next day or two. You keep fucking Minnie's face, only slightly slowing down from time to time to glaze her gorgeous features with more wax.

Once you've had enough of her mouth, you only put down the candle for a minute to flip Minnie onto her stomach. Time for your art work. Soyeon enjoyed this before as well. You start to dribble the hot wax onto Minnie's back, while she is trying to guess what you're writing. It doesn't take you long to finish.

"A slut. That's what you are."

You wrote the word in Korean letters from the top of her back to the bottom. After putting the candle down again, you now kneel between her legs. You take Minnie's pussy from behind once more. Pushing past her lips has her moaning louder than before, the wax still uncomfortably cooling on her skin.

"Yes, that's me. You've turned me into a slut for your cock."

Minnie's confession makes you smile. That's what all of this depends on. Rich, regular clients. That's how you can afford all of this and even live comfortably.

You have your way with Minnie's pussy, while you knead her ass cheeks, giving them squeezes and occasionally pressing down on her lower back.

"Damn, you're so deep."

Her whine gives you the energy to keep fucking her. It isn't easy to keep up with these two. This might be their first time, but two frustrated, tension filled, gorgeous women are always a challenge.

You can already hear Miyeon pretending to fight against the chains behind you as she can't see what's going on. Shifting your attention onto Minnie again, you keep plowing her into the mattress. Leaning over her a little further, you're almost prone boning her, your hips meeting her cheeks with every thrust.

"Fuck, you're bruising my insides."

She whines again, but not to complain. Just pure admiration for your craft.

The better angle enables you to reach even deeper places, until you finally can't fight back against Minnie's overwhelmingly tight snatch. All the wax stuff has turned her on way more than she'd like to admit. The way her ass cheeks recoil whenever your thrust into her finally makes your orgasm. You quickly pull out and shoot your load all over Minnie's back. You partially hit the black wax letters, creating a beautiful work of art on her back.

Minnie and Miyeon both give you polite bows as lean against the entrance of the so called massage parlor. You can tell that their consciousness and their shyness from the beginning has returned, but in a softer form. The two women are aware of how deep you were able to look into their souls for the last couple of hours.

The sun is already starting to set as you confirm their next appointment one last time.

"Same time next week, correct?"

You catch the blush return on Miyeon's cheeks, while Minnie nods after hesitating for a second.

"Yes. See you next week."

You keep your professional smile, giving them a slight bow as they walk down the driveway.

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

Hi, everyone!

This is the second story of the December special. I tried to write in a slightly different way this time, I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless.

Stay healthy!

FIY: I have trouble sleeping recently, so if I have more spelling issues or stuff, that's because I'm tired. I'm hoping to read over this again soon though.

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #December special 2024 #gidle miyeon #gidle minnie #gidle smut #gidle #miyeon #cho miyeon #miyeon smut #minnie smut #minnie

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lanf1an · 6 months ago

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SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.1 - january 5 2025 The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

hope people will find this, made a sideblog for this, havent used tumblr in a while, feel free to send any suggestions to improve the lay-out/blog etc. Also let me know if you think this chapter is too long. I've already written many parts so will update regularly if people like it.

pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

wordcount: 2322

The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

You hadn’t seen your twin brother and Pietra in weeks, since they had decided to spent the holidays in Brazil, and you were itching to catch up. You also hadn’t seen the whole Norris family since Abu Dhabi, which had been an absolute blast. You’d meet up with Flo and Cisca regularly in London, having spent Christmas and New Years together, but the whole family being together was a rarity. This year felt extra special, though—it was the first time Dylan was coming along.

Your boyfriend of nearly a year had fit seamlessly into your life back home, and now he was finally meeting the entire crew. Max already got along with him like a house on fire, and you couldn’t wait for him to meet everyone else.

“Stil the same old place. Can’t wait to hit the slopes” Max said looking around with a grin. “You better teach me some sick board tricks this trip Dyl” he continued. “Only if you’re ready to fall on your ass,” Dylan shot back with a laugh. “Careful, Max is competitive,” you teased, they all laughed, Dylan was actually a professional snowboarder, making it that much funnier.

The Fewtrells had arrived at the lodge first, giving you a chance to show Dylan around before everyone else got there. The house was as you remembered—wood-paneled walls, mismatched furniture, and warm fires crackling in every hearth.

“This is where you grew up skiing?” Dylan asked as you led him upstairs, his snowboard bag slung casually over his shoulder.

“Pretty much. Max and I used to share this room—” you pushed open a door, looking at him slyly, excited to share the room with him this time. The room smelled faintly of cedar, its twin beds still adorned with the same plaid comforters you’d had as kids.

“It’s nice,” Dylan said, setting his bag down and pulling you into his arms. “Cozy. Definitely feels like you.”

Before you could reply, his lips brushed yours, a warm and familiar kiss that made your heart flutter as his hands brushed through your hair, leading you towards the bed. Before things could go further, a loud voice broke the moment. “Fewtrell!” Cisca called from downstairs, followed by Flo’s laughter.

You turned, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Let’s go. You’ll love this chaos.”

Downstairs, the Norris family was filing in, luggage and snow-dusted boots piling up in the entryway. Lando appeared last, hauling a duffel bag with one hand and ski equipment in the other.

“Landooo!” you and Max called out in unison, both running to greet him.“Can’t even drop my stuff first?” Lando teased, dropping the bag with an exaggerated groan as you pulled him into a hug.“Ah, our world champion has arrived,” your dad said, stepping forward with a warm smile. “Welcome back, Lando. Well-deserved break, eh?” “Something like that,” Lando said, grinning as he accepted the handshake. “Nothing beats this place, though.”

“Lando, this is Dylan,” you said, gesturing between them. Dylan extended a hand. “Good to finally meet you. She’s told me a lot about you.” “All good things, I hope,” Lando replied with a polite smile, shaking his hand.“Mostly,” Dylan teased, earning a laugh from everyone. Max threw an arm around Dylan’s shoulders. “You’re in for it now, Lando. Dylan’s a beast on the slopes. Red Bull-sponsored and everything.” “Oh, so I’m not the only sponsored athlete here?” Lando said, his tone light but with a playful edge. It was a miracle Max and Lando hadn’t killed each other yet, being as competitive as they are. Dylan grinned. “Guess not. Maybe we should race to see who’s faster.” “Careful what you wish for, even beat Red Bull this year” Lando shot back.

That night, as wine flowed and the parents went to bed early, the kids stayed up playing cards, laughing over inside jokes, and planning the next day’s ski routes.

—

The next morning, you woke to the sound of muffled voices drifting up from the kitchen and the faint smell of coffee brewing. Dylan was still sound asleep, his arm draped over your waist. Careful not to wake him, you slid out of bed, threw on a sweater, and made your way downstairs.

Max and Lando were already up, bundled in their ski gear, arguing over who would get to claim the fastest run of the day.

"Morning," Lando said, looking up from lacing his boots. His grin was warm and easy, the kind of smile that had been the same since he was a kid.

"Morning," you replied, grabbing a mug of coffee and leaning against the counter. "You two sound like you're gearing up for a war, not a ski day."

"It is a war," Max declared dramatically, waving a spatula he’d been using to flip pancakes. "Do you remember the incident of 2016?"

"How could I forget?" you said, laughing. "Lando sulking for hours after you beat his time."

"Exactly. Redemption arc starts today," Lando shot back, a playful glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. It was moments like these—carefree and full of banter—that reminded you why these trips meant so much.

After breakfast, you, Dylan, and the rest of the group gathered outside, ready to hit the slopes. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, the snow pristine under the morning sun. The energy was contagious, with everyone laughing and joking as they strapped into their skis or boards.

You and Lando split from the main group, both opting for skis while the others took their boards, eager to get tips from Dylan.

“Still as bad at snowboarding as you were at 12?” you teased as the two of you rode the lift up the mountain.

“Not everyone can be a prodigy like you,” Lando quipped, pretending to be offended. “Besides, I’d rather stick to what I’m good at—like beating you down this run.”

“You wish,” you shot back, nudging his arm as the lift slowed.

When you reached the top, it was as if no time had passed at all. Skiing with Lando had always been your thing, a tradition as old as the ski trips themselves. You raced down the slope, weaving between trees and laughing like kids again. At the bottom, you both collapsed into the snow, breathless and grinning.

“Still got it,” Lando said, brushing snow off his jacket.

“I let you win,” you replied, but your smile gave you away.

“I’ve missed this,” you said, lying back in the snow.

“What, losing to me?” Lando teased, throwing a handful of snow in your direction.

You took a break at a skilodge for drinks, glad it wasn’t crowded, texting the rest of the group to join them if they were close.

“It’s so weird how we haven’t actually caught up properly since Abu Dhabi,” you said, getting comfortable and sipping your drink.

— Abu Dhabi december 8 2024

The club was electric—music pulsing through the air, bodies packed tight, and the sharp tang of spilled drinks mingling with the faint scent of expensive cologne. It was the kind of night where everything felt larger than life, McLaren world championship, even as it blurred at the edges.

Lando wasn’t entirely sure how many drinks he’d had. Enough that the world tilted slightly, enough that his usual sharp instincts were dulled to a pleasant fuzziness. He wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular, just letting himself float with the energy of the room.

That’s when he saw her.

She was by the bar, her hair catching the lights in a way that felt achingly familiar. Without even realizing it, his feet carried him toward her. The closer he got, the more the resemblance struck him.

“Hey” he called softly as he approached.

The girl turned, and for a moment, he was convinced it was her. But then she smiled—wide, flirtatious, not the kind of smile she would have given him—and he blinked, the illusion shattering.

It wasn't her. Not exactly. But the resemblance was uncanny enough to send a strange shiver through him.

Still, they started talking. She was funny in a way that felt effortless, her voice cutting through the pounding bass of the music. It wasn’t long before they moved to the dance floor, their movements fluid, fueled by alcohol and the frenetic energy of the night.

Somewhere in the haze of music and lights, Lando leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was brief but intoxicating, her lips soft and eager. For a moment, Lando let himself sink into it, into the rush of the night, the distraction she provided. But something far away tugged at the edge of his drunken consciousness.

“Lando!”

He pulled back sharply, turning to see Max weaving through the crowd toward him. His expression was one of mild exasperation but mostly confusion.

“Mate,” Max said, his voice slightly slurred, though his amusement was clear. He looked from Lando to the girl, then back again, his eyebrows shooting up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Lando asked, putting his hands up in the air, suddenly self-defensive.

Max gestured at the girl, a bemused grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you were kissing my sister! She looks like my sister. Like, exactly like my sister. But—” He looked at her again, his grin faltering. “Also not. It’s weird, mate.”

The girl frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. “Okay, rude.”

“No offense,” Max said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’re gorgeous, but I mean, come on.” He turned to Lando, shaking his head. “How drunk are you right now?”

Lando blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up. He looked at the girl again, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Now that Max had pointed it out, the similarities felt too stark, too deliberate, explaining why it had felt weird.

“I wasn’t—” he started, but Max cut him off.

“Relax, mate,” Max said with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I get it. Long season, wild night. Just...you know, maybe cool it before you confuse yourself more.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m getting a drink.” She disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them standing there.

Max watched her go, then turned back to Lando, his grin softening into something more understanding. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lando said quickly, still in a confused haze.

Max tilted his head, studying him for a moment before shrugging. “Let’s go find my real sister,” he said, steering Lando toward the other side of the club. “She’s way better company than, uh...that.”

Lando didn’t argue, but as they walked, his thoughts remained tangled. Max was right—the resemblance had been unsettling, bothering him for a moment until Max handed him another tequila shot.

—

Lando smirked. “Well, whose fault is that? You disappeared halfway through the after-party. Left me stranded with Max and his endless tequila shots.”

You laughed, holding your drink in both hands. “I didn’t disappear! I was there—you just didn’t see me because you were busy being... you know, Lando.”

“Excuse me,” he said, mock-offended. “What does that mean?”

“It means you were too busy making rounds like the social butterfly you are. Max told me you didn’t even remember half the night.”

Lando groaned, tipping his head back. “That’s fair. I think I blanked out the moment Christian Horner started karaoke.”

You grinned. “See? That’s why I disappeared. I had better things to do, like chatting with some of the Red Bull team.”

“Ah, fraternizing with the enemy,” Lando teased. “You’re lucky Max didn’t disown you.”

“Oh, Max was fine. But you know what?” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There was this moment… when I was talking to a certain very famous actor.”

“Who?” Lando asked, curious.

Your lips curved into a sly smile. “Not telling. But for just a second, I thought, Wow, if I weren’t with Dylan, this would be my chance.”

Lando froze mid-sip, raising a brow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Totally kidding,” you said quickly, though the grin didn’t falter. “Kind of. I mean, it’s not every day you get hit on by a Hollywood A-lister.”

Lando set his glass down, leaning forward. “Okay, now you have to tell me who it was.”

“Never,” you said, laughing. “I’ll take that secret to my grave. But don’t worry, Dylan has nothing to worry about. Besides, you were the one getting up to trouble that night.”

“Trouble?” he asked innocently.

You gave him a knowing look. “You know, with that girl who looked like me.”

Lando’s grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, come on. Max won’t let me live that down. And for the record, I wasn’t the one who said she looked like you. He did.”

“Still, Lando,” you said, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “That’s a bit weird, even for you.”

“Hey, I was drunk,” he defended, running a hand through his hair. “And she didn’t look that much like you.”

“She could’ve been my long-lost triplet!”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I wasn’t exactly seeing straight. You can blame Max and his tequila shots for the whole situation.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. But if Max thinks you’re weird, you know it’s bad.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “Remind me why I put up with you again?”

“Because you love me,” you quipped, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, clinking his glass with yours. You settled back into your seats, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, both of you enjoyed, relaxed, content and tired after skiing.

—

Let me know what you think!!

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anonymousicecream · 8 months ago

Text

Prada (Karina x M Reader)

Milan, Italy, September 2024. As a Korean idol, you are popular worldwide, especially after debuting with your group TXT, under Big Hit Entertainment. Tonight’s your first solo event as an idol, after being invited by Prada to their show in Milan.

You calmly sat down as the show progressed, before your attention was diverted after someone tapped your back repeatedly.

“Oh, Karina-ssi!” You greet your junior from a different company, Karina from AESPA.

“Y/n sunbaenim. Nice to meet you.” She offers her hands, which I shook. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Take a seat here, it’s empty.” I offered her the seat next to me, which she kindly accepts.”

The two of you watched together as the show continued, before it eventually ended. You were about to stand up, but your goal was disrupted when Karina held you down. “Wanna take some selcas?” She asked.

“Of course. Whose camera are we using?” You asked her. “Mine.” She said as she grabbed her phone. She gave you her phone, allowing you to manage the angles as she got very close to you, leaning her body against you. It accidentally made you feel her huge tits, through your shoulders, but you shrugged it off, instead focusing on the selcas, as the two of you increased your smiles as you took more pictures.

“Your turn now, do it from your angle.” You told her, and she grabbed her phone, before adjusting it to the right angles. You leaned closer to her, making heart cheeks on her.

“AISHHH WHY DID YOU DO THAT???” Karina jokingly pouts at you after she looks at the results of the pictures. “What do you mean why? It’s cute!” You replied. Karina groaned before she wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling her in onto her shoulders as she took more pictures.

“God, we do look like a couple there…” You told her, making her blush a little, before turning her attention towards you. “Y-Yeah. You look even more handsome in person.” She said, analyzing the pictures.

“You’re such a flirt.” You told her, making her smack your arms. “Careful there Karina, don’t flirt too much, we’re in public.” I reminded her.

“So what? Plus, call me Jimin.” She said, “You don’t want dispatch making up rumors of us do you?” You asked her. “I don’t care, plus it looks quite empty now. What’s wrong with having some fun?” She teased. “Careful, don’t tease too much, you might not be able to handle the aftermath.” You told her.

“Let’s see about that.” Karina said, scooting over even closer to you. “At this point, I might just kidnap you to my hotel room, despite the rejections from our agencies.” You told her, making her chuckle, before she asks, “What’s stopping you?”

“The fact that I want to do it right here, right now.” You said. “Nothing’s stopping you boy.” Karina said. I then grab her fingers, interlocking them and guiding her out of the main hall. It took me a few minutes before I noticed the direction of the toilet, which I guided her into. Once inside the toilet, I pushed the doors of each stall, making sure it’s empty before I locked the door, and then guided her into the corner, and largest stall.

“I’m sure you know what to do now.” You said, watching as Karina walks seductively towards you. It didn’t take long before the two of you met lips, allowing you to feel her soft, peach lips. You saw her tiptoe to meet your lips, letting her feel more of your lips. You moved your hands onto her hips, caressing them before you moved even lower, now onto her thighs. Not long after, you felt her legs wrap around yours, before you lifted her up into the air.

“Aaaah!” She shrieked, allowing you to divert your focus on other parts of her body. You start kissing her neck, earning gasps and groans from her, while your hands try to lower her dress straps, successfully doing so, exposing her black bra. “Fuck, I love your big tits.” Karina smirked at your words, before replying, “Want a taste?”

“No, I need your pussy now.” You saw a change in demeanor from her, becoming a bit more shocked. I set her down on the floor before I sat on the toilet seat, lowering my trousers and inviting her onto me. “Come on.” Karina soon followed as she sat on your lap. “Fuck, you’re so wet, I can feel you through your shorts.” Karina’s face blushed a bit, before she maintained her cocky demeanor again, and then asking “What will you do about that?”

You moved my hands under her dress, feeling the sides of her safety shorts, before lowering them. Immediately, you felt her lace panties covering her pussy, coated in her juices. You streaked your fingers all over her panties, feeling the extent of her wetness. At the same time, you felt her hands lower your boxers, exposing your hard, throbbing cock. She starts stroking them, matching the pace of your fingers on her panties. It didn’t take any longer before you decided to set her panties aside and lift her up, aligning her with your cock before you lowered her slowly.

“Mmmmhhhh you’re so wet and tight.” You told her as she lowered herself even more. “I know, and you’re so fucking big.” Karina replies as she lifts herself off your cock. She repeated this a few times, doing it slowly and steadily, adjusting to your size before she wraps her hands around your neck as she increases her pace. You used your hand to play with her body, caressing different parts of her body as her pace increases.

“Fuck, faster baby.” Your groans echo in the mini stall as Karina’s rides get faster.

“You love my tits?” Karina bunched up her tits, showing you her enormous tits. You nodded at her question before you unhook her bra and threw it to the side, exposing her perky nipples. You used your right hand to cup her tit, while using your mouth to suck the other one. You started off by licking her nipples, going up and down on them, matching the pace in which she rode you, before you took control of her, controlling her pace.

“Play with yourself.” You instructed her, earning a nod from her as you now move your hands onto her hips, helping her control her pace. Karina used the time to rub her clit under her dress, helping her increase her stimulation. “Fuck, you’re getting tighter.” You saw a smirk from Karina, before she took over again, riding you even faster now. At the same time, you also felt her juices leaking onto your cock, which got even faster and more intense over time.

“AAAAHHHH FUCKKKKK!!” Karina moans as she lifts herself off your cock, squirting HARD all over your lap. You hugged her intensely, feeling her still rubbing her clit as she squirts continuously all over your lower half of your body. “Fuck, that’s it Jimin-ah.” You whispered to her, whilst caressing her back, helping her come down from her orgasm.

“T-Thanks. You haven’t cum yet?” You shook your head after hearing her question. Karina grins slightly before she gets up and kneeled in front of you, splitting your legs open to put herself in between your legs, and more importantly, in front of your cock.

Karina grabs your cock, hovering her mouth over the cock before she drops a gluck of saliva onto your cock. She stroked it gently, lubing your cock with her saliva before she put your mouth into her cock. You groaned, feeling her warm mouth and soft tongue, licking your cock aggressively. Her pace of licking you soon got faster, making you squirm even more under her method of pleasuring.

“Chill down. You haven’t fucked my tits yet.” Karina’s words shocked you. To her however, it seems like another normal day as she moves your cock onto her cleavage. She then squeezed your cock with her tits, before she started sliding them up and down. “Fuck, that feels so good.” Karina’s pace got even faster, enjoying the reaction you made from her actions.

“F-Fuck I’m close.” You groaned, starting to thrust up onto her tits and mouth, allowing your cock into her mouth again. “I know, paint my tits baby.” Karina said, stopping all of her actions to grab your cock. She slapped your cock on her tits a few times before she started stroking it, gripping it tight and stroking it very fast.

“Cum for me. Cum on me. Paint me. Paint my body. Imagine everyone watching you paint my glorious tits.”

The last sentence was the final straw as she helped you bust, shooting your load all over her tits. Karina continues stroking you as your load busted all over her tits, painting them from her cleavage, and onto each of her tits. After you finished cumming, she helped milked out the last of cum from you, before she stopped. She then sucked her hands, tasting your cum on her fingers. “Mmmm, tasty.” Karina then grabbed her phone and took a selca of her covered in your cum before she sent it to you.

#kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #kpop smut #male reader #kpop imagines #aespa smut #aespa #karina aespa #karina #yu jimin #yu jimin smut #karina x male reader #karina smut

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pastryfication · 10 months ago

Text

say yes to the dress

pairing: lando norris x reader (or more likely lando’s family x reader) note: i have been watching way too much say yes to the dress lately so i just couldn’t stop myself from writing this.

the soft chime of the bell above the boutique door rings as you step inside, followed by a warm rush of air scented with lavender and vanilla. the room is bathed in soft light that reflects off the rows of pristine white wedding dresses hanging delicately on their racks. you take a deep breath, feeling the thrill and nerves swirl in your chest. today is the day. today, you’ll—hopefully—find the dress.

your mother is the first to stride forward, her eyes twinkling with excitement. she squeezes your hand, a mix of pride and nostalgia evident in her lingering gaze. “i can’t believe my little girl is getting married,” she says softly, her voice catching in her throat. “i can still remember when you were a little baby resting on my chest.”

beside her, your sister grins, playfully nudging your shoulder. “she’s about to be mrs. lando norris!” she teases, drawing a laugh from you. it still feels surreal, like a beautiful dream you never want to wake up from.

lando’s mother, cisca, approaches you with a warm smile, her two daughters—your future sisters-in-law—flo and cisca, close behind. “i think we’re all in for a treat today,” she says, her eyes scanning the racks of dresses. “we’re not leaving until we find *the* one.”

you look around, feeling surrounded by so much love. these are your people, your family. it’s just the six of you today—no cameras, no fanfare, just a group of women on a mission to find the dress that will make you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

the boutique owner, an elegant woman with a thick french accent, greets you all warmly. she gestures toward a plush seating area with a mirrored platform. “please, make yourselves comfortable. i’ll bring out a selection to start with. if there’s anything specific you’re looking for, let me know.”

the anticipation bubbles inside you as you take a seat, flanked by your sister on one side and flo on the other. you look over at the group, feeling grateful to have everyone here with you. “so, i’m thinking something simple, maybe lace—”

“maybe lace?” your sister interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “girl, you’re about to marry lando freaking norris. this is your moment to shine!”

you laugh, feeling your cheeks warm as you send her a playful glare. “okay, maybe a little sparkle, but nothing too crazy.”

flo leans over, whispering conspiratorially. “don’t worry, we’ll make sure you look stunning. lan won’t know what hit him.”

the boutique owner returns with a selection of dresses, each more beautiful than the last. as you browse through them, running your fingers over the intricate beadwork and soft silks, you hesitate, glancing at the price tags. it’s hard not to feel a pang of guilt at the sight of the numbers, even though you know lando would give you the world if you asked.

“i don’t want to go overboard,” you say quietly, almost to yourself. “i mean, we have a budget, and i don’t want to spend too much—”

cisca turns to you, her expression immediately softening. she places a gentle hand on your arm. “sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about that. you have no budget. lando wants you to have exactly what you want and he’ll take care of everything. if you even think about being humble, i’ll have him on speed dial.”

you blink, taken aback by her generosity and the easy confidence with which she says it. “i just . . . i don’t want to—”

she shakes her head with a reassuring smile. “this day is about you, and lando doesn’t want you to hold back. you’re part of our family now, and we want you to feel as special as you are.”

your mother nods in agreement, her eyes misty. “you deserve this, honey. you and lando both do.”

you feel your heart swell, grateful beyond words. you’ve always known Lando would do anything for you, but to hear his family say it, to feel their unwavering support—it’s everything. you’re marrying into more than a relationship; you’re becoming a part of something bigger, something that’s filled with love.

you try on the first few dresses, and all of them are gorgeous, but they don’t feel special. it isn’t until you take one of the most simple gowns, a soft lace gown that hugs your figure just right, that your heart gets stuck in your throat.

you step onto the platform and look at yourself in the mirror. for a moment, you’re speechless. you see yourself, not just as a bride, but as a woman surrounded by the people who love her most.

there’s a collective gasp from the group, and you turn to see their faces lit up with joy. your sister is already snapping photos on her phone, and lando’s sisters are whispering to each other, both clearly enamored with the dress.

cisca wipes away a tear, her smile broad. “you look absolutely stunning. everybody’s gonna be speechless.”

you feel a surge of happiness as you spin around, the dress twirling elegantly. “do you think this is the one?”

your mother stands, crossing the room to take your hands in hers. “only you can decide that, but if it feels right, it’s perfect.”

you glance back at your reflection, and you know. it’s perfect. this is the dress you’ll walk down the aisle in, the dress you’ll wear when you say, “i do,” to the love of your life.

and as you stand there, surrounded by laughter, kind words, and the unconditional love of the women around you, you know this is just the beginning of a lifetime of beautiful moments.

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bks-writing-adventures · 1 year ago

Text

His Strong Girl (Aemond X Strong! Reader)

Warnings: Brief mentions of bullying and gore, brief mentions of sex, Alicent being a momzilla.

Word Count: 6.5 K

Summary: Aemond has always loved his Strong Girl, she's nearly of age to mary, and he wants her before anyone else can have her.

120 AC

As children, Aemond had always loved her. Even though he knew that he should not. His mother filled his brain with poison, to hate Rhaenyra and all that was part of her, and that included her children. The Strong children, all four of them. It was easy to hate Jace and Luke. They teased him. They found him a pig and called him the second son. They laughed at him and kept them out of their fun. They were kind to the other children in the court, but for reasons he could not understand, he was different. It was so hard on his young brain. He was all that he was supposed to be. H

e could read and write, he had light hair and light eyes. He always prayed at dinner time, and he always wore clean clothes, always had his hair brushed. He did all of his lessons. So what ever could be wrong with him? When Joffrey came along, it was easy to hate him, too. There was no doubt that he would grow into the sculpting hands of his older brothers. As soon as he would talk, he would be name calling and lying too. But when it came to her. Well, it was impossible.

Her eyes were warm and kind, muddy brown like her brothers and her father. There was a small distance of age between them, a year and a half, but he could hardly tell. She was smart for her age. She was not puzzled by her lessons, and she listened well, could smile and nod. She cut her own food and lived in her own world. He kept his distance for a long time, whenever the whole family was forced together for weddings and funerals. But slowly, like butter beneath rays of sun, he warmed. He grew calm in her presence and peeled back his layers to be vulnerable.

To meet her in the library when she was in her pyjamas, and to whisper gossip that they had picked up in the halls. He had two sides of him. The side that hated the Strongs, and the side that loved. He was good at making sure they did not cross, that was, until the day his aunt died. He never knew much of her. He knew that she was pretty and powerful and rode the greatest dragon in the world. But he did not cry for her. He only stayed quiet as the respects were paid, and his eyes wandered the mourners for her.

She was caught up between her brothers and their cousins. Black looked odd on her. She always wore pink or blue, maybe red, but hardly ever. Despite being half Targaryen, she had no like for the color. She was all about pastels and ruffles and frilliness. He frowned as he watched, and the feet between them felt like miles. As the group looked over to him, he offered an awkward grin, only to be returned with nothing. His heart sunk deeper into his body, and he tried to give her a light wave, to grab her attention.

But there was nothing he could do, and he could feel her slowly slipping from his fingers. Disappointment ate away at him, and he said nothing to her the entire day. And she made no effort to talk to him, either. And so when evening came and he was alone, with no gossip to speak of in the library, and no puzzles to put together, he found himself in the dragon pit. Tiptoeing carefully, listening to the snore of beasts who had survived all of the worlds wars. The scratch of their claws against stone, and finally, the hiss of fire as it nearly caressed his face.

The sight of Vhagar was one unmatched, and he moved as though he were being controlled, a mere puppet of the gods as he slowly climbed the scaly creature. He screamed into the wind as it lapped at his hair, and he laughed with joy as they landed with a thump and a roar. All that he was missing in his life was against his palms, and his skin burned with the leather of the saddle. His heart had gone above the clouds, and it hadn’t come down, even as his shaky feet hit the floor, a smile bigger than he had ever worn stretched across his face as he moved to scurry away and back to bed.

He would tell his mother in the morning. She would be so proud. But fate had something else brewing for him, and he was met with the sight of his nephews and his cousins. He clung to the words he had heard from his mothers lips, and he threw them mindlessly as fists collided in the air. He did not remember half of it. And he did not know when it would end, gripping blindly at whatever he could find. A stone the size of his foot, lifting it above his head quickly, every one of his cells begging him to go through with the action. It could have only been a second, maybe not even.

From the moment he saw the dagger in his little nephews hand, he knew that this was all over. This temporary shot of joy, and it died like a flame to ash as blood soaked his hand. He couldn’t hear his scream, but he could feel it deep in his lungs as he smacked against the ground, clawing at it. He shouted profanities as the guards dragged him to the maesters. He stared at his mothers face, and he sat still as he was surrounded by all of his family. And as he prayed for comfort, he was met with only fighting.

Shouting back and forth between his mother and sister, his father was of no help, and every other moment he was stabbed with a needle, his mouth curling at the feeling as his nails scratched against the armrest of the chair. He knew the eye was gone, but seeing it laying broken in a dish like the bad parts of a chicken. It broke him, and he stared at the wall as blood hit the floor, and when he was finally asked where he had heard the words he shouted, he stared at his mother. Her brows were furrowed, a deep crevasse in the middle. Her brown eyes were shining with a mix of sadness and fury, a touch of fear as she looked over at him. He swallowed his pain and spoke a lie.

“Aegon.” He whispered out, and shut his eye for the rest to come. The last thing he remembered of that night was the look on her face, and the way her fingers curled, as if she wished to reach out and touch him, only to be quickly whisked away by Rhaenyra and Daemon. That was the night he decided his mother was right about them. All of them. Even his sweet, Strong girl. Because if she were truly strong, she would have come to him. Despite their orders, she would’ve comforted him. But instead, he was alone. Alone and scarred.

127 AC

When he learned that his sister and her bastard children would be coming to his home, he tried his best to act as normal as he could. He ate his breakfast of pork and eggs, sharpened his sword and trained with Ser Criston. He ignored the groans of his brother, and watched quietly as his sister bounced her babies on her legs. He could almost smile. But he knew exactly how the children came to be. And if Aegon were not his brother, Aemond would have his head on the wall. Dread grew in his stomach as the sun reached its peak, and he hit against Criston’s sword with the ferocity of a thousand men. With every strike, he thought of the night he lost his eye. He thought of the dagger against his skin, the way he was treated so coldly, and how she had done nothing. And every night after that he felt as though he were frozen, reliving the moment over and over. He could feel the pain in his cheek and forehead with every twitch in his lips.

Soon, the Prince promised he would stop smiling altogether, because maybe then, the pain would stop. And so when he saw his nephews, he stared them down, like a wolf to a rabbit. He liked to watch their discomfort, but his gaze, much to his distaste, softened when he caught sight of her behind them. She had grown beautiful with the years that had passed. Her once chubby cheeks were still round and flushed from the cool air, and her brown curls were pulled back by pins. She wore a pink gown that leaned toward purple, a bit dusty in its tone, covered in small swirls and patterns that he could not process from where he stood. His sweet girl. Her eyes were large, and freckles covered her. He didn’t remember her ever having freckles before, and it took Criston’s voice to break him from his trance.

“You will be ready for the tourneys in no time, My Prince,” the Knight spoke, to wish he scoffed.

“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” He responded, his voice quiet and cold. He did not see the pint in galloping around on a horse, fighting other men and yelling like animals, all for the attention of ladies that were as shallow as a tide pool. No. He would save himself for her, if she would have him. And he was certain she would.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked, his voice louder than before, brows raised. Jace turned to look at his younger brother, and their faces paled. They were afraid, and the thought made Aemond’s heart fill with joy. He threw his sword to the dirt for his men to pick up later.

“And what of you, niece?” He asked, turning his head to look at her. Jace moved his shoulder to create a wall between them, but it did nothing for her curious eyes. She simply stood on her tiptoes, looked at him, and smiled. The sight brought a smirk to his lips, and when he walked to his chambers, he did so with a newfound confidence. He was quick to change into his outfit for the evening, one that covered every inch of his body, not even his wrists exposed. It made him feel better. As if it hid everything under. As if he were not still the runt of the litter. Even with all his training, he could never seem to grow.

He would always be the smallest of his kin, but what he lacked in size, he could make up for in skill. He could hardly wait for the evening meal. He was not hungry, but he was thrilled. To see her, to tease her. And maybe, if he were lucky, she would meet him in the library like old times. As he paced back and forth, he practically counted down the minutes until the sun finally fell. He groaned as they gathered for yet another meeting, but he could put up with it, if it meant seeing her.

She stood beside her mother, and it was only then that he could see a hint of resemblance between them. They had the same way of standing, and they were close in height. They shared a curved nose and a cunning gaze, but she only wore it softer. She had not yet seen violence, she had not watched the light fall from a mans eyes. She had not yet lost a love, and he could see her smile softly as the betrothals of her brothers were announced. He relished in the way that she nudged her brothers and gave them a teasing raise of brow before she remembered her surroundings, trying to return to her previously serious demeanor.

A smile pulled at his lips, and his eye narrowed as he stared at her, compelling her to look up at him. Please. He thought to himself, feeling his heart leap as their eyes met. She was just so beautiful. But the peace of her gaze was quickly broken when Vaemond began to speak of their heritage, and Aemond watched in displeasure as her brows furrowed, as her big eyes stared at the floor in shame.

The others, he could smile at. But to see her caught in the fight, to see her be called names.

It disgusted him. His back stiffened, and he bit his tongue. He would have plenty of time to speak to her later, to hold her in the years to come, to fuck the bastardy out of her. But he would have to wait. His hands curled in on themselves, and in a fraction of a moment, Vaemond was gone. His head hit the floor with a sloppy thump, Helaena turned away, her eyes huge and her hands on her head, and he watched as his Strong Girl practically mirrored her, her thumbs pressed against her ears and her fingers over her eyes. He sighed, staring at the body on the floor, his gaze slowly following the bloody sword until he was gazing at his uncle. Daemon. An interesting man he was. And slowly, Aemond smiled. This would be an interesting night.

When dinner time came, he took his seat and looked at the rest of the table. Baela and Rhaena, Rhaenyra and Daemon, and next to them, there she was. He smiled a little to himself. They always did that, sitting around her like a human shield, practically hiding her from his view. He followed his mothers words as she called for prayer, and he smiled to himself as his mother spoke of Vaemond Velaryon. The old man could never shut his mouth. The food came out in small rounds, starting with potatoes and bread, and he gazed at her as he licked the remnants of potato from his thumb.

Her eyes were so big, and he loved watching her cheeks get nice and flushed. And even more, he loved seeing how angry her brothers got, all while her mother remained clueless. When the main course came out, he stared in silence as the roasted pig sat in front of him. He could tell how this was going to go, lifting his head to stare right at Luke, seeing the beginning’s of a smile on his mouth. His hands curled into fists, and just as he moved to stand, she spoke. “Luke. Do not be impolite,” She whispered softly. She was soft and sweet, but she had such a bold presence to her when she wanted it.

“But-” Luke began, and she gently shook her head. “Eat your carrots. Mother said to be on our best behavior,” She said softly, reaching over to start cutting his soft boiled carrots up. Aemond frowned, slowly leaning back. He had so much anger to release, and no real reason to release it. She was a gem, that girl. She could so easily diffuse a situation. She was the type of woman that she be on the throne. They could share it together, one day. As the evening grew old and their stomachs were full, the music began to flow delicately on the harps. As soon as he saw Jace’s eyes brighten, he stood, walking around the table like a shark circling a helpless seal, placing his hands on the back of her chair.

“Aemond,” His mother spoke up, her voice filled with caution as she sat up straight. “Do not worry, mother. I only wish to know if my lovely, strong girl wants to dance with me,” He responded, his fingertips moving across her curls. Rhaenyra bit her cheek, and he could feel the tension growing like a cage.

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys spoke, his hands flat on the table.

“Brother,” She said softly, gazing back at him. Their eyes met for nearly ten seconds, and finally, he looked away. “I will dance with you,” She spoke, pulling her chair from the table and gently taking his hand. “If you promise not to stomp on my toes,” She says, teasing him a little as he pulled her to the stone tiles.

“I will do my very best,” He whispered, his hands curling around hers. Her touch was so delicate, and he found himself taking a small whiff of her wrist. Raspberries and cashews. It was a unique scent, but it was hers. He wanted to bathe in it, paint it onto his pillow. “I have missed you,” He said softly. And he had. He often found himself dreaming of the possibilities. Of bringing Vhagar to her bedroom window. Of taking her to the skies and bringing her to the forest, where they were not a Prince and a Princess, but only teenagers in love. “You will be a woman grown soon,” He said softly, his thumbs rubbing circles into her palms as he spun her under his arms. It would only be eight months before they were the same age, and it was only eight months before she would finally be on the marriage market. He just had to make his claim before anyone else could.

“I know,” She said softly, her fingers trailing to the cuffs on his wrist, touching the golden dragons with her gentle strokes. “I feel as though I was 9 only yesterday,” She mumbled, and he smiled in return.

“Tell me about it,” He mumbled, his hands moving down to her waist, his touch gentle. His eye wandered to the necklaces she wore, the ones that layered. The shortest was to her collarbone, and the longest was just between her breasts. A seahorse. A Velaryon symbol, something that didn’t belong to her, and they all knew it. His fingers slowly wandered to it, his thumb rubbing against the emerald eyes and the golden details. “This is a symbol of your fathers house, is it not?” He asked softly. His fingers slowly wandered up to cup her face, his fingers against her jaw, licking his lips.

“It is a symbol of the sea,” She said quietly, and he could see the turmoil in her eyes. He could feel the gaze of his family on him, and he knew they would not be pleased. But his mother was simply delighted, a scheming smile on her face.

“You like the sea, my lady?” He mumbled softly. They were hardly dancing anymore, he was just holding her close, holding her face, his thumb pressing against her lips.

“Who does not?” She asked softly, smiling a bit. She was always so sweet when she spoke of the sea, and he could see so much excitement in his eyes.

“I must admit, I have never had great love for it. Smells of salt and dying fish, and sand simply gets everywhere, the seagulls chase me,” He mumbles, making her laugh a little, brows raised in amusement.

“Perhaps they just like the look of you,” She said, and he smiled, head tilted.

“Is that what you think?” He asked.

“Well, if I were a seagull, I would go for you. Your hair would make a good nest,” She teases, making his eye roll. “But truly, you must be going to the worst spots. I have missed Kingslanding. The shores are beautiful,” She says. His heart thumped, and he found himself gazing into her eyes.

“Then you should stay,” He responded softly, leaning a little closer. It was hard to remember that they were surrounded, and that they were not the only people in the world.

“And how would I go about that?” She asked softly.

“You could marry me,” He spoke softly, and the whole room went silent, the notes on the harp fading out. Her brows raised, and she looked like she might giggle. She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, blinking slowly.

“You do not mean that,” She said softly.

“Oh, but I do. You would be so happy here.” He mumbled, pushing some falling curls behind her ears, whispering gently against her skin.

“Wait for me, will you?” He mumbled. Her face flushed, and he could practically feel her heart pounding beneath her skin. She was about to speak, but the doors opened and cakes began to roll out, small cups of pudding, trays of lemon cakes and cookies.

“(Y/N), come sit,” Rhaenyra called, and she gazed up at Aemond for a moment, as if trying to speak, but nothing would come out. Slowly, they parted, moving to go back to their seats. Her cheeks were so warm, and she prayed that no one else could tell under the warm light of the candles. Immediately, Rhaenyra leaned toward her, searching her face for discomfort.

“What did he say to you?” She asked, noting the odd look of.. Something on her daughters face. It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t discomfort. She just couldn’t place that expression.

“Nothing, mother,” She said softly. All eyes were on her, and Daemon wore a smirk like a man would wear a crown.

“I believe she has feelings for the boy,” He whispered, making Rhaenyra’s eyes widen. She looked disgusted, for a brief moment, but she quickly hid her distaste, blinking it away as she took lemon cakes onto her plate.

“We will talk about this later,” She said quietly, plucking the sweetened lemons from the top of the cake and placing one in her mouth. Daemon reached over and took the cake itself. They had a system. She would eat the fruits, and he would eat the parts she did not want. Meanwhile, she reached for a cookie, breaking it into small pieces on her plate, trying her best not to look at Aemond. She could tell that he was getting the same treatment on his side of the table, a knowing smile on his face as his mother shook his arm, trying to juice information out of him. He only chuckled to himself, taking a few sips of his wine. When the dinner finally ended, she was a blushing mess as she followed her mother, looking over her shoulder to see Aemond going in the other direction, a silent agreement in their eyes. They would see each other in the library tonight. As she took her bath, all she could think of was him.

Him and his offer, and the more she thought of it, the more she smiled. She trusted him more than she ever could a stranger. And she began to think of how she could convince her mother to let it happen. She trusted that Aemond would never hurt her. Maybe men that acted out of their place, maybe annoying nephews at the dinner table, but never her, and she was confident in that. And perhaps the marriage could bring the family together. Rhaenyra had wanted Jace to marry Helaena, after all. She did have a desire for the families to mix. That was it. That would be her selling point. “Some time alone, please?” She asked the maids as they scrubbed her body and hands.

“Of course, Princess,” They responded, quickly leaving. She sighed softly, ringing out her loofa as she looked at the mirror. Perhaps if she had children with Aemond, they would come out with white hair. Maybe they would have a better life than her. Her eyes then wandered to her seahorse necklace, and she remembered her father, before his death. Her life had been an odd one. She felt like she had a new father every couple of years, and in truth, she had. She had the father who’s seed she grew from, who taught her how to count and tucked her into bed during his shifts on the nightwatch.

She had the father who taught her how to fish, and which shells made the best necklaces, and which crabs were dangerous. And then she had the father that taught her to be bold, the one who married her mother the day after his own wife died. That had been a tough one, and in truth, she still was not warmed to Daemon. She did not like the way he treated her precious mother, and she swore to herself that she would never have a marriage like theirs. When she was finally dried of her bath, she looked out to the stars.

She looked for her favorite constellations, and she smiled as she remembered the library in the Red Keep. It was beautiful and large and full of enough books to last a lifetime. She was quick to get into her pyjamas, and even quicker to open her door, looking up at her guard.

“Excuse me,” She said softly, stepping out. “Are you going somewhere, Princess?” He asked, a look of confusion on his face. He had a long beard, and she was sure he had seen him before.

“Yes,” She answered, making her way down the corridor without saying anything else. She made her way as quiet as she could to the library, passing a rat or two that made her heart jump. That was something that she had hated about the Red Keep. There was nothing on the windows, so animals would come and go as they pleased. She much preferred mice over rats. Something about their tails tickled her brain in the worst of ways. When she finally did reach the library, her eyes searched for him, and she felt disappointment rising in her like steam when she could not find him. Perhaps she had gotten the wrong message. Maybe she made up the language of the eyes. But she would not waste her trip, beginning to pick out a book or two on constellations and The Moon and The Tides.

“You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” His voice made her jump, and she gripped her skirt as her eyes searched for him. “So close, my little doe. Look down,” He spoke, and when she did, she found him hiding under one of the tables in a pile of blankets. She smiled, crouching.

“Are you hiding?” She asked softly. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but she could feel warmth radiating from him.

“I am not hiding. I simply wanted to see how long it would take to find me,” He responded, reaching for her hand and pulling her down. This was much easier when they were kids, but now he was longer than the table, and the needed more pillows.

“So you have just been watching me walk around aimlessly?” She teased, making him nod.

“Oh, of course,” He spoke softly, his hands finding her cheeks, squishing them gently. “I want to speak with my sister,” He mumbled softly, pulling her closer until her belly was against his chest. “I will not marry you until I get her permission,” He said softly. She nodded softly, leaning her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heart racing, and she smiled at the feel of the vibrations.

“I did not take you for the type to want Mommy’s blessing,” She mumbles, making him scoff.

“I know better than to take away her little girl. She owes me this much, for all that has been done to me,” He spoke, and her hand slowly made its way up to his eyepatch.

“I am sorry that I said nothing that night,” She mumbled, and he softened against her touch.

“You were only a child,” He said quietly.

“As were you. None of us deserved all that has happened to us. If it is any help, I stole Luke’s desserts for a week,” She mumbled gently.

“Ah, yes. That is the most appropriate punishment,” He teased, making her roll her eyes.

“I did what I could.” She speaks, her lips brushing against his forehead, placing a small kiss there. A bit of his hair got into her mouth, and he squirmed, making him chuckle.

“Are you trying to make a nest of my hair?” He asked, recalling their earlier conversation.

“Oh hush.” She mumbled, curling up into him. Neither of them meant to fall asleep, but it was just so warm and comforting, and slowly, they fell into a slumber, feet sticking out of their fort. When they woke, it was to yells so loud they thought someone was killed. Both sat up far too quick, smacking the tops of their heads against the wooden tables. In shame, they crawled out quickly, her eyes big as she stared up at both of their mothers.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra asked. She sounded so angry, but her eyes were not on her daughter, they were on Aemond, her lips pressed into a fineline.

“We were having a sleepover,” He said simply. “You know what that is like, don’t you sister? Didn’t you used to have sleepovers with your friends quite frequently?” He asked. He couldn’t speak without being antagonistic.

“Aemond!” She and Alicent exclaimed at the same time.

“Mother, please. I promise it was nothing. We were only speaking,” She said softly, eyes on the floor as she was pulled closer, her face and neck inspected for marks. “We just wanted to do as we used to as children, that is all,” She said softly. Rhaenyra slowly calmed, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“He did nothing to you?” She asked.

“Of course not. Aemond would never hurt me,” She spoke, feeling Aemond’s hand moving to her shoulder.

“That much is true,” He spoke. “Sister, it has been a long time since we have spoken face to face,” He said, his eyepatch on the floor, having fallen off in his sleep. He wanted her to look at him in full, to see all that he had become.

“That it has,” Rhaenyra spoke, her face void of emotion.

“You know that I love your daughter. That has never been a secret. Do not deny her happiness because of one misunderstanding.” He said, making Rhaenyra’s face slowly fall. Her eyes looked to Alicent, as if she had any part in this. She simply shrugged, mouth parted.

“What are you saying, Aemond?” She asked her youngest son.

“I am saying that I wish to unite our families. I will marry (Y/N).” He spoke, leaving no room for discussion. Rhaenyra stared blankly at the pair. She had wished to stop the resentment between the families, and this would be the perfect way. But she could not bear the thought of her daughter staying here, alone with him, with them. She knew that (Y/N) would marry one day, but she just didn’t realize how soon that would be. But as she saw her daughters smile, and the hope in her eyes, she just could not say no. “Very well.” She spoke after a moment, letting out a deep breath.

“I will allow it. But you will wait the moons until her name day. We will ensure that this is what she truly wants,” She spoke, nodding to herself. Alicent was more hesitant, running through the possibilities in her mind. This was not what she wanted, not one bit. She wanted as much distance between the two families as possible. And what would the people say when they learned that the Prince was marrying a bastard? Her blood was good as dirt, and she came from a family of liars and narcissists. But no matter what she said, she knew her son would do as he pleased, so finally, she nodded, looking down at the floor.

128 AC The wedding day came quicker than either of them had expected. For at least three hours a day it was just planning, planning, planning. Trying on rings and taking them off, getting as close as they could without their chaperones making a fuss, whispered compliments and holding hands under the table. And of course, having to remind Alicent that this was not her wedding. “Oh, but wouldn’t a green dress be so lovely?” She asked, holding the fabric to (Y/N)’s skin. Rhaenyra could sense her discomfort, giving a light shake of her head.

“No. She has already decided to wear a gown similar to mine,” She spoke, and as Alicent went to open her mouth, she quickly spoke again.

“Don’t you remember that from when you were young? How old were you, nine or so? I found you in my chambers trying to get the dress on. It was much too long for you then,” Rhaenyra smiled fondly as she sipped her tea.

“It will not fit her,” Alicent pointed out, to which Rhaenyra smiled.

“It is a good to live in the time of seamstresses, is it not? I have already had it expanded and altered to suit her. You should worry about your son. Black leather at a wedding would be quite improper,” She spoke. Aemond sighed, slowly making eye contact with his betrothed. The pair were rather calm, but their mothers… were certainly something.

“I have already had his clothing commissioned. He will wear a fine beaded doublet of dragons and seahorses, in nod to her…. Velaryon heritage,” Alicent spoke, her voice soft and sarcastic, making Rhaenyra’s eyes roll. (Y/N) could not take it anymore.

“In all respect, this is my wedding. It is our wedding. We do not need this petty argument ruining our day. We both have fine clothes to wear, we have stunning rings, invitations are sent, and that is the end of it.” She spoke, looking between the two older women, watching them go silent. And so the pair would sit and wait for the day to come, resting together in the gardens, watching the sun fall and rise as they ate their meals on a blanket. They were romantic and disgusting, living in their own little world, just them and their chaperone.

“I cannot wait until we are finally wed and can be alone,” He sighed, rubbing her hand, kissing the top of her engagement ring. It was golden and covered in stones. It was far from traditional, and it was exactly the type of thing that she enjoyed.

“Nor can I,” She said softly, smiling as she saw a bunny running across the grass.

“Only a few days left,” he said softly. “You are certain you want to go through with this? There is still time to call it all off,” He mumbled, making her scoff.

“Of course I am certain. I will just have to prepare myself for more of your mothers comments,” She responded teasingly.

“Oh, Gods. Are do not want to think about that. I only wish to think of what it will be like to finally kiss you, to share our names and bodies… to finally sleep in the same bed and wake up to the sight of you every morning,” he murmured, making her cheeks burn.

“Stop it,” She mumbles, too embarrassed to listen to any more of it, placing her hands on her ears, making him chuckle as he pulled them off.

“I am thrilled to see your pretty face all sleepy and puffy, and to share our evening meals, to have painting after painting made of you to hang on my walls until I cannot escape those pretty eyes,” He smiled. She squirmed under him, flattered and grossed out, covering her crimson cheeks. “Hm.. the bugs are coming out,” He sighed as the sky got dark and frogs bred in the distance. She sighed, and they carefully packed up their things and made their way back to the Keep. Alicent was watching them from her balcony, and the two walked a safe distance apart. Only a few more days they would have to hold themselves together. And finally, on the 18th day of the 11th moon, all of the Lords and Ladies of importance were packed inside the Red Keep. Beautiful gowns twirling under candle light, the best of music echoing from the harps. Aemond tried to breath as he walked in, his eyes finally finding her.

And gods, he would marry her a million times over. Her curls were full of pearls and small pins, half of her hair up and the other half down. His palms were sweating, pressing against his doublet. He was painfully aware of everyone looking at him, but he couldn’t look away from her.

“(Y/N).” He murmured softly as she finally stood in front of him. He was struck dumb by her beauty, blinking slowly.

“Aemond,” She said softly, their voices quiet and kept to the loudness of a breath. Both of their faces red as the Sept read off some text, but neither of them were paying attention. Hurry up, Aemond thought to himself, getting increasingly more anxious as the minutes passed. And finally, as silence covered them, he reached forward, held her cheeks, and pressed a big kiss to her mouth. It was sweet and awkward, and their teeth bumped for a brief moment. All of the love they had collected for each other in the last months came oozing out, her hands holding his until they finally parted, looking at each other, their breath lost.

“And you have… kissed your bride.” The Septon spoke, a bit awkwardly, as if this had never happened before. And it had not. The crowd was quiet, looking around for the reaction they were supposed to have, until they finally erupted in applause.

“I love you, My Strong Girl,” He whispered into her ear. She smiled up at him, arms around his shoulders as flower petals flew like rain.

“Aww, thank you,” She said, making his eye squint. She laughed, her thumbs pressing her cheeks.

“And I love you too, my One Eyed Prince,” She mumbled, feeling his arms around her waist, holding her close as if he wished to absorb her. And so the One Eyed Prince and The Strong Girl lived the happiest they could, despite the violence around them and the whispers in their ears, their love never died. Burning furious and strong like Vhagar’s flame, and with every five years that passed, they would have wedding after wedding after wedding, until they were wed beneath all the gods and above all the land. Until their love could not be denied, and until they died, where their ashes were mixed and mingled with the shore, covered in shells and seahorses.

I think this might be the longest fic i've posted so far! I hope you enjoyed it!!

Thank you to everyone who reads.

♡- BK

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alcorianight · 1 year ago

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One thing I loved about Lockwood and Co. is just. The girls are pro brute force and the guys are all about proper technique. (Not all girls and not all guys but like, yeah).

Like it's Lockwood and Kipps that are finicky about proper stances and rapier technique (and iirc they both fenced (and Flo kicked their butts cause she's a legend)) and then there's Lucy and Kat who are just like "Look at that conveniently placed heavy object. Imma hit someone with that."

And it's great to me because I feel like in most works of fiction girls have to have exceptional technique and training to be on par with guys in fights, and then Stroud just flips the script. It's great. As a girl I appreciate other brute force girls.

#lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #quill kipps #kat godwin #brute force method #it works for everything #including my homework

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kathlare · 4 days ago

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you & i

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando and Amelie find a moment of stillness on the eve of something huge. Surrounded by the heart of Silverstone and the love of fans, they reflect on how far they've come—individually and together.

Wordcount: 11.2 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

July 5th, 2025 - Northamptonshire, United Kingdom

The metal of the grandstand creaked quietly beneath their legs as the sun dipped low over Silverstone, casting long golden shadows across the track. Most of the crowd had long since left—only the distant buzz of dismantling crew and the occasional hum of a golf cart remained. The sky was streaked in pinks and soft lavender, like the world itself had taken a breath after a long day.

Amelie sat with her knees tucked up to her chest, barefoot and wearing one of Lando’s oversized team jackets, half-swallowed by it. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, strands curling around her face from the humidity, and in her lap was a plastic container of slightly smushed sandwiches and a half-eaten bag of salt & vinegar chips.

Lando, next to her, had one of his arms slung lazily around the back of her seat and was nursing a bottle of orange soda, lips faintly pink from the artificial dye. He looked… soft. His curls were a little messy from hours in the helmet, his suit tied around his waist, undershirt clinging to him still, but his eyes were on the track.

Quiet. Thoughtful.

His home.

—Can’t believe you actually convinced security to let us stay up here,— she said after a while, taking a bite of her sandwich.

—Perks of being me,— he said, glancing sideways with a grin. —Or, more accurately, perks of me sweet-talking the media coordinator while you stood behind me looking adorable with that dumb pout you do.—

—My pout is not dumb.—

He raised an eyebrow, mock-serious. —You literally hit me with it in the motorhome because they gave you the wrong flavor crisps.—

—They gave me cheese and onion, Lan. I’m Mexican. That shit offends my spirit.—

He snorted, shaking his head as she leaned into his shoulder, her fingers brushing over the back of his hand resting behind her. They sat like that for a beat, warm and quiet, watching the track below slowly turn gold under the falling sun.

—God, look at it,— Lando murmured, eyes locked on the curves of the tarmac.

Amelie followed his gaze, resting her cheek against his arm.

—It’s beautiful,— she said softly.

He didn’t answer at first. Just breathed.

—There are gonna be thousands of people here on tomorrow. Just… watching. Chanting. Screaming. Wearing my number. Sitting right here. All of this… sold out. The whole grandstand. Sold out.—

She looked at him, heart swelling. His voice had gone quieter, not shaky, but thoughtful. He looked so much younger all of a sudden. Like the kid who used to race karts in his backyard. The boy who had posters of Hamilton and Alonso on his bedroom wall. The boy who’d once DM’d her just hoping she’d notice him.

—You did that,— Amelie said.

Lando blinked at her.

—You did that, Lan. They’re not just here to see a car. They’re here to see you. Because they believe in you.—

Lando looked down, twisting the bottle cap in his hand. He didn’t speak right away, and Amelie let the silence stretch between them like a soft thread, never pulling, just… holding it with him.

The wind carried a faint smell of petrol and grass and old concrete, something distinctly Silverstone, something that lived in the bones of the track.

Lando exhaled.

—Sometimes I’m scared I’m not enough.—

Amelie’s head tilted, her brows knitting. —Lando.—

—No, I know,— he said quickly, squeezing her knee. —It’s not like… a dramatic thing. Just sometimes I sit here and I remember the first time I came to this track. I was what, seven? Eight? Sitting somewhere way up there with my dad and Flo and I told him “I wanna be down there one day.” I never imagined there’d be a whole stand named after me. That people would actually come for me.—

Amelie turned her body slightly, her bare feet brushing against the cool metal below as she leaned closer to him.

—And you think they’d waste their time if you weren’t worth it? Lan, you’ve worked your ass off for this. You’ve fought for every seat, every race, every inch of that damn podium. And now you're here, in your home race, with people literally chanting your name. That’s not luck. That’s you.—

Lando’s lips quirked, crooked and fond. —You’re really gonna make me cry while eating a sandwich, huh?—

She giggled and stole a chip from his packet. —Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you cry around carbs.—

—Okay, rude.—

—You sobbed into a garlic naan when you missed out on pole in Baku.—

—It was a very emotional naan.—

They both laughed then, real and loud, echoing off the empty rows of seats. The kind of laugh that shakes something loose inside you. When it faded, Amelie’s hand found his, and she kissed the back of it, gentle and slow.

—I'm proud of you, baby. So, so proud. No matter what happens Sunday, I need you to know that.—

He turned his hand in hers, lacing their fingers.

—Thank you, Ames. For being here. For always showing up. You make everything feel… lighter.—

She nudged his shoulder with her own. —That’s just because I carry all the emotional depth in this relationship.—

Lando laughed under his breath, eyes still fixed on the track, but his thumb gently stroked hers where their hands tangled in the space between their chairs.

—That’s true. You are the dramatic one,— he said, smirking.

Amelie mock-gasped. —Excuse me? I am the soulful, poetic, emotionally available one.—

—You threw a hairbrush at me once because you couldn’t find your necklace.—

—It was Cam’s necklace and you moved it! That was justified violence and you know it.—

He leaned his head back, the last rays of golden light casting a soft glow over his profile. His lashes fluttered shut for a moment, and when he opened them again, he glanced at her with that boyish grin—the one that still made her stomach dip, even after all these months.

—Fine. Justified. But for the record, I liked that necklace on you. Looked hot.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, cheeks warming. —You are unbearable sometimes.—

—Yeah, but I’m your unbearable.—

—God help me,— she muttered, biting back a smile.

Silence wrapped around them again, comfortable and light. The breeze picked up slightly, fluttering the edge of Lando’s suit around his waist and teasing the loose strands of Amelie’s hair. From here, they could see almost the entire circuit, bathed in fading gold. Empty for now, but it wouldn’t be for long.

And in the middle of it all—this stand. His stand. The Landostand.

Amelie looked around, taking in the rows and rows of seats, the banners still taped to the railings, the fluo yellow flags poking out from behind sponsor panels. It wasn’t just a stand. It was a monument. A symbol of how far he’d come.

—You know,— she said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder again, —if someone had told 2020 me that one day I’d be sitting in your personal grandstand at your home race, sharing soggy sandwiches and vinegar chips, while the guy who used to beat me at Warzone every night had fans screaming his name... I would’ve laughed in their face.—

Lando snorted. —To be fair, I still beat you at Warzone.—

She turned to glare at him. —You wanna die in your own stand? I can make that happen.—

Lando grinned, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he popped the last chip into his mouth.

—Not the dramatic, poetic one threatening violence again.—

—You love it,— Amelie said, smirking and stealing his soda to take a sip.

He let her, watching her fondly. The jacket she wore was way too big, sleeves covering her hands, collar bunched up around her neck, but she looked perfect in it. Like she belonged in every piece of him, every corner of his world.

The sun was lower now, almost kissing the edge of the horizon. They sat quietly for a moment, breathing in the peace, the anticipation. Below them, the track gleamed under the golden hour, curving like a ribbon of potential.

Lando sighed, the sound quiet but full.

—You ever think about how crazy this is?— he asked. —Like... ten years ago, I was just some skinny kid karting in a helmet too big for my head. And now I’m here. In this. With you.—

Amelie turned to look at him, her heart catching in her throat at the vulnerability in his voice. There wasn’t a trace of arrogance in him. Just awe.

She reached for his face, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing over the stubble growing along his jaw.

—You deserve every inch of this. Every banner. Every cheer. Every little kid screaming your name with their face painted orange. You made this, Lan.—

He swallowed, leaning into her touch.

—What if I fuck it up? What if I disappoint everyone tomorrow?— he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

—Then they’ll still love you. And I’ll still love you. And your team will still believe in you. Because this—she gestured around them—this doesn’t disappear with one bad race. You’re not here by accident.—

He closed his eyes, breathing her in.

—You always know what to say, Ames.—

—Well, I am the emotionally available one in this relationship,— she teased, trying to lighten the weight.

He laughed, shaking his head, but the sound held more warmth now. He pressed a soft kiss to her palm before pulling her closer, letting her curl into his side.

—God, I wish I could bottle this moment,— he murmured, his fingers stroking lazy circles on her hip. —You. Me. The sunset. Sandwiches that taste like they’ve been run over.—

—Romantic bastard,— Amelie chuckled, closing her eyes and resting against him.

They sat there as the light dipped further, golden turning into deep amber. The world felt like it had slowed down for them, just for a little while.

And when the stadium lights flickered on and the first stars started blinking into the darkening sky, Lando kissed the side of her head and whispered,

—Thank you for being here. For always being mine.—

Amelie smiled, eyes fluttering shut.

—Always, Lan. Win or lose, I’m yours.—

And for the first time all day, Lando felt completely calm.

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

liked by chaoticwags, papayapanic, and others

ln4updates: Lando leaving the Silverstone circuit today with Amelie in the passenger seat of his McLaren 🧡

View all 85,184 comments

lanmelieluvr: you can barely see her 💀 just a blonde blur and a handbag → mclarified: @lanmelieluvr she’s riding shotgun like a sparkly gremlin i love her

chaoticwags: lando’s got his arm stretched like “that’s my girl” and she’s not even tall enough to reach the air vent 😭 → norrisimp: @chaoticwags king of dating the pocket-sized princess

boxboxbabe: they look like ken driving off with a bratz doll in his barbie pink car → ameliezone: @boxboxbabe i SCREAMED

quartzkiss: lando protecting his 5ft queen like she’s made of glass 😭

lanlanmoss: tell me why she looks like a toddler in her dad’s race car i can’t → ame1ierising: @lanlanmoss LMAO STOP she’s literally seatbelt height

pitwallpanic: lando really said “get in loser we’re going home” → trackgirlie: @pitwallpanic regina george core confirmed

landobaby44: her little legs probably swinging in the seat 😭😭😭 → stargirlandfastcars: @landobaby44 GIVE HER A BOOSTER SEAT 😭

papayapanic: this is what peak romance looks like. tiny gf. race car bf. end of story.

ameliecore: the way his arm is behind her seat like he’s in a 2005 romcom pls → paddockgf: @ameliecore boy is LIVING his noughties dream he watched one richie + jenna movie and ran with it

softboinorris: his whole posture says “i know she’s prettier than me and i’m okay with that” → meltytires: @softboinorris man’s humbly eating it UP

gridgossip: idc what y’all say, this is THE paddock power couple → wagsunhinged: @gridgossip they’re not even trying and still outshining the whole grid

brakebiasbaby: imagine getting into a man’s mclaren and HE’S the one blushing

f1slaytistics: lando leaving in a papaya rocket w his popstar gf is not the life i planned for him but it’s the one he deserves → lanf1over: @f1slaytistics poetic actually

daydreamlanmelie: people saying she changed him like babes he was always soft he just needed someone that deserved it → spicypitlane: @daydreamlanmelie say it LOUDER

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

The hotel room buzzed with quiet energy—half from the low speaker playing a playlist of soft indie tracks, half from the adrenaline humming under Amelie’s skin as she swiped on her last layer of lip gloss. The golden hour light poured through the open curtains, casting warm stripes across the floor and over her legs as she stood barefoot at the vanity mirror, one heel dangling from her hand.

She was almost ready.

Her blonde hair was loose behind her back, strands curled delicately at the ends. She wore high-waisted jeans that hugged her hips and flared slightly at the bottom, paired with a simple white square-neck top and matching white heels. No jewelry yet—she was still debating whether to go full glam or stick to something softer.

She adjusted the strap of her top and caught her reflection in the mirror again.

Not bad. She looked calm. Effortless. But still like herself.

He appeared in the mirror behind her—half-lurking, half-leaning against the doorframe with a lopsided grin on his face and the kind of mischievous glint in his eyes that immediately made her suspicious.

He looked like someone had highlighted him with a fluorescent marker.

Fluo yellow Stand cap. Matching fluo yellow Stand t-shirt. Black jeans. Chunky white sneakers. And that damn grin.

—You look like a lemon got sponsored,— Amelie said, raising an eyebrow as she slipped on her heel.

—A sexy lemon,— he shot back instantly, pushing off the door and walking toward her.

She watched him in the mirror as he came closer, eyes tracing the way her jeans fit, the clean lines of her white top, the effortless confidence in how she stood barefoot with one heel on and one heel dangling in her hand like she was about to strut down a runway instead of walk into a racetrack.

—Okay, but you... you look like a Calvin Klein ad that wandered into Silverstone by accident,— he murmured, stepping behind her.

She smiled, caught his gaze in the mirror. —That a compliment?—

—That’s the best compliment I’ve got this early in the day. But actually... hang on.—

He turned and jogged back toward the closet, muttering something under his breath.

Amelie blinked. —Lando…? What are you doing?—

He didn’t answer at first. There was a loud whoosh of hangers and then a triumphant aha! that made her laugh. He returned a second later with something draped over one arm—one of the limited edition Quadrant leather jackets. Black, with custom red and white detailing, her initials stitched inside the collar because of course he’d done that.

Before she could ask, he stepped behind her again.

And with no warning, gently draped it over her shoulders.

She jumped a little, laughing as she reached to hold it in place. —Jesus, warn a girl next time.—

He just grinned, slipping his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as their eyes met in the mirror.

The jacket swallowed her in the best way—edgy and oversized and clearly made for someone taller than her. But it worked. Effortlessly.

—There,— he said softly. —Now you look like my Calvin Klein ad.—

Amelie smiled, leaning her back into him, her fingers brushing over the collar. —This is so not part of the outfit.—

—It is now,— he said, pressing a kiss just below her ear.

Their eyes locked again in the mirror, his fluo yellow clashing beautifully with her clean whites and denim blues, the jacket tying it all together.

And for a moment, they just stood there. Still.

Him behind her, arms around her waist. Her hands on top of his.

Two people on the edge of something big—race day, adrenaline, thousands of screaming fans just down the road. But right here, right now, it was just them.

—You always make me look cooler than I am,— shewhispered.

Lando smirked. —You are cool. I just provide the lighting and leather.—

She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

Then she turned back toward the mirror, took a final breath, and slipped on her second heel.

—Alright, Norris. Let’s go to war.—

He grinned, tightening his arms around her briefly before letting go and tossing her one last glance as she walked toward the door.

—With you on my arm, sunshine? I’ve already won.—

And with that, they left the hotel room—her in borrowed leather and his love, him in neon merch and confidence, both walking straight into the heart of Silverstone.

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

liked by mclaren, ameliedayman, and others

lando: silverstone lets get movin

View all 86,043 comments

maxfewtrell: i’m blind but i support you → landonorris: @maxfewtrell sunglasses exist mate

carlossainz55: looking like a highlighter with attitude → landonorris: @carlossainz55 jealous bc i pull it off

lanmeliecore: if i were the car i’d perform better just from seeing him like that tbh → wheelywife: @lanmeliecore fr the DRS would open out of sheer thirst

f1thotline: he’s the hi girls of the grid this weekend and i love that for him → chicanechic: @f1thotline he said my personality is neon and my gf is hotter than the sun

girlsontrack: he looks like he’s about to drop the hottest mixtape of the summer → turntwogirlie: @girlsontrack featuring: “my gf’s hotter than yours” and “P1 or heartbroken”

redflaglover: he’ll look great in that jacket while DNF’ing 😘 → lanmeliesupremacy: @redflaglover and yet he’s still richer, hotter, and taken 💋

ameliedayman: okay outfit repeat i see you 👀 → lando: @ameliedayman babe it's called branding → ameliedayman: @lando it’s called i packed your bag and you didn’t notice

georgerussell63: you actually look cool for once. don’t get used to it. → lando: @georgerussell63 thanks dad → georgerussell63: @lando don’t make it weird

elysiadayman: mum says you look like a lemon popsicle → lando: @elysiadayman and yet your mum loves me 🤷 → elysdayman: @lando she loves everyone with working wifi and a driver’s license

mclarenteam: home race mode: ACTIVATED 💛 → lanmelie_4ever: @mclarenteam home race AND home girl in the paddock?? yeah he’s winning

paddockpapi: is this the yellow power ranger or is that just me

lanmama: he’s glowing… like literally that color is radioactive → amelieupdates: @lanmama she probably threatened to style him and he said “nah i got this”

lanmeliecore: he dresses like a traffic cone and still eats us up idk what to tell y’all → qualiqueen: @lanmeliecore no crumbs were left. fluorescent king.

gridgossipgirl: every silverstone is like his birthday party and we all just show up → f1goblinmode: @gridgossipgirl and now he brought the hot gf to the party too. legend behavior

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

The sun was already climbing higher, golden light diffused through the morning haze, casting a soft glow over Silverstone as Amelie and Lando made their way past the paddock. The familiar hum of activity surrounded them—crew members hustling, tires being wheeled past, media darting around like bees in a hive—but they moved through it quietly, in their own little bubble.

Amelie’s hand was tucked into Lando’s, his thumb brushing slow, grounding circles over her knuckles. The leather jacket he’d thrown over her shoulders earlier was still there, a little too warm now in the morning heat, but she didn’t care. It smelled like him. Felt like him.

And maybe that’s why her heart hadn’t stopped fluttering since they left the hotel.

House LN4 came into view, nestled behind a line of white fencing and discreet security. Unlike the flashier motorhomes and hospitality suites nearby, this one was understated—modern, soft-edged, and painted in neutral tones. A private oasis in the middle of madness. Designed specifically for days like today.

They nodded politely to the guards and slipped through the entrance, Lando waving at a few familiar faces. The air inside was cool, scented with coffee and clean linen. But they didn’t stop on the first floor. He just gave her hand a gentle tug and said,

—C’mon. Wanna show you something.—

He led her up the narrow spiral staircase to the second floor—the rooftop deck. It was small but beautiful, all wooden planks and minimalist glass railings. A few orange-cushioned benches lined the space, and in the middle, a sleek cooler with drinks and snacks sat untouched.

But none of it mattered.

Because the second they stepped forward, the view hit her like a wave.

Landostand.

It stretched across the horizon like a sea of sunshine. Every row, every section, every single seat—bursting in fluo yellow. Flags waving. Fans dancing. Giant foam fingers and hand-painted signs bobbing through the crowd. A massive banner that read “WE LOVE YOU, NORRIS” hung across the front railing, glittering in the light. Faces painted orange. Arms in the air.

It was overwhelming.

It was breathtaking.

It was his.

Amelie stood there frozen, her fingers tightening around his. Lando said nothing at first, just watched it all with a quiet smile. His other hand moved to her back, steady, warm, right between her shoulder blades.

And then she broke.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just—her chest lifted with a deep breath she didn’t even know she was holding, and when she exhaled, it cracked. Her shoulders shook the tiniest bit, and before she could even process the tears filling her eyes, they were falling.

—Ames,— Lando said softly, immediately pulling her closer.

She turned into him without a word, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, swaying them just the slightest bit like he was trying to shield her from the rest of the world.

She let herself cry.

Not from sadness. Not from nerves. From everything. From the sheer magnitude of what it meant. Of who he’d become.

—It’s just…— she choked out. —I’m so proud of you, Lando.—

He squeezed her tighter, lips brushing the top of her head.

—I know, sunshine. I know.—

—I’ve watched you fight for this. I’ve seen you when no one else did. And now…— she turned slightly, voice shaking as she looked out at the crowd again. —Look at them. Look what you built.—

He pressed his cheek to her temple, eyes glassy but steady.

—You built this, Lan. All of it.—

Lando exhaled a slow, shaky breath against her hair, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

The noise from the grandstand was muffled from this distance—just a low hum of excitement—but the sight was deafening. The sea of fluo yellow, the chants starting in soft waves, the absolute devotion stretched across every corner of the stand.

Amelie’s tears dripped onto his shirt, but he didn’t move away. He just held her tighter, one hand stroking up and down her back in slow, comforting motions.

Then he chuckled.

Soft. Disbelieving.

—You’re crying over my grandstand?— he asked, pulling back slightly to look at her with a crooked smile. —You don’t even cry when you sell out entire arenas for your tour.—

Amelie hiccupped out a watery laugh, wiping at her cheek with the sleeve of the leather jacket.

—That’s different,— she sniffed. —That’s work. This is… you.—

Lando tilted his head, smirking. —Selling out The O2 is work, but this makes you weep like someone played the Up soundtrack?—

She gave him a gentle shove, biting back a grin. —Shut up, you lemon-colored bastard.—

He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. Then his expression softened again.

—Sorry. Just… I don’t know. I never thought you’d get emotional over this.—

Amelie looked at him like he was an idiot. A very cute, fluo-yellow-wearing idiot.

—Of course I would. This isn’t just a grandstand, Lan. It’s every late night you stayed up running sim laps until your eyes went bloodshot. Every interview you smiled through when you felt like crap. Every time you got up after someone told you you weren’t good enough. This—she gestured again, to the brilliant sea of yellow... is them seeing you. Really seeing you.—

Lando blinked, clearly trying not to get emotional himself. His throat worked as he swallowed, jaw clenching for a second.

—You’re gonna make me cry before I even get in the damn car.—

—Good,— she said, wiping another tear with the back of her hand. —Now we’ll match.—

He let out a breathy laugh and wrapped her up again, arms snug around her waist as they both looked out at the crowd.

—You know what the craziest part is?— he murmured after a long pause.

—What?—

—There were days I didn’t think I’d make it this far. Not even talking about winning or podiums. I mean this. Them. The belief. I didn’t think anyone would really… care.—

Amelie turned her head to look at him, her nose brushing his jaw.

—Well, guess what, Norris. You’re wrong. They care so much it physically hurts me.—

He grinned again, eyes flicking back to the Landostand.

—Yeah. I guess I see that now.—

She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, smiling so softly it almost hurt.

—Promise me you’ll let this in today. Not just race. Let it mean something. Let it feel like what it is. You’ve earned that.—

Lando kissed her then, quick but grounding, his thumb brushing the underside of her jaw.

—With you up here crying over it, I think I kinda have to.—

She rolled her eyes, but her lips tugged upward.

—You're lucky you're hot.—

—You’re lucky I like dramatic girls in leather jackets,— he teased.

She laughed, pressing her face into his chest once more as the wind picked up slightly, carrying a burst of crowd noise toward them. Someone had started a chant—“Lando! Lando! Lando!”—and it echoed all the way up to where they stood.

And for a moment, it felt like the entire world was glowing.

Just her. Just him.

And everything he’d ever dreamed of.

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

liked by mclover44, lanlore, and others

lanmeliedaily: Amelie at Silverstone today looking like a whole dream in the paddock 🫣 Word on the street is she’s watching quali from the House LN4 with Max

View all 38,914 comments

lanmeliedefense: max & amelie watching from the house ln4 like divorced parents cheering their shared golden retriever child 😭 → pitlaneprophet: @lanmeliedefense and that golden retriever is SPEEDING today omg

paddockproblemz: idc what anyone says when she's there lando goes full main character mode → chaoticwags: @paddockproblemz she breathes and he’s 3 tenths faster it’s science → norrisimp: @chaoticwags podium kisses loading and i support the mission 💋

tifosidreaming: max is 100% giving running commentary in her ear and she’s pretending to understand 😭 → lanbabyblue: @tifosidreaming she’s just nodding like “yeah yeah drs zones”

mclover44: house of ln4 is gonna be LOUD today omfg → lanmelieupdates: @mclover44 if they post a selfie from that balcony i will scream

maxvhotline: “ln4 w max fewtrell and amelie dayman” is the energy we need every damn weekend → gridgossipgoblin: @maxvhotline chaos. power. a lil violence. love that for us.

drlan44: if lando gets pole we all know why and it’s NOT his tire management

lanmeliecore: they’re putting max there to babysit but the man’s gonna be crying when those two start making out during quali → maxwatchers: @lanmeliecore no but he signed up for best man not third wheel 😭😭 → mcloveclub: @maxwatchers he’s their #1 hater and #1 fan at the same time

gridgfz: she’s in full wag power mode and it’s terrifyingly hot → f1wifeera: @gridgfz the paddock ain’t ready for that combo

littlemisslanmelie: i fear lando’s race plan is literally just “make her proud” → softestpodium: @littlemisslanmelie he’s not beating the simp allegations and i’m glad

f1gossipxo: now what if they mic Max up during this 😭 i need the commentary → hotlapchaos: @f1gossipxo i’d pay real money to hear him sigh every time they flirt 💀

tireprincess: house LN4 is about to be house of please get a room → lanlore: @tireprincess max bout to file for emotional damages 😭 → paddockclown: @lanlore the man is gonna be traumatized and he deserves it

blondeversion: lando sees her sitting trackside and suddenly he’s 0.6s faster like ok lover boy → gridwitch: @blondeversion speed boost powered by heart eyes 💅 → qualiking: @gridwitch we don’t call it LANMELIE MAGIC for nothing

pitwallproblems: max better bring noise-canceling headphones bc she’s gonna be cheering LOUD → cargirlenergy: @pitwallproblems the way she’ll be screaming "COME ON, BABY" and max will be like 🙂 → lap69legend: @cargirlenergy man’s gonna be on the groupchat like “pls someone sub me out”

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

The hum of House LN4 had shifted by the time qualifying wrapped. The energy inside buzzed not with tension, but with something lighter—excitement, satisfaction, relief. Lando had put the car on P3. Solid. Strong. Deserved.

Amelie stood near the kitchenette, tucking her lip gloss back into her tiny purse while Max Fewtrell dramatically recounted the last sector to Pietra, arms flailing as he paced back and forth in front of the monitor.

—He nailed Stowe, I’m telling you, nailed it. I thought he was gonna lose time after Vale, but then... BAM, Lando said not today, bitches and just... like, sent it.—

Pietra raised a brow, unimpressed. —You say that like you were driving the car.—

—Emotionally, I was,— Max said, placing a hand over his chest.

Amelie chuckled, slipping on her sunglasses and reaching for her phone and badge. —Alright, I’m heading to the paddock. Gonna go see our lemon boy.—

She had just slung her purse over her shoulder when Jamie, Quadrant's CEO, appeared from the hallway, half out of breath but grinning.

—Amelie,— he called, jogging up to her. —Quick question. We’re heading over to the Landostand to sign some merch and take pics with fans on behalf of Quadrant. Thought it might be cool if you joined?—

Amelie blinked.

—What? Oh. Um. I was actually just... Lando’s waiting for me, he just finished—

Jamie gave her a knowing look, and Max, of course, couldn’t resist chiming in from the couch.

—Mate, Lando’s doing like thirty minutes of media duties right now. You’ve got time.—

Traitor.

Jamie clapped his hands once, cheerful. —You’d make a lot of people happy. A few fans brought your vinyl for you to sign too. And I mean, it is the Landostand. You’re basically the unofficial First Lady.—

That made Pietra snort. —FLOTUS of Fluo Yellow.—

Amelie hesitated. Her fingers tightened around her phone.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. She loved Lando’s fans—from a distance. But interacting with them directly? In his space? That was different. That was... pressure.

They weren’t here for her. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she looked too aloof? What if someone in the crowd didn’t like her and made a scene? She already had too many scars from the internet—real life always felt riskier.

She opened her mouth to make another excuse—something about needing to fix her makeup, maybe—but Jamie was still smiling at her with that calm, unshakable CEO energy.

—If you’re nervous, bring one of your guys. Just five, ten minutes tops. No pressure. But I think they’d love it.—

Max stood, tossing her an orange marker.

—C’mon, Ames. Can’t be more intense than screaming kids in VIP at your shows.—

He had a point. She had survived toddlers with glowsticks in Brazil.

She sighed, catching the marker in one hand, and reached for her comms device.

—Ben? Can you come walk with me? I’m going up to the Landostand for a bit.—

Ben, one of her newer bodyguards, tall, stone-faced, and probably ex-military, responded with a calm affirmative, and within seconds was at her side.

Amelie gave everyone a tight smile.

—Okay. Let’s do it.—

The walk to the Landostand wasn’t long, but Amelie felt every step in her chest.

The noise grew louder with each corner they rounded—the steady hum of hundreds of voices layered over music and megaphone announcements, the scent of popcorn and sunscreen, and that now-familiar sea of fluo yellow visible even through the gaps in the fencing. Fans waved signs. Someone had a cutout of Lando’s face taped to a stick. Someone else wore a Quadrant bucket hat four sizes too big.

Her hand curled instinctively around Ben’s arm as they reached the bottom of the staircase leading to the back platform. Jamie was already ahead, chatting with one of the stewards, while Max and Pietra bounded up the steps like they’d done this a hundred times before.

Amelie hesitated.

Just for a second.

And then she climbed.

The moment they reached the platform, the cheering started.

Loud. Unfiltered. Not just polite applause—real noise. Whistles. Chants. A wave of people realizing who had just stepped up to the barricade.

—OH MY GOD IT’S AMELIE!— someone near the front screamed.

—SHE’S WEARING HIS JACKET!— another one yelled.

A chorus of “AWWWWWW”s followed. Someone even started chanting “Lando’s girlfriend! Lando’s girlfriend!”

Her heart stopped.

Ben was still close behind her, and Jamie gave her a small nudge forward with a grin. She took a slow breath and walked the last few steps to the front.

The fluo yellow was blinding up close. Flags waved wildly. Cameras were already up. A few teens near the rail had a glittered sign that read “Lando x Amelie = endgame” with a cartoon of them in matching jackets.

She blinked, stunned. Then—slowly, carefully—smiled.

And it exploded.

—WE LOVE YOU AMELIE!— —YOU LOOK SO GOOD IN HIS JACKET!— —SING AT THE PODIUM IF HE WINS!— —WHEN’S THE NEXT ALBUM???— —YOU AND LANDO ARE SO CUTE I’M GONNA VOMIT!—

Jamie leaned down beside her, handing her a black sharpie and nodding toward a group holding out records and caps for signatures.

—Go on. You’re a hit.—

Her hand still trembled slightly as she took the marker, but when she leaned down and took the first vinyl, her own album, worn and cracked at the edges, something in her chest softened.

The girl holding it couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Her voice shook as she said, —Your music helped me so much last year. And you and Lando… just make me really happy.—

Amelie smiled. Not the polite kind. The real kind. Warm and a little cracked open.

—Thank you, cariño. That means the world to me.—

She signed the vinyl with a tiny heart beside her name, and suddenly, a dozen more hands reached out.

Caps. Photos. Shirts. A drawing of her in a McLaren fire suit that looked like it had taken days to finish.

Someone handed her a phone to record a video for their friend’s birthday. Another girl asked if she could hug her. People shouted that they missed her on stage and that they loved her and Lando together and you guys are endgame, no one can tell me otherwise!!

And slowly, without even realizing it, Amelie relaxed.

Ben stayed close, always one step behind her, but she wasn’t looking over her shoulder anymore. She was laughing. Teasing Max across the barricade. Holding Pietra’s drink while she signed a bucket hat. Letting a ten-year-old hand her a friendship bracelet they made out of orange and white beads.

She didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Like she wasn’t just tolerated—but welcomed. Wanted.

Loved.

After about fifteen minutes, Jamie tapped her gently on the shoulder. —We’ll head back now. Don’t want to wear you out before tonight.—

Amelie nodded, handing off her sharpie to a fan in the front row who looked like she might pass out from excitement. She waved one last time at the crowd, heart pounding but in a good way this time.

As they climbed back down, she turned toward Jamie.

—Thanks for asking me to come. Seriously.—

Jamie raised a brow. —You kidding? You just made a bunch of people’s entire weekend. And Ames…— He tilted his head. —They really love you.—

Amelie’s cheeks flushed warm. She didn’t know what to say.

When she finally reached the bottom of the stairs and the noise faded slightly behind her, she pulled out her phone.

A new message from Lando waited at the top.

Lando🧡: Heard you’re already stealing my fans 😒Lando🧡: Also Max says someone gave you a bracelet?? I want one.Lando🧡: Also also—I love you. Just saying.

She smiled so wide her face hurt.

And before she could reply, another text popped up.

Lando🧡: Can’t believe you weren’t nervous about singing in front of 50k people but one grandstand nearly broke you. Ames💛: Shut up. I cried out of love.Ames💛: And also your fans have friendship bracelets. Your move, Norris. Lando🧡: I’ll make you one tonight.

She locked her phone, heart thudding happily against her ribs.

And as she walked back toward the paddock—leather jacket over her shoulders, sun warm on her skin—she thought:

Maybe the Landostand was hers a little bit too.

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

liked by mclover44, lanlore, and others

f1gossipgrid: Amelie Dayman was spotted at the LandoStand after quali today, taking photos, signing merch, and laughing with fans like she wasn’t the literal main character in the paddock 😭 The way she stopped to hug nearly every kid in a Norris cap?? Iconic. Girlfriend of the people 🧡

View all 68,048 comments

gridgirlies: she waved at one kid in the stands and now the entire grandstand is in love → boxboxbabe: @gridgirlies she’s not a wag she’s a phenomenon

maxsflatcap: max: i’m gonna sit anywhere else next time → eliluvsdrama: @maxsflatcap he’s 1 awkward silence away from jumping the fence 💀 → mclolaren: @eliluvsdrama he signed up for this by being friends with both tbh

lanfanzzz: if we don’t get a kiss post-quali i’m rioting → turn1drama: @lanfanzzz i need the mic to catch her yelling “GO BABY” too → lanmeliecentral: @turn1drama she probably already said it three times 😭

cargirlenergy: lando seeing her in the crowd like 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️ → speedtokerb: @cargirlenergy 2 braincells just fighting for survival 😭 → trackbae: @speedtokerb not one thought just “that’s my girlfriend 😩”

swiftiepaddock: she smiled at him ONCE and he’s been driving like a man possessed ever since → drsopenpls: @swiftiepaddock love is his real engine upgrade → tracktokqueen: @drsopenpls not the FIA banning girlfriends for performance enhancement 😭

wagsbible: she walked into the paddock like SHE’S the main event and honestly?? correct. → chaoticwags: @wagsbible she’s the trophy. they’re racing for her

dyingforsoftlaunch: no lando in sight?? she’s in her independent wag era 😌 → drsdrama: @dyingforsoftlaunch soft-launching a whole new personality without him and i love it

pinksparkplugs: everyone’s taking pics with her like she’s a celeb and not just THE celeb → wheelseyesfullheart: @pinksparkplugs like imagine breathing near her. i’d pass out

notmclarensgf: the way she posed with max fewtrell and fans instantly became unwell 😭 → fewtrellfreak: @notmclarensgf yeah because the chemistry? the fear? the LANMELIE NATION IN SHAMBLES → amelieluvbot: @fewtrellfreak she’s so unserious and i love her

qualiandchaos: she’s giving wag, popstar, and prime minister all in one fit → softlandoszn: @qualiandchaos vote dayman 2025 tbh

flameprooffit: HOW is she giving fashion girlie AND race wife at the same time → teambodylanguage: @flameprooffit the wag of the year awards are now closed

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

Amelie was rounding the corner to Lando’s drivers’ room, still buzzing from the Landostand experience, when her foot caught on the edge of a loose cable. She stumbled forward and—CRASH—bumped right into the door, sending it swinging open faster than she expected.

Before she could even catch her balance, strong arms wrapped around her waist and scooped her up off the ground.

—Whoa! Hey, easy there!— Amelie laughed, the surprise melting into pure amusement as Lando’s familiar warmth held her close.

He spun her around once, grinning like a kid who just got caught sneaking into the cookie jar.

—You absolute menace, you scared me half to death!— he said dramatically, voice thick with mock offense. —I’ve missed you so much, you know? It’s been like, what? An hour?—

She giggled, heart fluttering at how theatrically over-the-top he was, even in his casual clothes—a loose gray T-shirt and black joggers, hair tousled perfectly like he’d just rolled out of bed.

He lowered her gently to the floor but didn’t let go, his hands still resting lightly on her hips.

—Seriously though, come here.— He pulled her into a soft kiss, warm and familiar.

Amelie melted into it, letting her hands rest on his chest. The way he kissed her was like coming home.

Just as Lando started to settle down on the sofa, his arms still around her, the sharp knock on the door broke the moment.

—Amelie? You're needed backstage,— came a voice from the hallway, slightly muffled but unmistakably urgent. —We have to start prepping for the show. Now.—

Amelie groaned, forehead dropping onto Lando’s shoulder as he let out the loudest, most put-upon sigh imaginable.

—Nooooo,— he whined, clutching her like a dramatic Victorian widow. —You just got here. I haven’t even emotionally recovered from the last time you left me.—

She laughed against his neck, fingers curling into his shirt as she tried to push him off gently.

—Lando, please,— she giggled. —I have to go. I’m literally performing in, like, two hours.—

—Exactly! That’s so soon,— he whined again, refusing to budge. —You’re choosing tens of thousands of screaming people over me. Over this.— He gestured vaguely between them, eyes wide and ridiculous. —I hope you can live with that guilt.—

Amelie pulled back just enough to meet his face. —You’re so dramatic it physically hurts me.—

He beamed. —Thank you.—

She shook her head, brushing his hair back from his forehead as she stepped fully out of his hold. —Okay. I’ll go sing my heart out and you’ll come watch me later and scream louder than everyone else in the crowd like you always do. Deal?—

Lando pouted. Pouted.

—Fine. But only because you promised me post-show kisses.—

—Those are non-negotiable,— she said, leaning in to peck him quickly again. —And maybe… if you behave, I’ll even wear the bracelet you said you were gonna make me.—

That lit him up like a damn firework.

Another knock sounded, this time more urgent.

—Miss Amelie, we have to go.—

She sighed, straightening her jacket. —Alright, alright.—

But before she could turn toward the door, Lando grabbed her wrist and pulled her back in, one last time.

His voice dropped, softer now, just for her.

—Kill it out there tonight, sunshine. You’re gonna be unreal.—

She smiled, her heart tightening as he cupped her jaw and leaned in to kiss her once more, this time slower. Steadier. A kiss that held pride. Luck. Love.

She whispered against his lips, —You always make me feel brave.—

He grinned as she pulled away.

—That’s because you are, Ames. Now go melt Silverstone.—

She gave him one last wink before disappearing through the door, the hallway swallowing her up in a flurry of stage crew and lighting techs.

And Lando stood there, staring after her with a stupid, smitten smile.

—God, I love that woman,— he muttered to no one, collapsing onto the sofa like he’d just survived a war.

The midday sun hung lazily over the Silverstone paddock, casting long shadows across the pavement as Amelie weaved through the maze of hospitality units and branded awnings. Her pass bounced lightly against her chest with every step, her nerves settling into something steady now that she was heading toward the stage area. Her performance was only hours away, and her head was already swirling with cues, lighting notes, and last-minute vocal warmups.

She didn’t see the hand reaching for her.

Not until it was already wrapped firmly around her wrist.

—What the hell...?— she blurted, instinctively pulling back.

But the grip wasn’t threatening. Just firm. Intentional.

Her eyes snapped up, heart kicking, ready to tell someone off.

And then she saw him.

Max.

Her entire body stiffened.

It had been months. Since the last time they really talked. Since that messy dinner in Monaco. Since December, when Red Bull let Checo go, and everything—everything—shifted between them.

They weren’t enemies.

But they hadn’t exactly been friends, either.

Amelie blinked, still processing the fact that he was the one dragging her toward a quieter corridor between two motorhomes.

—Max, what the fuck?— she said, yanking her arm free, her voice low and sharp.

He raised his hands immediately. —Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.—

She narrowed her eyes. —Then maybe don’t grab people like a discount James Bond next time? Jesus.—

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

—Yeah. Okay. Fair. I just... I saw you walking past and I figured this would be the only chance I’d get before you disappear behind a stage with fire cannons or whatever it is you do.—

Amelie crossed her arms. —If this is about Lando or Checo or... whatever beef we left simmering, Max, I really don’t have the energy to—

—They’re firing Horner.—

She blinked.

Hard.

Max stared at her, like he was waiting for something.

And then it hit.

—What?—

—It’s happening next week. But it’s done. He’s out.—

Amelie’s mouth dropped open. She actually took a step back.

—You’re serious?—

He nodded once. —Completely.—

A strange mix of shock and relief bloomed in her chest. She actually had to steady herself against the wall.

—Holy shit. I thought he’d survive everything, like some evil cockroach.—

Max snorted. —I think they finally realized the cockroach was bad PR. Took them long enough.—

Amelie exhaled hard, a laugh slipping out. —Wow. That... okay, wow.—

There was a pause.

She didn’t know what to say next. And clearly, neither did he.

Until Max shifted his weight, a little awkwardly.

—So... when he’s gone... maybe you can come back. To Red Bull. Like you used to.—

She glanced at him, eyebrows raised. —What, you miss me loitering around the garage stealing energy drinks and mocking your media voice?—

He cracked a smile. —Honestly? Yeah. A little.—

Her arms dropped to her sides, the tension bleeding out just a bit. It was so Max—blunt, messy, a little bit dramatic under the deadpan.

But he meant it.

She could see it in the way his eyes softened. No smugness. No agenda.

Just her idiot Dutch friend trying to fix something.

—You could’ve just texted, you know,— she said, finally. —Instead of snatching me like a criminal.—

—Yeah, well. You stopped replying to my texts after Vegas. So.—

Amelie winced. —I didn’t know what to say. Everything with Checo... and Lando... it felt weird.—

Max shrugged. —It was weird. But I’m over it. I think we both just wanted to survive the season.—

She gave him a pointed look. —You survived it by winning the championship again. I survived it by crying in my bathtub listening to Phoebe Bridgers.—

—Sounds like equal success to me,— he said with a shrug, lips twitching.

And for the first time in months, she laughed.

Actually laughed.

They stood there in the quiet gap between team buildings, the hum of paddock life muffled just enough, like they were in their own little pocket of peace.

—How’s Lily?— Amelie asked softly.

Max’s entire expression changed. His chest actually lifted, like his heart was swelling too fast for his ribs to contain it.

—Perfect. She doesn’t sleep. She cries if I wear a hat. She thinks my sim rig is a jungle gym. But she’s... perfect.—

Amelie smiled, warm and full.

—You look happy. Tired. But happy.—

—Yeah. I am. I just... missed you, a bit.—

She took a small step forward, her hand brushing his arm.

—Missed you too, Verstappen.—

He smirked. —So does this mean I can come watch your set tonight? Or am I still banned because I made fun of your ballad lyrics last year?—

She rolled her eyes. —You rhymed “ferrari” with “sorry” in my face like it was Shakespeare. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.—

—That’s a yes, then?—

She sighed dramatically. —Fine. But if you yell something embarrassing during a slow song, I will get security to tase you.—

Max grinned, all teeth.

—Deal.—

And just like that, the ice broke.

The weirdness, the distance, the unsaid—melted under the sun and humor and the honesty between them.

They weren’t perfect.

But they were friends again.

And that was more than enough.

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

liked by localpadfem, mcwagscentral, and others

daymanupdates: Amelie’s stage is officially being set up for Night 1 at Silverstone tonight and it already looks insane 🔥🎤

View all 39,914 comments

lanmeliecentral: she’s about to SERVE vocals AND a look tonight and he’s gonna lose his mind watching backstage 😭 → stans4lanmelie: @lanmeliecentral girl he’s not even there yet, he’s still doing media 🫠 → lanmeliecentral: @stans4lanmelie oh he’s running to that barricade the second he’s done, trust 💅🏼

daymanfiles: this stage is gonna make the ground SHAKE i fear → gridgf: @daymanfiles lando’s ghost about to haunt it if he misses her opening song 😭 → daymanfiles: @gridgf he’ll heli-drop in if he has to lbr

chaoticwags: the f1 cars will sound QUIET compared to what she’s about to do to that stage → norrisimp: @chaoticwags she’s dropping notes and knees at the same time

f1butmakeitsoft: she’s singing, serving, and probably wearing his hoodie to warm up backstage 😭 → paddockbrat: @f1butmakeitsoft he’ll come off track and find her glowing like a stage light 🥹

ameliesbff: all i’m saying is if we don’t get a surprise “manchild” moment with fireworks i will RIOT

lanmama: the dayman x silverstone crossover event we didn’t know we needed → localpadfem: @lanmama now all we need is lando filming her from side stage again like a simp 🫶🏼

paddockslut44: she’s not performing she’s possessing the crowd and you can’t convince me otherwise → maxrespectfully: @paddockslut44 i fear even lando’s jaw will be on the floor

wagsupreme: lando’s whole grandstand turning into a concert pit in 3…2…1 → curlyf1: @wagsupreme as it SHOULD

ameliesplaylist: silverstone weekend belongs to ONE performer and her name is Amelie Dayman → stellaapproved: @ameliesplaylist the cars are the opening act be serious

rhodeglazed: seeing the stage go up and knowing he’ll be front row with hearts in his eyes 🫠 → bbgpinks: @rhodeglazed he’s gonna clap like it’s his first concert ever

mclarensburnbook: if you’re not watching the race AND the concert this weekend you’re doing it wrong → spicepaddock: @mclarensburnbook silverstone is now a music festival and a race. facts only.

manchildtourupdates: silverstone night 1 is about to be biblical and lando’s gonna be screaming every lyric front row like a fanboy → pitlanepoet: @manchildtourupdates he’s not surviving “why so sexy if so dumb” live

lanielocks: i just KNOW she’s closing with manchild and lando will be the loudest one yelling “AMEN” → daymangroupie: @lanielocks he’s rehearsing it in the mirror as we speak

mcwagscentral: the only man allowed in the pit tonight is Lando Norris

f1sims: not to be dramatic but if lando cries during her set i will also cry. and throw up. and pass out. → tiregirlies: @f1sims silverstone will flood from the collective tears

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

The backstage room buzzed with warm energy and soft chatter, the scent of catered pasta and fresh fruit hanging in the air as Amelie’s closest circle mingled and laughed under the warm-toned lighting.

Silverstone had transformed.

One of the VIP hospitality rooms near the main paddock had been completely repurposed into a private lounge for friends, family, and team guests before the show. Plush white couches surrounded low tables stacked with food, drinks, and champagne buckets. Screens mounted on the wall displayed a countdown to Amelie’s set, and a small playlist of her acoustic tracks played softly in the background—instrumental versions only, of course.

Her family was there. Her parents, beaming with pride. Callum and Elysia, already bickering over who had known about the setlist first. Joe had claimed the cheese board. Chandler was somewhere near the espresso machine. Lando’s friends had taken over a corner couch—Max, Alex, George, Charles, even Carlos lounging back with a Peroni in hand.

And right in the center, surrounded by all of it, was Lando. Dressed casually but still unmistakably proud. His “AMELIE” pass hung from his neck, and his phone was already ready to record.

The clock was ticking down.

The music faded into silence just as the door to the side room opened.

And there she was.

Amelie stepped in quietly at first, wrapped in a soft pink silk robe that shimmered under the lights. Her blonde hair fell pin-straight to her waist, parted cleanly down the middle, sleek and polished. Her makeup was glowing—dewy cheeks, gold shimmer on her lids, and a deep cherry-red gloss that matched the spark of something firelit in her gaze.

Beneath the robe, the red glitter from her bodysuit peeked through slightly at her neckline, just enough to catch attention. The collar framed her jaw, and the gold “Amelie” across her chest twinkled faintly every time she moved.

The room quieted almost instantly.

—Hey,— she said, softly but sure of herself, smiling as everyone turned to look at her.

She stepped forward, letting the robe shift as she walked. Her long white boots made the faintest sound against the tile floor.

—Okay, so…— She paused, fingers twined together. —I know I don’t usually do this kind of speech-y thing, but I just wanted to say thank you. Seriously.—

Her gaze drifted around the room.

—To everyone who’s here tonight, whether you flew in from Monaco or just snuck away from media duties— she shot a playful glance at George, who gave her a wink— I see you. I love you. Thank you for being here.—

She looked at her parents then.

—To my family, who’ve been watching me perform in living rooms since I was five... thank you for never laughing. Even when I was doing fake world tours with a hairbrush mic.—

Soft laughter rippled around the room.

She looked at Lando next, and something in her voice softened.

—And to you. For always showing up. Even when I’m losing my mind. Even when it’s chaos. You never let go.—

Lando smiled—gentle, full, and proud—and mouthed, always.

—So yeah,— Amelie finished, clearing her throat a little. —Let’s go burn Silverstone down in glitter and guitars. Love you all.—

The room erupted in applause. Whistling. Clapping. Chandler even let out a full whoop that made Joe choke on a cracker.

She grinned, a little bashful, and waved a hand before turning toward the exit.

As she passed through the room, people reached out with soft encouragements.

—Go kill it, Ames,— Max said, squeezing her shoulder.

—We’re gonna be singing every word,— Charles promised.

—Make us cry, bitch,— Pietra said with fake tears, fanning her face dramatically.

Her mom and dad pulled her in for a hug right at the doors. Her mother cupped her face like she was still ten years old and kissed her forehead.

—No matter how big the crowd gets, you’re still our little girl.—

—You’ve got this, hija,— her dad whispered into her hair. —Go light it up.—

She smiled through a wave of emotion, hugged Callum and Elysia in one giant tangle of arms, and finally made her way to the hallway, where her dancers and band were already waiting.

They huddled up near the stairs leading to the stage. The buzz outside was deafening now—thousands of fans screaming, chanting, clapping in waves. The stadium lights turned the sky a soft orange haze. Her name glowed in giant letters across the stage backdrop.

Amelie joined the circle, placing her hand in the middle.

—Let’s breathe, yeah?— she said, voice low, steady, threaded with emotion.

The dancers and musicians quieted. A few bowed their heads. One of her guitarists reached over and gave her fingers a light squeeze.

—Thank you for giving me your hearts and your talent. For showing up in rehearsals, in jet lag, in last-minute changes and chaos. Whatever happens out there tonight, whether my mic dies or I fall flat on my ass, just know I love you, and I’m proud we built this together.—

They all smiled, some nodding, some misty-eyed.

Her choreographer, always the loud one, added —Let’s show ‘em who the hell Amelie is.—

—Amen,— someone else muttered.

And then, all together, hands stacked in the middle, voices overlapping.

—One, two, three... LET’S FUCKING GO!—

The circle broke.

People scattered—musicians toward their instruments, dancers toward their positions in the wings, the hum of in-ears being adjusted and final mic checks buzzing faintly in the background.

Amelie stayed for a moment, just one breath longer, heart pounding like a bass drum in her chest.

Meredith was already beside her, arms outstretched to take the robe.

—Showtime, baby,— she whispered with a wink.

Amelie smiled, letting the silk slide off her shoulders and fall into Meredith’s hands.

Her bodysuit sparkled immediately under the fluorescent backstage lights. Red like wildfire. Gold glittered letters across her chest, proud and defiant: AMELIE. The collar sharp, the boots tall and white like something out of a pop-art dream.

She looked like a weapon.

She felt like a storm.

And waiting just a few steps behind her, like he always did, was Lando.

His eyes drank her in. Slowly. Reverently. Like he’d never seen her before and like he’d always known her exactly this way.

—Hi,— she whispered, cheeks flushing with adrenaline and heat.

—Hi,— he replied, soft but smiling so wide it looked like his heart was trying to burst through his chest. —You’re unreal.—

She stepped into him, arms wrapping around his neck. His hands went to her waist, careful not to smudge the sparkles even as he pulled her close.

—Good luck kiss?— she asked against his mouth.

He kissed her once.

Then again.

Then again, longer.

—You’re gonna set the whole damn place on fire,— he murmured against her lips. —Go make Silverstone your bitch.—

She laughed, head tilted back, heart full.

One last glance. One last breath.

And then...

She turned.

Shoulders squared. Chin lifted.

And walked toward the blinding light of the stage entrance.

The music was starting.

The roar of the crowd hit her like a wave.

And as the screen rose and the lights cut through the night.

She stepped out, boots first, head high, bodysuit gleaming.

Ready to own it.

Let’s do this.

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

liked by lando, mcwagscentral, and others

ameliedayman: NIGHT 1 SILVERSTONE ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 magical and unbelievable. 65,000 of your beautiful faces and we get the privilege of doing it all again tomorrow!! See you soon i love you

View all 194,582 comments

georgerussell63: you were UNREAL tonight. haven’t stopped singing manchild since → ameliedayman: @georgerussell63 i saw you vibing during “sdon't smile” don’t think i didn’t 😌🎤 → lando: @georgerussell63 bro you cried. → georgerussell63: @lando you’re projecting

savnorris: still recovering from the scream i let out when the lights went down. full-body chills → ameliedayman: @savnorris you were THE moment in the barricade

maxfewtrell: was it the best concert i’ve ever been to or am i just extremely biased → ameliedayman: @maxfewtrell you and your air mic during the bridge >>> → lando: @maxfewtrell no bc she’s MY girlfriend stop acting like you wrote the setlist → maxfewtrell: @lando cry about it

lando: imagine getting to watch the best artist in the world and then go home with her 🤷‍♂️ → ameliedayman: @lando ok loverboy don’t make me blush again → oscarpiastri: @lando this is worse than any DRS battle i’ve ever had to watch → landonorris: @oscarpiastri get used to it

elysiadayman: i cried. mom cried. dad took 100 photos. icon behavior

f1sluttycorner: not gonna lie, i showed up for the lando sightings but left a full-time stan → bennysqueen: @f1sluttycorner same. she EATS on stage → lanmelaura: @f1sluttycorner welcome to the cult

kikisburner: 65k people and somehow she only looked at Lando 😭

gridboy88: concert was amazing but the lanmelie soft glances??? sent me to the ER → amelieisdestiny: @gridboy88 no bc he looked like he was gonna cry during “amen”

toxicmcstan: not even a hater but this whole “popstar gf” arc is so tryhard now → amelegendary: @toxicmcstan lmao stay pressed while they’re in love and successful → softamelie: @toxicmcstan cry harder she’s booked and unbothered

papayadreams: name a more iconic duo than silverstone and a sold out lanmelie weekend → lanfanclub: @papayadreams F1 race under the sun, pop concert under the moon? eat your hearts out

lanfansdaily: lando winning races and amelie selling out arenas… the power this couple holds → formulababes: @lanfansdaily we’re living in a lanmelie golden era and i hope it never ends → chaoticwags: @formulababes we need matching trophies and grammys under the same roof

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

The soft hum of the city outside filtered faintly through the windows, but inside their suite, everything felt still—quiet, warm, untouched by the chaos of the day.

Room service had come and gone, leaving behind the comforting scent of pasta and warm bread, little silver dishes half uncovered on the coffee table. Amelie sat cross-legged on the plush hotel rug, her long-sleeved tee slipping off one shoulder, bare legs tucked under her as she poked at a bowl of cacio e pepe. Her cheeks were still faintly pink from stage heat, hair loosely braided now and falling over one shoulder.

Lando was sprawled across the couch, one arm draped over the back of it, the other lazily holding a fork. He was in joggers and a faded hoodie she was pretty sure used to be hers, sleeves pushed up, curls still slightly damp from his shower. He looked sleepy and soft and stupidly adorable, and she’d caught herself staring about five times already.

—So…— he said, mouth full, —do you feel famous again or what?—

Amelie snorted, stabbing her pasta. —I literally performed in sparkly underwear in front of half the grid. I don’t know if that’s fame or just public humiliation at this point.—

Lando grinned. —If it’s humiliation, then sign me up. You were insane tonight, Ames. Like... electric. I still haven’t recovered from it. That lighting? That outfit? Your face? My actual heart stopped.—

She laughed, setting her bowl aside. —You’re so dramatic.—

—Okay, but it did! Ask George, he thought I was gonna pass out. Charles was holding onto my hoodie like I was gonna levitate.—

—Not levitate.—

—Levitate,— he insisted. —Like, "Amelie ascending to heaven via fog machine" levels of power.—

She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop smiling.

He leaned forward and reached for her hand across the table. Their fingers laced easily, like they always did.

—You made everyone feel something tonight. Not just fans. Like... I saw grown men with tears in their eyes. I looked at Alex and I was like, “Are you crying?” and he was like, “Shut up, it’s emotional!”—

Amelie tilted her head, letting her thumb graze over his knuckles. —You’re kind of the best boyfriend ever, you know that?—

He gave her a slow, smug smile. —I mean, I do offer emotional support and pasta. Pretty elite combo.—

They were quiet for a moment, just listening to the faint clinks of silverware and the thrum of traffic outside.

Then Amelie asked, softly, —Are you ready for tomorrow?—

Lando’s gaze softened, shoulders relaxing even more as he nodded.

—Yeah. I think so. It’s not just about the result anymore, you know? It’s about the people. The stand. The team. You. Like… it already feels like a win.—

She got up then, padded over in her hotel slippers and curled into the corner of the couch beside him. He immediately opened his arms, and she tucked herself into his side, her cheek against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.

—You’re gonna kill it tomorrow, Lan. I can feel it.—

—Can you?— he teased. —You some kind of oracle now?—

—Mhm. Psychic, actually.— She looked up at him. —Also deeply attracted to men who qualify in the top three. So don’t ruin that for me.—

He laughed, head tipping back against the cushions. —Noted. Pole next time. Just for you.—

They sat like that for a while, the rest of dinner forgotten. His fingers traced light shapes on her back, her hand played with the edge of his sleeve. The whole room felt dipped in honey—sweet, golden, quiet.

Eventually, Amelie whispered, —Can tomorrow be over already? So we can do this again? Just you and me and breadsticks in bed?—

Lando smiled against her hair. —Tomorrow’ll go fast. And when it’s done, we’ll get the hell out of here and sleep for ten years.—

—Deal.—

He kissed her forehead, slow and lingering.

—You were my favorite part of today, Ames.—

She pulled back, meeting his eyes, grinning.

—Even over the pasta?— she teased, raising a brow.

Lando made a show of thinking, lips pursed, head tilting like he was seriously weighing it.

—Barely.—

She smacked his chest, laughing. —You’re the worst.—

—But also the best,— he reminded her, looping his arms around her waist and pulling her fully onto his lap. She didn’t even resist... just curled into him like a second skin, head tucked under his chin, their limbs fitting together like a worn puzzle.

They were quiet again, that soft, sleepy kind of silence that only comes at the end of a long, beautiful day. Her fingers drew lazy patterns over his knee. His thumb brushed over her thigh in slow, absent circles.

—Do you ever get scared?— she asked, voice small.

Lando blinked, his hand stilling. —Of what?—

—All of it. The racing. The people. The pressure.—

He didn’t answer immediately. He just shifted a little, like he was getting closer to her without moving at all.

—Yeah. Of course I do. Not every day. But sometimes it hits me out of nowhere. That it could all disappear.—

Amelie nodded against his hoodie. —Same.—

He kissed the top of her head. —But then I remember… even if everything else goes to shit, I’ve still got this. You. Us. And that makes it a little less scary.—

Her throat tightened. She didn't reply right away... just leaned back to look at him, eyes soft.

—You're too good to me, Lando Norris.—

—Yeah well, I had to bribe the universe for someone to love me despite my hoodie collection.—

—And your bad jokes.—

—And my tendency to cry when I hear acoustic Taylor Swift.—

She giggled, resting her forehead against his. —You do not cry to Taylor Swift.—

—“All Too Well” ten-minute version. Gets me every time. Don't tell the grid. I have a reputation to uphold.—

She grinned, brushing his hair back from his forehead. —You're kind of a disaster, you know that?—

—But I'm your disaster.—

—Unfortunately.—

They kissed again, this time slow and sleepy, the kind of kiss that didn’t need to lead anywhere, that just said: I’m here. I’m yours. I’m proud of you.

When they finally pulled apart, Amelie nestled back into his chest with a happy sigh.

—Wake me up early tomorrow?— she mumbled.

—Of course.—

—Even if I’m grumpy?—

Lando smiled against her hair.

—Especially if you’re grumpy. You’re cute when you threaten to punch me with your eyes still closed.—

She let out a sleepy laugh, already drifting.

And in that hotel room, with the soft sounds of the city beyond the glass and the weight of a perfect day wrapping around them like a blanket, Lando held her a little tighter.

Tomorrow could come.

But for now—this was enough.

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vividly-vermillion · 27 days ago

Text

.·:*¨༺ TIDEBOUND ༻¨*:·.

CHAPTER ONE: The pull of the tide

Masterlist || Taglist || -> Chapter two

༺ synopis: You had to live through your childhood tragedy once more. The ship was sinking and you braced yourself for the inevitable - surely the sea won't show mercy twice.

༺ character: Siren!Rafayel

༺ reader: female | AFAB

༺ wc: 2338

༺ cw: sinking of a ship, descriptions of drowning, mentions of death & dying, injuries, blood, the ugly side of sirens.

༺ notes: I'm a widdol nervous about this so feedback would be appreciated :))

What are the odds of sinking on a boat once?

The statistic floats in your mind like debris, as if knowledge might anchor you to reason in the middle of screaming wind and breaking wood. You'd read it once, years ago on some bored midnight internet search. One in a million, maybe. The sort of once in a lifetime thing that scars your childhood and becomes a strange, isolating footnote you carry forever.

But twice? Twice felt personal.

Twice screamed that the sea gods were angry.

Rain blurred the world into grey streaks, cold and relentless as it drove into your skin. The world became nothing but noise - snapping sails, splintering beams, someone's voice yelling your name before it was swallowed by thunder, yet your body couldn't move, couldn't even scream. The cold has always done that to you, paralyzed your lungs and shrunk your world down to the roar of blood and memories.

You stood near the railing, shoes soaked and hands curled uselessly at your sides. Around you the ship cracked and screamed, groaning like something alive and dying. The wedding decorations - white silk streamers and fairy lights - were in shreds, flapping wildly and trailing across the ruined deck like ghosts.

It all started so gently with your friend's wedding. That's the only reason why you had come, the only reason you were on this doomed celebration cruise. Your friend had begged you “Just one night on the water,” she said. “The ocean’s calm this time of year. It'll help you let go of the past.”

Let go... And now the sea took everything once again.

The deck heaved beneath you, sharp and sudden and you stumbled hard against the railing. Somewhere behind you, a mast cracked in two, the sound deafening and haunting. The panic on ship grew louder now, screams, feet pounding, someone was crying - but none of it touched you. You felt like you were sinking already, before your body had even left the ship.

The cold spray of saltwater hit your eyes and then something else, hard and fast, maybe something metallic based on the sound. A burst of pain immediately bloomed behind your temple, sharp and electric. You didn't even know what it was and couldn't bring yourself to care as you braced for the inevitable. The sea would swallow you whole. It had spared you as a child, but it wouldn't show mercy a second time as your world started to spin.

And then - Nothing.

There was no memory of the fall, no gasp as you hit the water. Just a blur of darkness and the cold, the kind that swallowed breath and thought alike. You surfaced some time later, not knowing how long it had been. Seconds, maybe even minutes? All you could do was to clutch onto a piece of the ship, torn wood slick with seawater and blood. One of your legs hung heavy in the water, as if someone - or something - tried to drag you under. The other stung sharp with every kick while your arms shook with the effort of holding on, of staying afloat. A pulsing ache throbbed from one of your thighs and when you tried to lift your head from the wooden piece, you could taste blood on your tongue.

Above, the sky was a shattered bruise of lightning and smoke, the clouds bleeding violet light. Bits of the ship bobbed in the water like the scattered bones of some fallen creature. You didn't know where the others had gone - whether anyone had survived, whether they were screaming for help or were already at the bottom of the ocean.

All you could do was float, adrift and half awake with your lips turning violet-blue from the cold, heart pounding too loud in your chest and no strength left to call for help. Yet, your fingers refused to let go of the broken plank that held you above water. Splinters began to dig into your skin, but you only held on tighter, as if letting go would mean surrendering entirely. Saltwater lapped at your lips, turning them dry and letting the delicate skin crack as your vision blurred.

And somewhere, far beneath the surface, the sea stirred.

At first, it was only a feeling, a weight, invisible and unspoken that settled over your skin like a change in pressure. You opened your eyes slowly, vision clouded by salt and rain and the plank you clung onto creaked faintly beneath you, the water lapping violently against the sides. Across from you, half submerged in the dark water, something watched.

Only the top of a head was visible - pale strands of long, lavender hair drifting around it like smoke, fanning out in a halo. The water cradled it, eerily still despite the storm. It just floated there with unnatural calm and just above the surface, a pair of glowing violet eyes stared directly into yours. They didn't blink - neither did you.

Your heart should have seized. You should have cried out, kicked or let go to flee. But none of these things happened. Your body was too tired, your mind too disoriented to recognize if this was someone alive or perhaps one of the wedding guests simply...floating. As your vision cleared up, you could tell that this wasn't human, at least not entirely.

On the other side of the wood, Rafayel lingered just beneath the surface, his head barely visible to you and his breath slowed to match the pulse of the sea. He simply watched you drift closer to unconsciousness, each blink slower than the last and your lips were entirely blue with deep cracks. A thin smear of blood still trickled from the cut at your brow - You were fading. Quietly and without protest.

Most of them screamed or tried to put up a fight, it made their panic easier to ignore, and made the line between predator and prey clear. But you weren't screaming, simply staring back at him like you had nothing left to give, least of all to him. No fear, no defiance. Only quiet exhaustion and acceptance.

He should have disappeared by now, not be enamored by your lack of reaction. Observe, lure, drag down, devour. He knew how it goes, it was an automated process that ensured his survival.

Your body slowly sagged lower and the piece of wreckage creaked once more, your weight shifting. Rafayel's eyes followed you with cool precision, noticing the weakness in your limbs, the slack curve of your fingers and the hollow shadows beneath your eyes. You wouldn't last much longer.

You saw him enough to know what he was and what he wasn't and yet, your gaze softened. Not in recognition, but in surrender... Until they closed completely.

Your head lulled forward and with a small splash, you began to slide off the wood. The gravity finally tipped you into the black of the water as your unconscious body couldn't help but to accept its fate - your lungs taking their last breath of air before they would fill with water, slowly, until all of you succumbed to the ruthlessness of the ocean.

He moved before he thought.

One hand shot up from the water and caught you just beneath the shoulders, guiding you back with startling gentleness. Your head rolled against his arm in the process but he simply cradled it above the ocean's surface in a way that the water had no chance to reach your lungs. His instincts told him to devour you whole while you couldn't put up a fight, while you had no choice but to give in to the predator who caught you - but he ignored them, forcing himself to remain calm.

Rafayel held you a moment longer, your weight slight and delicate in his arms, reminding him of a situation oh so many years ago. Then, without a word, he turned and began to swim. Each movement was smooth, powerful, as if the current bent itself around him. He held you cradled in his arms, body limp and not a single muscle stirred. Your breath was faint, but present - like seafoam against his skin.

He had watched you long before you even saw him - only surfaced when he sensed the panic blooming across the wreck. The scent of blood trailed like ribbons through the dark and led him straight to you, and when your eyes locked with his, it wasn't mercy that stilled him. It was thrill. The anticipation of taking a bite, of tearing you limb by limb, of hearing your screams turn into gargles as he mercilessly dragged you beneath water.

Fear always fascinated him. There was something raw and so honest in it that nothing could quite compare. A primal urge, he had seen it in your eyes, in the way your pupils dilated, how your jaw tensed despite the exhaustion weighing your body down. He saw the flicker of knowing inside your eyes, knowing that something wasn't right - that he wasn't safe. You couldn't run or scream, but your fear was ever present. And oh how he enjoyed it.

He shouldn't have lingered, knowing the rules all too well: Do not play with your food or you will end up on their plate. But where was the pleasure in mindlessly devouring? Where was the thrill in dragging something down that didn't even know it was dying? A little fear made the flavor richer, a little dread gave the ending a meaning. But somehow you just… accepted it - and that unnerved him more than he would like to admit.

Your warmth slowly started to bleed into his cold skin which only aided to dull the instinct to feed and be done. Rafayel tried convincing himself that it was pity, a passing whim, but still, his grip on you tightened ever so slightly as if he's scared to risk seeing you drift off with the tide.

The jagged silhouette of a rock formation loomed ahead, slick with the salty water and painted silver by each pulse of lightning that bloomed across the raging skies. It wasn't much, but it was enough for you to breathe, enough to make you believe that you survived by chance alone. At least that was the initial plan - to leave you with salt in your mouth and dread in your bones. To let you believe that the sea had spared you once more.

But as he eased you from the water and laid you onto the stone, his fingertips ghosted across the blood slick gash on your leg. His eyes lingered on the curve of your face, the fragile rise and fall of your chest. And somewhere deep within, something stirred. A sense of familiarity bloomed inside his chest and made him realize that he wasn't sure if he would want to let you go, which somehow frightened him more than the thought of starving ever could.

The world ebbed in and out like the sea itself, each wave of consciousness pulling you further from shore. You weren't even sure when your body was moved onto something solid - cold beneath your skin but still drenched by the sea. But you could feel the jagged stone pressing into your back, anchoring you in your place. Your limbs were far too heavy to lift, skin numb with cold and you weren't sure why the ocean decided to spare you once more.

Your thoughts wanted to form, to try and find a way out of the water and back to land but the voice that came from just below the waves made it impossible to think straight. The voice was low and rich, smooth in a way that felt unnatural, too perfect to belong to anything human. The melody curled through the air like mist, sweet and gentle, almost like a lullaby - but the cadence was strange, the language foreign and laced with sounds that rolled like foam off a reef. You couldn't place it, couldn't tell if this was truly a voice or something your mind conjured in exhaustion to make leaving this life easier, but it wound itself around your senses and refused to let you go.

A soft chill crept over your skin, but something deep inside of you was recoiling, even as your body relaxed. The voice made you feel calm, yes - but not safe. The calmness it brought felt borrowed and false, as though something beneath that melody tugged at the strings of your mind with too much ease. You tried to lift your head and open your eyes fully, but the effort only made them flutter and fall shut completely. Your breathing became more shallow while your consciousness slipped like sand through broken fingers.

The memory of those violet eyes surfaced behind your lids, how they were just watching you with a subtle glow to them and it made your chest tighten. Even though you could no longer see him, you could still feel his presence near, just out of reach.

You didn't want to sleep, not ready to fade yet, but your body was already letting go. Your thoughts were scattered like driftwood as darkness gathered at the edges of your mind, soft and irresistible. The cold, the blood loss, the song - it all wove together too seamlessly. Your last conscious thought wasn't of the wreck, it was that a voice so beautiful could lead you so gently into oblivion.

You didn't see him rise from the water, didn't feel the gentle droplets land on you as Rafayel emerged to settle beside you. His gaze swept over you deliberately, as if he was trying to understand what exactly he had just saved. One hand moved with reverent care to brush the tangled and damp hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment too long against your cheek. A moment later, the smallest smile formed on his lips, not cruel, but indulgent.

“Twice now,” he mumbled and looked out at the open waters. “You really don't have luck on your side, little thing.”

#✶࿐inkspills #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace series #rafayel x reader #rafayel fluff #Rafayel x you #lads x reader #lads x you #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #love and deepspace #Rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #l&ds rafayel #siren x reader #merman x reader #merman Rafayel #siren Rafayel #.dc

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cher-rei · 1 year ago

Text

sparks— jamal musiala [ J.M ]

how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist [saturn– sleeping at last]

pairing: jamal musiala x fem!reader

summary: it's the knockout stage for germany for the 2024 euro, and as usual you're there to support your boyfriend, accompanied by some bad weather and a bet to spice up the evening.

genre(s): fluff (as usual)

[w.c: 3.3k] masterlist

notes: I had such a fun time writing this shut upppp shsjssj. this one is for my musiala girlies xx

"this weather is going to be the death of me," you said and took your seat beside your friends sophia and aaliyah who were huddled together in attempt to defeat the crisp yet strong german wind.

you tucked your chin into your scarf, but even then it didn't help. the three of you actually remembered to dress warm for today's match, unlike the last few games where you whole heartedly believed that the rain was just an episode.

before leaving the house sophia had to remind both you and aaliyah to bring scarfs because she had a bad feeling. so here you were, at the stadium in dortmund dressed in a pair of jeans, a cream knitted jumper, and a wool jacket that unfortunately hid your football jersey with your boyfriend's name decorated at the back.

the stadium was bustling and you couldn't believe that supporters still came out to watch football under these conditions, but it was an important match and you were filled with just as much anxiety and anticipation as them.

jamal was all the more excited the evening before when he facetimed you from his hotel room. there was a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke to you about training and how his day had been and it just reminded you of how much you missed him.

sophia and aaliyah agreed with you in that department, understanding just how difficult it was to be separated from their partners this long. but the three of you managed (barely) and showed up to every match together to show your support.

needless to say, the media were having a ball with the amount of content and pictures that were published of the three of you every week. there wasn't any issue with it however and jamal quite liked the fact that he got to show you off, saying that the world deserved to know just how smitten he was with you.

it was about twenty minutes into the first half when you felt a drop of rain hit your hand, having nothing much to do besides groan and deal with it. so far, little progress was made on the pitch despite the three shots on target that germany had.

"good on denmark for putting up a fight, but I'd really appreciate it if they gave up so that we can go home," aaliyah joked and you fought back a smile, while sophia was sat in her seat with a torn expression.

there was a small pout on her lips and by that look you knew that she was worried about kai. her gaze was glued to his figure running on the pitch, mentally cheering him on. "I think the rain is messing with him."

you hummed and lifted your head to look at the darkened sky, your face scrunching at the sight of the heavier clouds blowing over the stadium. the wind had started to pick up now which made the experience even more uncomfortable but you had to endure it.

a smile tugged at your lips as you watched your boyfriend make his tackles. there was just something about watching him play that made you appreciate the sport more, it was enticing. "pure class," you said out loud with a boastful smile.

sophia jokingly scoffed at your comment which caught the attention of aaliyah who felt the need to tease her. "what are you scoffing for?" she asked with a smug smile. "kai missed two goals already."

your lips parted in shock, but you remained silent and proceeded to listen to them go at each other from each side of you.

"yeah, well at least he had the chance. remind me where flo is again?" sophia countered and you let a laugh slip out at the attack on florian who was on the bench.

the teasing didn't stop though, and it got to the point where you had to physically back away because they were both leaning over you to take a jab at the other. the roaring of the fans was soon interrupted by an even louder roar which you recognised to be thunder.

seconds after, the rain got heavier and it was pouring. you heard the whistle blow from the pitch and apparently the match officials were taking an intermission to check if the lightning would be an issue any further.

you felt sophia's hand slip into yours, the chill sending a shiver down your spine. the three of you were nearly drenched and if it was one privilege that you loved then it was the option to sit in the booth at times like these.

it was announced that the match would be suspended until further notice due to the weather ten minutes before half time and your head instinctively turned to look for your boyfriend, to check if he was okay before you got up from your seat.

"and this is our cue to leave," aaliyah said and led you and sophia through the rampaging crowd to the top of the stands where you'd be covered.

the supporters however were doing the exact opposite and rejoicing in the downpour— dancing and waving their flags in the air while some used it as a form of shelter. the sight was anything but ordinary and you couldn't help but bask in the atmosphere.

another boom of thunder sounded through the air causing sophia to jump up beside you, her grip tightening on your hand. the three of you looked up at the sky, awing in unison at the strikes of lightning flashing between the clouds.

there was only one thing on your mind, and it was the need to take a picture. you took out your phone and waited for the perfect moment, practicically spamming the button until it hit the perfect shot.

aaliyah awed at the picture from behind you. "you have to send that to me, that looks unreal."

after a few more minutes and pictures being taken you finally made it upstairs to dry off. both teams were in their dressing rooms as well, probably more scared than ever because of the match interruption. uncertainty hung in the air at times like this, where all they could do was wait.

the door to the family booth that the three of you were sat in just closed when someone opened it again. to no one's surprise entered kai and florian sporting two completely different looks.

sophia's eyes softened at her boyfriend's state, his hair damp and kit looking like it just took a swim. she hesitated for a moment to pull him into a hug for some comfort seeing as he wasn't having the best time on the pitch.

aaliyah on the other hand ruffled her boyfriend's hair and laughed, gaining sophia's attention. "see what being on the bench does? he's as dry as the sahara right now while kai looks like he just drowned."

from beside aaliyah, florian's jaw dropped in offence, at the mention of him being benched which quickly broke out banter between the two while sophia was still comforting kai and giving him some words of encouragement.

watching them interact made your heart swell, making you miss jamal even more. and as if you summoned him, your smiling but breathless boyfriend made his entrance and without time to spare he pulled you into a tight hug.

despite the chill in the air and his body, you were filled with a warmth that you've missed so much the past few weeks. so much that you could almost excuse his audacity to hug you when he was dripping from head to toe.

you pulled away with a smile. "j, did you see the lightning? I can't believe that it's summer right now."

jamal looked at you puzzled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I came here to say that I missed you to the point of an enotional brekdown and you ask me about the lightning?"

your lips pursed at his counter but before you could defend yourself he pressed a quick but much needed kiss to your cheek. "we'll talk later, I just really needed to see you."

he looked up at his teammates who were leisurely enjoying their time with their partners, a look of disapproval on his face. "am I the only one who cares that we're playing an international knockout stage right now?"

"flo doesn't care, he's on the bench," aaliyah said and shot her boyfriend a teasing smile. "isn't that right babe?"

the german supporters in the stands all screamed in victory at the penalty that was given, and to no one's surprise kai was the one who was ready to take it and potentially put them in the lead.

aaliyah leant forward and looked at both you and sophia with a determined smile. "I think it's time for a bet."

a hum of intrigue left your lips at the idea but sophia shook her head. "he's going to get this in... I hope." she looked at her boyfriend who stood uneasily in front of the penalty area.

but a few words were exchanged between the three of you and an agreement was made.

"there's still 40 minutes left," she began and gestured to the pitch. "they're capable I'm sure, but whoever's boyfriend doesn't score has to pay for lunch tomorrow."

your eyebrows raised when she said "lunch". you knew very well that it wasn't just a meal. it consisted of breakfast, a trip to the museum or any activity really, lunch and supper. the loser would have to pay for the entire day, and it was no joke that you three were expensive.

aaliyah was more than confident in florian being subbed on and scoring, sophia was more uneasy than kai at the moment but had hope in her boyfriend, and you didn't really mind paying but you could never back down from a challenge.

the three of you shook on it and watched as kai got ready to take the penalty, everyone holding their breath in unison. it happened in a blink of an eye but the goal had sophia jumping up from her seat and clapping as loud as she could.

"guess I'm eating for free tomorrow," she teased and sat back down to which you rolled your eyes. aaliyah on the other hand shot you a competitive glare, causing you to laugh.

you eased back into your seat and shoved your hands into your coat pocket. "if jamal scores then I'll stand in the rain without my coat on, and if flo scores--"

"miraculously," sophia interjected which earned her a playful slap on the arm from aaliyah who quickly turned her attention back to you.

"then I'll have to? on the pitch?" she asked with her eyebrows raised and you nodded. she ran her tongue over her teeth and shook your hand, loving that you were upping the stakes and adding some more to the bet.

a good 10 minutes of no action went by and you were watching with immense focus, your gaze not trailing from jamal who looked breathtaking drenched in water, and without even saying anything sophia read your mind.

"they look ten times better with water dripping from them on the pitch, it adds something extra," she said bashfully and took her phone out to take a few pictures of kai since he wasn't too far away.

she then looked to aaliyah with a smug smirk. "obviously you wouldn't understand because flo is dryer than the sahara."

you covered your mouth at the retort about what aaliyah said earlier on. it seemed that the two of them never ended their playful banter, and you were always in the middle without complaining because it was genuinely so entertaining.

while they continued to talk, the universe gifted you with this perfect opportunity because you caught a certain someone's attention. he wasn't doing much on the pitch and you took advantage of the moment and gestured to the goalpost.

of course, jamal was confused but he was more than certain that you were asking him to score. he jogged on but kept his attention on you for a moment, and you gestured to the goalpost again, flashed him a loving smile and made a heart with your hands.

from beside you aaliyah let out a gasp. "that's literally cheating! you can't tell him to score."

you raised your hands in defence seeing as jamal had run off and continued to play. "I'm not doing this for me liya, I don't mind paying. and even if he does then I have to strip in this weather."

aaliyah shook her head at you, disagreeing with you wholeheartedly even though you tried to defend yourself. there wasn't much to say since you were being honest. "I told him to score because it gives him extra motivation."

now both sophia and aaliyah hummed unconvinced, to which you sighed.

"he just does better if I ask him to, okay? and he really wants that third goal, so if I ask him to do it then he'll do anything he can to get it."

it was practically scientifically proven (to you at least). jamal was always the type of person to do anything you asked him to, even before you guys started dating. all it took was a smile and he'd make sure that what you wanted was handed to you on a silver platter.

the devotion that he had towards you was unmatched, especially when it came to scoring or performing well on the pitch. no matter how he played, you always sat in the stands with a proud smile on your face and the appreciation that he was yours.

so even if he could barely see you from the stands, a simple gesture to the goalpost was enough of a tell tale that you wanted a goal. and if you wanted something, then he'd get it for you.

"and it's in from musiala!!!"

the german supporters jolted in their sears at the unexpected goal, rejoicing in the 2-0 lead and celebrating the clear advantage they had in heading to the quarter finals. you were the first one out of your seat the second the ball hit the back of your net, not minding the light drizzle hitting your face as you watched your boyfriend celebrate.

of course, he didn't forget about you and made sure to send a heart your way, one that you were more than happy to return. the adrenaline rushed to your cheeks in the form of a blush and looked at your friends with a smug smile.

they both sat in disbelief, their lips parted as you clapped. "I need that type of devotion in my life," sophia said and nudged your arm.

it wasn't too long that florian was subbed on for jamal, which was hilariously funny considering the context. aaliyah clapped with her lips pouted. "come on let's make it three for three, bench boy!"

both you and sophia burst out into a fit of laughter at her comment, and you swore that you saw flo turn to look at her with an expression that screamed "what the actual fuck??".

it was heading into the last few minutes of the match and despite flo having a few good opportunities, he took none of them. aaliyah grew frustrated from beside you, complaining about the incompetence of the players even though they did nothing wrong.

it was obvious that she was the one with the temper in the group, and that only showed even more when florian had a good run with the ball and she was practically sitting on the edge of her seat, screaming for him to kick it to which he did.

"yes that's what I'm talking about!" she screamed and hit her chest in victory. "three for three girls."

her moment of bliss didn't last long however because the referee blew the whistle for offside. she wasn't happy about that at all either and fought back a mouthful of curses. "what the fuck? how was the offside??"

the whistle blew for full time after a very eventful knockout stage, you and sophia adorning smiles while aaliyah was still complaining about the linesman not raising the flag sooner. the supporters started exiting the stadium slowly as the players went out onto the pitch.

the three of you weren't in any rush however, and made your way down leisurely. "at least you don't have to strip in the rain," sophia laughed and you rolled your eyes.

the rain did in fact start to pick up, and the light drizzle was lightly pouring now instead. you head out onto the pitch with them and started by removing your scarf and handed it to aaliyah who was more than happy to take it.

they watched with smiles as you took off your jacket, followed by your jumper to reveal the thin football jersey underneath. when they were happy with you, they headed off to their respective partners.

"you had one job! now I have to pay for lunch tomorrow!" aaliyah yelled as she approached flo who could've have been more confused. he threw his hands into the air at his girlfriend's outburst.

"thanks for the support I guess," he said and the two walked off to complain to kai and sophia.

for the nth time this evening you raised your head to look at the dark clouds hanging over the stadium, enjoying the feeling of the rain hitting your skin.

the moment of silence was interrupted by the feeling of someone tickling your side, and you turned to see your boyfriend who looked happier than ever.

"well done out there starboy," you said and loosely wrapped your arms around his neck while his hands took refuge on your waist.

he leant in to pepper your face with kisses, and you relished in the warmth you missed more than life itself. "when my girlfriend asks for something, she gets it."

your stomach did at least three flips at his answer and to anyone watching it seemed like this scene was straight out of a movie. seriously, you were standing in the middle of a football pitch in the rain. insane.

jamal pulled away to dry your face despite his sleeve being just as wet. "now can you please tell me why you aren't wearing a jacket right now, baby?"

your shoulders shrugged at his question. "I won the bet."

"huh?" he laughed at the absurdity and tried to make sense of what yoh had just told him, because in no way did it seem that being vulnerable in weather like this could be a reward. "and what did you win?"

you couldn't suppress the smile on your face, losing yourself in his eyes that felt all too close to home. "I won a very happy boyfriend."

the warmth of his hand cupping your cheek wasn't even registered until you felt his lips meet yours. the rain cascaded, each drop of rain that hit your skin being a reminder of just how real this moment was. how real he was.

his hands gently gripped your waist, and he pulled you closer for some extra warmth. the coolness of the rain heightened every sensation in your body— the warmth of his lips and his touch and the pounding of you heart against his chest.

and when the two of you finally pulled away, breathless but more in love than ever you were reminded to be thankful for moments like this. the rain continued to fall, but it no longer felt cold because all that mattered was the warmth of jamal as he looked at you with a softened gaze.

"we should kiss in the rain more often."

#cherrei writes #jamal musiala x reader #jamal musiala #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #bayern munich #euro 2024 #jamal musiala fanfic

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tryingtofindava · 1 year ago

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i saw the tyler fic u did where instead of him being impale, it was his gf! do you think u could do that but with aiden’s gf and the ceiling? 🫶

── SHE HIT THE FLOOR! NEXT THING YOU KNOW!

{[AIDEN CLARK X FEM! READER]}

A/N: is the title lyrics from Low by Flo Rida? Yes. Do I think I’m hilarious for this? Also yes.

: ̗̀➛Back to Source

Covering Ashlyn’s ears with your own shaking hands as she trembles from the crazily loud bangs coming from Taylor’s shotgun.

Watching as she shoots the ever loving fuck out of the creepy massive centipede. “… Yeah, uh- Tay, it stopped moving.” Aiden nodded with an uncomfortably big smile, though his semi assuring words fell upon deaf ears.

Giving her a thumbs up as he’s crouched right beside you while you help Ash, having a hand on your shoulder and giving you light squeezes to comfort you or himself, you couldn’t tell.

Taylor upon taking notice that creature is in fact dead…. Hopefully… She lowers the gun as Logan comes up behind her, grabbing her shaking hand soothingly. “We need to hurry in case it recovers.” He spoke reassuringly to the panting Taylor.

Watching the others rummage around the small office while you stood watch at the doorway, was a stressful experience having to keep watch to make sure no phantoms got in while also keeping an eye on Tyler (who was getting his bandages changed again by Ben.)

No one could find the keys… “Where are they?!” Taylor seethed, slamming shut another keyless drawer. “Coach must’ve moved them again!” The brunette complained while starting to rummage through another drawer.

“Does he move them often?” Ashlyn questions quietly, doing her own searching.

“Yeah, because idiots like Jay and Conner keep messing with them!” She scoffed. You would’ve giggled at Taylor being so frustrated for what seems like the first time ever if it wasn’t for your current situation.

You were leaning against Aiden who was fiddling with his army knife, flicking the blade out and flicking it back. “I feel a minor sense of Deja-vu.” He murmured in your ear while smiling to himself. It never failed to amaze you how your boyfriend could always smile no matter what was going on around him. “We have 3 minutes left,..” Logan called out to inform the group.

Ashlyn perked up at a certain sound her super hearing picked up on, she looked over at you and Aiden. “Guys, there’s a straggler.” Carrot-top warned.

Aiden sniggers, nudging you “Yeah, I can hear it running.” And with that he stabbed the smiling demon monster right in the face, making you cringe at the disgusting squelching noise it made as he pulled the knife out of the phantoms face.

“Got it!” Aiden hummed enthusiastically, skipping over to Ash to show her the black substance it left on his knife.

She of course rolled her eyes, ignoring the bleached blondes antics, her eyes falling back to you. “Is there anymore, Y/n?” She quipped in curiosity, still hearing phantom noises.

You peaked out the door, looking left and then right. “Uhhh… nope, we’re good.” You answered, looking over your shoulder at her.

The walls and ground shook, “Huh…?” You murmur to yourself in confusion. “EVERYONE GET UNDER SOMETHING!” You heard someone yell, you were too busy keeping yourself balanced to register anything else in the moment.

POP

The last thing you saw was Aiden reaching out to you, before the ceiling collapsed. “Y/N!” He shrieked, racing towards you.

That’s when it all went black.

“C’mon! Get her under the table!” Taylor helped Aiden carry you to the table, everyone crawling under it. Logan, Ben and Tyler hiding under the desk on the other side of the room.

Aiden cradled your body in his arms, rocking back and fourth with he was staring at your face in horror. Blood was leaking from your forehead, and it was also trickling from your nose.

Taylor, Ashlyn, Aiden and you all huddled together under the desk, everything was shaking violently. Aiden was on the verge of tears as Ash wiped the blood from your nose with her sleeve gently while her other hand was clasped tightly over her ear, that’s when he noticed your eyes were wide open and an unsettling grin stretched across your face.

In the real world Aiden shoots up from his sleeping spot, looking around the room until his eyes fell on your shaking form. “Y/N!” He yelled out again. Which caught the attention from the adults in the room over, including your parents/parental figure.

Before he could even get to you, the adults were already surrounding you. Trying to assist your violently thrashing form.

You coughed and wheezed, “I’m okay! I’m fine!” You assured the adults pushing hands away, while also trying to calm your heart and and breathing. “…I’m okay, really…!”

Aiden pounced on you, hugging you tightly, muttering incoherent words while pressing small pecks to your hair and forehead. You leaned into his touch, tears welling up in your own eyes just like his own.

“Don’t scare me like that again.” It was the first time you’ve ever heard him sound so serious…

#school bus graveyard x reader #sbg x reader #aiden clark x reader #aiden clark x fem reader #school bus graveyard x fem reader #tyler hernandez x reader #ashlyn banner x reader #logan fields x reader #ben clark x reader #taylor hernandez x reader

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rogue-durin-16 · 12 days ago

Text

THE CAB FARE

Summary: To culminate the already chaotic night at the Ball, a veteran nurse finds herself unable to pay the cab fare. With money, anyway.

Request: here

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x nurse!OFC

Genre: smut and also low-key comedy

Tags:

co-authors: @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @writingfranticallyforjup @digging-trenches @jetjuliette

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny @ecompstolemysoul @torchbearerkyle @easily-obsessed-with-things @fromjupitertocentauri @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @metrofae @jetjuliette

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, smoking, explicit sexual content, oral, protected sex, voyeurism, a cab

A/N: this was a group effort! Started out as a joke, somehow landed us here. Speaking of where it landed us, please meet The Dolls! A lovely little group of OCs that HOPEFULLY you'll be seeing more often, not only in my fics but around too 👀. That said, enjoy this unholy piece of work I will never look at again<3

The Dolls masterlist

Band Of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The first thing Elsie registered was the bathroom floor beneath her knees—cold, sticky, and blessedly still. The second was Dolores's voice, floating somewhere above her like a radio turned down too low.

"Oh honey, just breathe through it, okay? You're doing great."

Elsie groaned. Or maybe she vomited. Again. In her defense, she didn't expect the alcohol at a veterans' ball in a small San Francisco dance hall's would be that strong—the goal was to celebrate women who served, not to send them into a full blackout.

Someone was holding her hair back. That was good. Nice of them. Could've been Dottie. Could've been Jesus. Either way, Elsie made a mental note to thank them later with something strong.

The tile wall was cool against her cheek, grounding her mildly while her stomach staged a full mutiny. The sounds of swing music and warbling vocals pulsed through the dance hall walls; a hangover wrapped in a trumpet solo. The ball was still going strong outside. Here, it was just bile coming from the bad decisions of an Italian brunette—and the helping hands of a blonde too dolled up to be crouching by a bathroom stall.

The door slammed open, two pairs of clicking heels puncturing Elsie's head.

"—tu puta madre, Wexler!" Veronica's voice cracked through the bathroom like a gunshot, the reflection of her agitated figure catching on the mirror at Elsie's far left.

"Oh, come on," Sandy chimed in right after her, sugary and smug. "You walked into it, Ronnie. Can't be too mad at me." the former Cover Girl's dress swayed around, shielding Veronica out from the intoxicated woman's sight. Elsie heard—or she thought she heard at least—Dottie question the pair.

"She spilled—you spilled your goddamn wine on me!" Elsie didn't have to look up to know Ronnie was pointing an accusing finger at Sandy.

"It's a red dress. You can't even see it."

"It's expensive, that's what it is"

"It's red." Sandy sing-songed.

"Are you blind or just stupid?" Veronica hissed back.

"You could always, y'know—"

A faucet running. A splash of water hit porcelain. Veronica's gasp followed by a low 'I'm going to kill you' told Elsie that Sandy must have aimed the splash at the supposedly ruined dress. She couldn't care less, though—specially considering how the ridiculously loud noise made her brains jackhammer behind her eyes. "Please I can't—" Her stomach lurched again, and the rest of her sentence drowned in the depths of the toilet.

"Can you both shut up for five seconds?!" Dottie snapped—a bit too loud, a bit too exasperated. Elsie wasn't able to recall when Dottie had decided taking care of her drunk self was a better way to spend the night than mediating between Sandy and Ronnie. "Sandy, go get Flo before this poor thing dies on me."

"Don't be so dramatic." Veronica retorted, sparing a mildly concerned glance at Elsie's frame that clashed with her words.

"Says the gal throwing a fit over what? Barely a stain." Sandy's voice was accomplished by a blurred flash of her form strolling to the bathroom's entrance in the corner of Elsie's peripheral vision.

"Barely a stain my ass." Ronnie stomped into the stall next to them and rattled her purse. "Dot, you got a handkerchief?"

Dottie handed one over without looking. "Don't ruin this one too."

Elsie could hear how Veronica dabbed furiously at the dress due to the silence reigning between the three women. It didn't last long before Ronnie threw a curt "what" at the blonde holding Elsie's locks up in a loose ponytail.

Dottie shifted. A shrug, maybe. "Nothing."

"No, say it."

"I'm not doing this again."

"Sorry, you're not doing what?"

"You know what I mean." The blonde whispered at Veronica, as if trying to keep calm for Elsie's sake. "You two brawling out again. Can I not bring you anywhere?"

"Right." A scoff mashed with a snort. Elsie would've rolled her eyes if she hadn't been about to topple over. "Did you miss the part where she spilled her fucking wine on my very much expensive dress? On purpose?!"

Too loud.

Elsie, face still in the bowl, lifted a trembling hand. "My head's gonna… blow up—" She gagged.

"No, I didn’t see it," Dottie spat. "I was a little busy making sure Elsie didn't choke on her own vomit!"

The bathroom door banged open again, but this time Sandy was trailing after yet another fair haired girl, who stepped into the bathroom with the same resolve that carried her through the war.

"Jesus, what happened in here?" Florence's voice pitched high at the embarrassing sight of her older cousin slumped over the toilet like a ragdoll.

"Elsie can’t hold her gin." Sandy said sweetly, leaning in the doorway like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Flo was already down beside her, slapping Elsie's cheek. "C'mon, El, up you go." The veteran nurse half hauled up the brunette. "I told you to pace yourself, didn't I?"

Elsie groaned something that might’ve been 'fuck off' or an 'I love you'.

"Sandy, grab her other side." Flo grunted as she hoisted her upright. "We're getting out of this piss-scented coffin right now."

"Gladly." Sandy said, and took Elsie's limp arm like she was handling a rolled-up rug.

"Yeah, I've had enough of these two for one night." Dottie quipped as she got up, aided by Veronica's helping hand, who was quick to let go.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"You two are impossible." Flo backed up her fellow nurse, who rushed out of the bathroom to find the girls' purses. "If it were up to me? I'd lock you two together until you learned the lesson."

"Is the lesson killing each other?" Sandy joked, throwing a look over her shoulder at Ronnie as they all exited the stalls.

"Sweet Jesus." Flo muttered, accommodating Elsie against her. She wondered if Sandy was pulling any of her cousin's weight. Elsie was pretty sure she wasn't. "I meant getting along."

"Highly doubt poster girl here knows how to do that." Veronica muttered. Although it probably was louder than a mutter if Elsie managed to catch it loud and clear.

"I'm not just a poster girl."

"Mhmm, you're also a bi—Ouch!" Dottie, back into Elsie's hazy view, slapped Ronnie's arm with a purse. "Dot, I swear to God—"

"Why don't you let Sandy breathe and come help me get the coats, huh?"

Elsie felt herself slip into a state of half consciousness, but still felt Sandy's shoulders shake with a single laugh before Dottie and Ronnie disappeared into the crowd, supposedly to gather the group's belongings. Elsie didn't care much about her coat, she thought, and her purse—well, she couldn't carry herself, let alone her purse.

The cold night air did little to sober her up, but at least brought some awareness to her inebriated brain. Flo—bless her—, announced something about hitching a ride. A cab? And her careful yet firm grasp left Elsie in the hands of Sandy. Technically.

She blinked at the lamppost she was now apparently married to, held upright only by Sandy's idle arm and a will to survive. The woman's free hand fished out a cigarette and a lighter from... from where? Her purse? And she muttered a "don't die." To Elsie before fully letting go in favor of her smoke.

The purses. Dottie and Ronnie hadn't joined them outside yet. Elsie tried to turn and face the door, her shoes slipping when she tried to shift her weight, but only caught sight of a stressed out Flo stopping a yellow cab right by the sidewalk.

The cabbie Flo had summoned halfheartedly stepped out of the car, like he didn't feel like doing so but felt obliged nonetheless. He was wiry, sharp-featured, with an angular jaw and locks just messy enough to suggest he didn't care, but styled enough to say he definitely did.

His eyes skimmed right over Sandy and Elsie, then locked back squarely on Flo. Elsie didn’t catch the words between them—she could barely catch her breath—but she noticed the way the man stood just a little straighter as he talked to Flo, like gravity worked differently around her. Not unusual, Flo's unintentional charm had that effect.

Elsie’s knees gave out slightly—a reminder of her precarious state—and she slid a few pathetic inches down the lamppost; a slow, unceremonious descent into disgrace.

The cabbie—Joe Liebgott, Flo had just learned after introducing herself—tilted his chin toward Elsie. "Uh—she's slipping."

Flo whipped around to see her cousin melting down the pole. Her legs rushed to the pair before her mind could catch up, the man she'd just met following along on instinct.

"I leave you two for thirty seconds," she groaned, stomping over, her grip triggering a sucked in breath from Elsie when she pulled her up. "and suddenly she’s auditioning for pavement.”

"She's fine," Sandy drawled, smoke curling lazily from her lips. "I was watching her."

"With what? Your third eye?"

Sandy only grinned. Flo didn't wait for a smart retort. She slid her arms under Elsie, heaving her up fully. Joe hovered nearby, hands half-lifted, unsure if he should help or keep out of the way.

Flo gave him a quick side-glance. He was smart enough to stay put.

"This is Joe." she introduced the man, jerking her chin at him as she shifted Elsie's weight. "He's gonna drive us home."

"What, the five of us?" Sandy gestured vaguely between them all and the dance hall gate, where two familiar silhouettes still hadn't emerged.

Flo winced. "Uhm... well, not the five of us, clearly."

Elsie squinted blearily at Joe, who seemed to be mildly amused at the situation under all the discomfort. "You kinda... look like a rat."

Flo froze. "Elsie!"

"I mean—" Elsie hiccuped, "—a handsome rat."

Flo's hand clamped over her cousin's mouth with military precision, but Joe simply scrunched his nose unimpressed. "Not the worst I've heard."

Behind them, the hall doors burst open. Dottie and Veronica came out in a flurry of motion and clacking heels, accompanied by him—Jack. All teeth and tan and no idea when to quit. Dottie looked like she was about to shake him off her leg like gum. Then she caught Flo's eye and, with a desperate little finger-point and a theatrical smile, deflected.

"There you are!" Jack beamed, pushing past Joe like he'd been born with right-of-way. "You disappeared on me back there."

Flo forced herself to fake politeness. "How odd."

Jack leaned into Flo's personal space, making her hold back a grimace. "I figured I'd hitch a ride with you, doll."

"Did you."

Not too far away, an argument that had been brewing between Ronnie and Dottie since they left the bathroom finally popped like a champagne cork.

"You're a brat, you know that?" Ronnie snapped.

"Oh, and you're so emotionally mature—"

"Girls!" Flo called without turning around. "Can we maybe save the breakdown for after we get home?"

No luck.

"I'm leaving." Dottie huffed, arms crossed, fury coiled tight in her shoulders.

"Yeah? Fuck, leaving where?" Ronnie shot back, already stomping after her.

"I'll find a ride."

As if summoned by pure narrative timing, a sleek black Cadillac slid up to the curb. The dark haired man behind the wheel leaned over and opened the passenger's door with drunken charm. "Need a lift, sweetheart?"

Dottie didn't miss a beat. She slid in, tossed a bitter smile and a wink at Veronica, and shut the door hard enough for the man to complain.

Veronica stood there, slack-jawed, arms in the air as they drove off. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" She trudged toward Sandy, shoes snapping sharp on the pavement. "got a smoke?"

"She'll come around." Sandy commented, lighting Ronnie's cigarette with the ease of a woman unbothered by chaos.

Flo, who didn't have time to babysit the apocalypse, turned to Joe, who stood a bit too close now. Not that she minded.

"This one's ours." she announced, nodding at Elsie for Joe to understand who the 'ours' referred to.

"Right." he muttered, and took it as a signal to help Flo hoist the girl into the back of cab like they were loading freight. Flo could've sworn she caught the man staring when she bent over to accommodate her nearly passed out cousin.

Predictably, Jack followed uninvited, brushing past Joe again like it was a sport, and slid in beside Elsie, who immediately sagged against him in a drunken heap. Lucky him. Or not. A leech with a good haircut, Flo thought. She would've been worried about using Elsie as a human shield if Jack hadn't talked her ear off about how he only liked blondes.

Joe lost no time to go back to the driver's seat. Flo moved to climb into the cab and take the free spot left in the backseat, but paused mid-motion. She turned to Veronica and Sandy, who were having one of those rare peaceful moments in which Ronnie let the Bostonian babble as much as she wanted without complaints.

"Girls!" The both perked their heads up at Flo's call. "You two gonna be alright?"

Sandy took a long drag of her cigarette. "You know I'll find a ride. And Ronnie's got legs."

"Sandra." Flo warned, but considering Veronica seemed anything but worried, she let it slide. "Get home safe."

"You too!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe Flo would have enjoyed the ride to Elsie's boarding house more if Jack had not been constantly trying to reach for her over her passed out cousin for a total of twenty minutes. Her wristwatch tick tacked mercilessly; a countdown until Elsie was no longer a flesh-made barrier between them.

Flo heavily considered getting Joe involved on her rousse to dodge Jack's attempts at latching onto her. By the looks the cabbie shot at the stowaway turned third passenger through the rearview mirror each time he opened his mouth, the blonde was very much in the positive about Joe not minding meddling.

"Right there—" Flo pointed at Elsie's current residence. "waitwaitwait!" The three passenger lounged forward involuntarily when Joe pumped the brakes before reaching the entrance. The cabbie cursed under his breath, and Flo blurted out an explanation no one asked for. "She's got curfew."

"Oh Jesus Christ," Joe tapped the steering wheel with the frustration of a man who would've rather die than put up with the bullshit going on in the backseat of his cab. If he were to be honest with himself, his shift had been over for a hot minute. The only reason why he pulled over in front of the dance was because of Flo. He was starting to regret it.

"It won't take long, I promise." Flo assured him in a half apologetic, half flustered tone; she lost no time to scramble out of the vehicle, almost dragging Elsie out with her by the girl's limp arm.

Flo had moved heavy weight during wartime—twice as heavy as Elsie—, but this wasn't '44, this was 1950 and the last time the nurse had to lift someone's body had been poor Winifred's after the girl had drunk half a bottle of bad whiskey during one of her breakdowns.

Winnie was quite the opposite of a heavy weight, though, and hadn't been wearing heels that constantly got caught up on a muddy yard.

"Oh, c'mon Elsie— sweet fuck, help me out a little."

Meanwhile, in the cab, Joe lit a cigarette with the kind of precise irritation that comes from keeping hands busy to salvage one's sanity. He watched through the windshield as Flo all but manhandled her cousin across the muddy patch of lawn beneath a yellow porch light. Her skirt kept riding up, her blouse clinging a little too well to her back and arms as she wrestled Elsie upright.

It was Flo's cleavage though, dipping dangerously when she crouched to dig out a small pin from under the trashcan, that killed Joe. He blinked once, twice. Took a drag and looked away because when Flo got Elsie halfway through the window—arms first, head flopped sideways like a tragic marionette—her dress had hiked up further.

"Damn," Jack murmured from the backseat. "Those tits are something else, but the legs? Fuck."

Joe's eyes left the two women to stare at Jack through the rearview mirror, blank and cold, as if he was filing away the information for later use—when he wasn't on the clock, when there weren't witnesses and a fare involved.

Maybe it was hypocritical of him—or maybe it was just the fact that he grew up taking care of four sisters—, but in any other situation, Joe would've leaned over the seat, grabbed Jack by the collar, and knocked his teeth loose against the door frame.

Instead, Joe flicked the ash out the window and pretended he didn't hear him.

Jack huffed a little laugh, almost piqued. "C'mon, you're looking too. Don't be a fucking priest."

Joe took another drag, smoke leaving his lips as he warned, "You talk like that again and you're walking home."

Jack scoffed. Probably didn't take it seriously, considering the little respect he'd been having for the three other people riding the cab with him that night. But Joe was serious and he was begging for Jack give him a reason.

Said reason didn't come before Flo returned to the cab.She slammed the door shut behind her, skirt hiked up from all the heavy lifting and one shoe nearly dangling off her heel. Her legs barely settled on the floor before Jack scooted closer—too close.

Joe saw it all in the rearview. He tossed his cigarette off the window for his hand to return to the gearshift. "Where to now?" he asked, voice rougher than before, eyes flicking to Flo, but only for a split second.

"My place." Jack said smoothly, like the suggestion carried some kind of weight.

"Need an address." Joe spat, a bit too rough.

Jack gave it to him absentmindedly, too busy leaning in close to Flo, a hand already halfway to her thigh before Joe's cab pulled away of the residential area. His voice dipped low. "You should come. We can… take the edge off."

Joe's knuckles whitened on the wheel.

Flo didn't answer right away; her gaze was fixed on the window, shoulders still. "No, thank you." her tone might as well have been the audible version of a slap for someone with half a brain.

Jack, who didn't seem to have half a brain, let out a short laugh. "C'mon. Don't be like that." His arm shifted—Joe couldn't see where it landed, but it was too close. His jaw ticked, and pointed eyes snapped to the rearview again.

"Jack." Flo's voice had teeth.

Jack ignored it. "We had a moment, doll. You don't wanna—"

She snapped. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. The sharp movement of her elbow jabbing into his ribs, the vicious twist of her body, the way her fingers found his wrist and flung it away from her lap like it was a dead rat—that was loud enough.

Joe hit the brakes before his brain caught up to the motion and the cab screeched to a jarring stop in the middle of a quiet San Francisco street. Tires protested against asphalt. Jack yelped, thrown slightly forward, barely catching himself with a palm on the window.

"What the fuck, man?" he barked.

Joe turned in his seat, elbow hooked over the backrest, and looked at Jack like he was something he might scrape off his boot.

“You can get out,” Joe said evenly.

Jack blinked. “What?”

Joe’s voice came out like gravel and restraint: “You can walk.”

"What?"

Joe didn’t even flinch. "You can walk. Get out."

Jack scoffed. "You kidding me, man? It’s half an hour away."

"I’m not fucking driving another half hour. My shift is over."

Jack leaned forward, incredulous. "The shift is over when I say so."

Joe exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes darkening as he took in those words. His palm hit the steering wheel once, loud and sharp. He scoffed under his breath, head tilted as if trying to decide whether to laugh or commit a crime.

In one fluid motion, Joe threw the car into park, popped his door open, and stepped out into the night. The cab rocked slightly as the door shut behind him. His boots echoed against the quiet street as he circled the vehicle to open Flo's door.

He yanked it open so hard the frame nearly bounced.

"Front seat," he told Flo, short and calm, not taking his eyes off Jack. "Now."

Flo didn’t argue. She slid out wordlessly and made for the front, brushing past Joe’s arm without a word.

Jack hadn’t even moved before Joe grabbed him by the arm. Firm. No dramatics, just authority. Joe pulled, dragging Jack half out of the cab like dead weight.

Jack stumbled, caught himself on the doorframe, and whipped around chest-to-chest with Joe. “Okay, fucking cabbie—who do you think you are—”

Joe shoved him.

Not a slap, not a punch—just one solid hand at the center of Jack’s chest, fast and merciless. Jack’s back hit the side of the cab with a metallic thud.

“I said you can fucking walk,” Joe told him, his voice calm and razor-sharp. “So go do that, buddy.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Joe turned, slid back into the driver’s seat, and started the engine with an annoyed exhale.

Flo was already settled beside him up front, legs crossed, hand braced on the dash. She didn’t look at Jack once as they pulled away. Not until the cab had started rolling. Then she flipped him off—middle finger up, elbow on the window, chin tilted high to meet Jack's incredulous expression through the wing mirror.

The city rolled by in silence, streetlamps carving stripes across Joe’s face. The roads were nearly empty, save for the occasional couple wandering home, arm in arm, laughing into the night.

In a desperate attempt at finding a topic to fill the silence, Flo's eyes scanned the cab and soon landed on the dog tags hanging from the gearshift.

“You served?” she asked in a curious tone.

Joe cleared his throat, shifting slightly on his seat, maybe uncomfortable, maybe still annoyed. “Yeah. Airborne. Europe.”

“Me too,” she said, then smirked faintly. “Well. Not Airborne. Nurse Corps.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Guess that makes us coworkers.”

A soft chuckle left her. “Didn’t peg you for the type to talk shop.”

“I’m not.” he said, a bit too fast.

But he didn’t look away.

They sat in that mutual silence again. Not awkward. Not exactly comfortable either. Just tight. Like something was being held back on both ends.

Flo leaned her head lightly against the window, but her eyes stayed on him.

“You from around here?” she asked.

Joe gave a noncommittal shrug. “Not for long."

"Mysterious."

"I could go into detail on a date, you know?" He dropped, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel.

Flo tried to stop her face from breaking in a smile. This was not how she expected the night to go, but no one would hear her complain about it.

Joe pulled up in front of her building. Three floors, a narrow stoop, and the glow of a single room spilling out of her apartment's window. Winnie was still awake, Flo realized. Shame.

“That’ll be…” Joe leaned forward to check the taximeter, but his eyes lingered a second too long on her instead. “A dollar seventy-five.”

Flo blinked, then looked down at her lap. No purse.

Shit.

She twisted in her seat, bracing a hand on the dashboard as she leaned back over the seat. Her cleavage pulled tight. Joe’s eyes flicked—he didn’t even try to hide it.

Flo caught it. Didn’t say a thing.

“Damn it,” she muttered, half to herself. The purses. With all the chaos going on at the entrance of the dance hall, Flo must've forgotten to ask Ronnie and Dottie for her and Elsie's purse.

"Uhm," she turned back to Joe, who surely awaited a shit excuse by the way his brow was quirked. "My friend's got my purse."

He puffed out a laugh. Flo did too, out of nervousness if anything.

"I could go up to my apartment," she suggested, already curling her fingers around the door's handle. "Get the money and come back."

"Yeah, fuck, how do I know you're gonna come back at all?"

"You don't."

"Exactly."

Flo pondered her options. Maybe, she thought, she could let this work in her favor to end the godawful emotional rollercoaster in a fun note. She'd gone to that shit celebratory dance with the goal of taking a man home either way—she just didn't know said guy could be a cab driver.

"Maybe we could reach an agreement." She tried with a shrug that faked confidence poorly.

"An agreement." Joe kept tapping the steering wheel. If he saw where Flo was driving up with this, he didn't let it show. "An agreement won't pay the gas."

"But I'm pretty." She joked.

"That's an understatement." Joe seemed to ponder how stupid would it be to follow along. He hadn't been taking the best choices today, so what harm could another messy turn do? "What kind of agreement?"

There it was. Flo didn't expect the situation to even be able to escalate, but now that they were there and that Joe's eager eyes were anything but subtle, she dove right in.

"Depends. How much of a gentleman are you, Joe?"

That got a huff of laughter out of him. He looked away, toward the building, then back at her. His jaw tensed—maybe trying to keep from smirking. Or maybe to stop from talking himself out of this.

“I was a lot more of a gentleman before you got into the cab.” he stated, too low not to mean anything past a quick comeback.

His words hung in the cab like smoke—thick, heavy, slow to dissipate.

Flo didn’t give them time to.

She leaned forward, bracing one hand against the seat between them. Her mouth was on his a moment later—no hesitation, no asking. Just pressure, intent, and the sharp click of teeth from the speed of it. Joe kissed her back like he hadn’t been waiting for it but sure as hell wasn’t stopping now. One of his hands caught her waist, the other tangled roughly in her hair. Their teeth knocked again, and Flo let out a sound in the back of her throat that made him groan into her mouth.

Heat flashed under her skin like gasoline catching spark, fast and all-consuming, but she pulled back first, breath shallow, mouth flushed, fingers slipping from the collar of his jacket.

“Out,” she whispered, certain. “Get out of the cab.”

Joe didn’t ask why. He just opened his door and stepped out into the night air, the slam of it echoing off the empty street. He stood there, leaned against the side of the cab with the door still open beside him—a physical shield for what they both knew was about to happen.

Flo slid out after him, slower, more deliberate. The hem of her dress caught a bit of wind and shifted around her legs. She didn’t look at him until she was rounding the back of the cab, heels barely making a sound on the pavement.

She stopped when she was in front of him.

Their eyes locked for a second longer than necessary.

Then, with deft fingers, she reached for his belt, undid the buckle with practiced ease. Her knuckles brushed against his stomach as she tugged his pants open, and he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Jesus,” he muttered, head tilting back just a little, throat working as she slid the zipper down. Her fingers found the waistband of his briefs next.

“Relax,” she said, voice honey-thick.

She dropped to her knees.

The pavement was cold. The wind brushed her cheeks. Joe’s hand twitched by his side, unsure where to go—until she looked up at him through her mascara-tinted lashes, and his hand tangled on her hair, gentle. At first, at least, when the warmth of her breath hit the tip of his dick, lips teasing and calculatedly careful.

But then her tongue flicked around the head, mouth wrapping around it with expertise precision, slow and teasing, and Joe's fingers tightened around the blind locks without meaning to. Although, if he was being honest with himself, maybe he meant to.

Her hand stroked what her mouth didn’t yet take, building a rhythm meant to undo him faster than Joe imagined.

The street was dead quiet except for the occasional car in the distance—yet every sound felt ten times louder in the dark. Joe bit down on a curse; for all the noise discipline he had been submitted to during the war, he had always loved to run his mouth, and Flo wasn't making things easier for him to stay quiet.

“Christ, you’re—shit—” His voice broke in a whisper as she swallowed him deeper, hand braced against his thigh for leverage. Her other hand still worked the base, slow but steady, in perfect sync with her tongue. “You don’t—god, fuck, sweetheart—don’t play fair, do you?”

Flo hummed around him, smug as sin, and the vibration made his hips jerk forward before he caught himself.

She liked that.

She also liked the tension in his arm as he gripped her makeshift ponytail like he was holding himself back from thrusting forward.

The way his thighs kept tightening, the way his fingers trembled against her scalp—he was close. She could feel it in how hard he clenched his jaw, trying not to groan, how he kept muttering half-formed words through grit teeth.

“Shit—Florence—”

He wasn't asking her to stop; he was warning her he couldn't hold out much longer, and judging by the way she picked up the pace, the soft pop of her mouth every time she let him slip out, that was exactly what she wanted.

Joe came with a hoarse groan, every muscle in his body tensing, hand fisting in Flo’s hair as she took all of him, swallowing his load, her lips dragging just slightly as she eased off him.

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of both of them breathing, heavy and uneven in the cool night air.

Joe's eyes fluttered down at her, chest still rising and falling fast. His hand slid from the back of her head to her shoulder, then lower, fingers curling around her arm as he pulled her gently up onto her feet.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice roughened, and dragged her flush against him.

The kiss that followed was deep and filthy and possessive—like he hadn’t just finished, like he was already aching again. His hands gripped her hips, hard enough she’d probably find finger-shaped bruises tomorrow.

“I’m not done with you,” he almost growled against her mouth. A warning and a promise all at once—one that made anticipation pool inside Flo. “Alright?”

The blonde grinned, a little breathless. “You got condoms here?”

That stopped him cold.

Joe pulled back just enough to give her a look. “The fuck would I have condoms in my cab?”

She figured that would be the case, but better be safe than sorry, because the alternative was a bit embarrassing. A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do, though. Flo dropped her forehead against his shoulder and sighed like she was asking the heavens for strength.

“She’s gonna kill me.”

Flo didn't want to resort to Winifred; the reason why she was not out to begin with was that she had preferred to be left alone. Flo didn't have much of a choice at this point in time, and so the pair walked up to the quiet building, shutting the cab's door behind them.

Inside the warm lit living room, Winnie was curled up on the couch, wearing a cardigan too big for her that she didn't even remember getting, clutching a half-empty glass of wine in one hand and a dog-eared romance novel in the other. Her cheeks were damp, her nose red, and her pixie-long hair slightly disheveled.

The British woman had been in need of a good cry for what seemed ages; she just didn't know it'd come through a shit book she swore up and down she wouldn't read. She also didn't expect a pebble to hit the window behind her—hence why she nearly jumped off the couch.

"What—"

Tick!

Another rock made Winnie flinch, but this time she got closer to the window instead of jolting away from it.

Tick!

Third time's the charm. Grumbling through her wine haze with a frown, Winifred got up and opened the window just enough to stick her head out.

“Flo?” she blinked down. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Having a bit of fun,” Flo announced sweetly from three floors down. Joe was behind her, pants re-buckled but shirt rumpled beyond hope. “I need a favor.”

“What?”

“I need you to grab the condoms from my nightstand.”

Winnie's brows drew tighter, confusion turning into vexation. One single night of peace. She hadn't asked for a lot, had she?

"I'm having a breakdown!" She whisper-shouted, her voice cracking a bit in the process. The man behind her roommate didn't bother in hiding his snickering, which made Winifred want to go downstairs and slap the fun out of him.

"I know, sweetie," Flo reasoned in a kind yet impatient tone. "And I love you!" Winifred sighed at Flo's sweetness, the ghost of a pout crossing her visage. It soon vanished when the blonde down on the street finished her statement. "But I need you to toss me the Trojans!"

That did it.

Winnie shut the window hard enough to shatter it, and for a hot second, Flo started to hype herself up about going upstairs.

The window opened before Flo could make up her mind about how to proceed without having her friend murder her over breakfast, and Winnie's head peeked out the half open for a brief instant. Then her hand followed, tossing the condoms down with force that wasn't needed and aim that hadn't been accidental, since the protection turned projectile hit Joe's head dead on, making curse out of shock.

“Fuck—she could be a pitcher for the Seals.” the man muttered to himself, rubbing his crown while crouching to get a hold of the dropped condoms.

"I love her." Flo stated. She didn't wait up for Joe's reply—just wrapped her slender fingers around the man's wrist and led him back to the cab.

Florence hadn't really pictured herself fucking a cabbie out in the open in front of her apartment building, but now that it was about to happen, she didn't wanna waste time with pleasantries.

Joe barely had the wrapper torn open when Flo pulled him in by the collar like a woman on a mission—though one might argue he was the one following orders.

"Jesus Christ-"

If he had something to say—which was most likely the case—, the words got pushed back down his throat by Flo's eager mouth. Joe did his best to keep up with the woman, but considering the way her hands dove down to his buckle again not even a split second after his back hit the driver's door of the cab, he started to worry about matching her pace.

He wouldn't go down without trying, though; Joe's own digits helped her yank down his pants and skivvies, his half hard dick springing out to be immediately caught by Flo's impatient palm.

With an almost frustrated 'fuck', Joe gently slapped Flo's hand away to slip himself into the condom with close to no finesse. The blonde took the momentum to take half a step back and roll her own panties down under her dress.

When she returned to her previous position, her body hit his with purpose; one of her legs hooked high, slipping out of her underwear to grant Joe better access in a precarious way with medal worthy flexibility.

Her heel hung on for dear life; the other shoe stayed grounded, toe pointed, calf flexed. She was all curve and command, pinning him to the side of the cab like it was a shared vice.

Joe pushed into her, slow and as controlled as a man starving could be; he sucked in a breath hoping it might help him survive the next five minutes.

“Shit,” he breathed on Flo's flushed cheek. “Are you always this—”

“Efficient?” she offered, voice pitched low with a crooked smile, drawing dominance from her keenness.

"That's a—fuck—" Joe's jaw locked, head tilted back when Flo rolled her hips in a testing motion. "—that's a way to put it."

She laughed softly, warm and unhurried, and pressed her mouth to his jaw instead of answering. A taunt. Joe’s hands found her hips with practiced urgency, eyes going back to stare at Flo, a low curse gritting through his teeth as she dragged kisses up his neck.

Joe decided to do something useful and made sure to bracket Flo's leg between his arm and his side; it wouldn't stop her exposed knee from hitting the side of the cab when she moved, but it'd offer her some very much needed leverage to chase her own pleasure.

Somewhere between Flo's drawling rhythm and Joe's not-so-quiet grunts, her other shoe finally gave up and dropped to the street with a soft clack. She didn't notice. Or care.

"Keep your voice down, cabbie," she whispered, voice close to his ear. "I already had to beg for condoms. I’m not doing crowd control."

“You begged,” he scoffed, but it came out ragged. “You bribed her with love and yelled about Trojans.”

“You gonna lecture me?" Flo said, grinding forward just enough to steal his next breath, “or shut up and earn your tip?”

That got a sound out of him—half-laugh, half-moan—one hand slipping down to anchor her thigh higher, while the other palmed between their torsos to find her tits. God what Joe would give to see them bounce, but that was too much to ask. This was already too much to ask, but he wasn't about to turn down the highlight of his month just in case some San Francisco resident would walk down the street at ungodly hours.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” he claimed, peppering her jaw with lazy kisses to stop himself from getting any louder.

“Maybe,” she murmured, hips shifting with delicious threat. “But what a way to go.”

His hands gripped her hips, tighter now, not guiding—anchoring. Flo was doing a pretty good job of driving them both over the edge with the way her pelvis rolled, making Joe be able to hit all the right spots. He wasn't sure who was holding who up anymore.

She stumbled a little when she picked up the pace, mouth against mouth to cage the unholy panting and mewling leaving their throats with each thrust. Flo's digits steadied her by digging into Joe's nape and shoulder blade, which drew a hissed curse from him.

“Jesus,” he complained under his breath, head tipping back against the cab. “You got nails or something?”

“I got motivation.” Flo whispered, brushing her mouth along the line of his neck. Her skirt had hiked up halfway over her thigh by now, and her hand held onto the hem of Joe's shirt like she was ready to tear it if needed.

“I thought nurses were supposed to be gentle.”

“I’m off duty,” she countered breathless against his mouth. “and you’re still talking.”

He groaned, softer this time, forehead pressed to hers like that might stabilize him. Joe’s hands slid up, fingers tracing the dip of her waist, the curve of her spine, her breasts, the shape of her shoulder blades under the fabric of that damn dress. He was a goner.

Flo bit his lower lip, chest heaving, hands roaming, hips bouncing against him, and Joe? Joe made another one of those strangled little noises that sounded like he was trying not to. A whisper of her name escaped his lips, and Florence almost laughed into his mouth.

“We’ll work on your volume.”

“Don’t you dare—” he warned, barely able to breathe, let alone finish the sentence. But she was already shifting her weight again, her bare foot slipping against the side of the cab for leverage as she tried to quicken the pace again, grasping at any part of Joe that would help her stay upright. She was close, almost gone, tipping over the edge; Joe saw that as an opportunity to shift the dynamic.

In a sharp, almost instinctive pivot, he turned them both around. Flo met the warm metal of the cab first with her back, then with her palms splayed on the hood when Joe spun her and bent her over it.

He leaned over her, pushing her down until her cheek met the curved surface, red lipstick nearly smudged on yellow. One of his hands on her hip, the other lining himself up with her pussy. “Still feeling cute now?”

"Fuck me—" Flo's go-to curse morphed into a loud moan when Joe thrusted into her again, the heat pooling her core working in his favor. He was not willing to waste time and whether or not Flo's sounds echoed in the nearby buildings when he started pistoning into her—hips slapping again ass cheeks—wasn't one of his concerns. "Oh—oh Jesus FUCK—"

"Shut up," Joe urged, "you're gonna get us arrested—" although his own grunts weren't helping his case.

"Then shut me up," Flo taunted, lips staining the hood of the cab with each articulated word. She caught Joe's breathed out curse, but she didn't expect him to turn her around again; a motion too fast to process properly before Joe pulled her up by her hair to sit up, his free hand yanking her cleavage down as much as the dress allowed him to.

"Now this is what I wanted to see." He mumbled more to himself than to Flo, mouth latching onto the now exposed flesh of her chest, his rhythm picking up a ridiculous speed that kept tearing broken sounds out of the blonde.

The noise would potentially be an issue for Flo the morning after, when the time would come to face the neighbors that she was pretty sure were being shaken awake by the best fuck she'd had in a long while. The morning had not come yet, and neither had Florence, so she stacked the problem on the back of her mind.

Not everyone was lucky enough to be too fucked out to care about the spectacle Flo and Joe were subjecting the neighborhood to.

Winifred, for once, was now glued to the telephone, eyes shut, trying not to gag every time a 'sweet fuck' or a 'right there' from Florence punctured through the living room's walls.

"They're still at it." Winnie talked through the transmitter.

"I can't believe she's fucking the cabbie." Veronica's amused voice cut through the nightmarish moans, Sandy's laugh reaching Winnie's ear through the receiver. "Thank God I didn't show up with her damn purse."

"She could've asked me to toss her my purse but no—" Winifred huffed, her breakdown long forgotten. "Asked for the condoms instead."

"—What are they doing?" Sandy questioned eagerly with a laugh, she had definitely taken the handset away from Veronica.

"They're uh..." Against better judgement, Winifred moved the curtain's hem to the side like it'd burn her if she got too close and peeped through the window down at the parked cab. "Oh goodness gracious!"

"What?! What is it?!"

"He's eating her out!" Winnie physically gagged, closing the curtain again and turning her back to the window like that would make it any better.

"Such a shame you don't have Ronnie's camera with you." Sandy joked, disregarding Winifred's horrified state. "This would make for great press, right Ron?"

"I'm about to puke." Winnie blurted out into the phone.

"—go away—" Ronnie shooed Sandy on the other side of the line. "Freddie just... Just go to sleep, alright?"

Winifred considered arguing, but given the late hours, the finished bottle of wine and the way Florence was screaming that cabbie's name, the best thing she could do was call it a night.

She'd make sure to translate how displeased she'd been to Florence over breakfast in the form of purposefully burnt toasts. She just hoped she wouldn't have that cabbie at the kitchen table too. Although having on account the way Flo was repeatedly screaming 'I'm coming' down on the street, it was a very plausible possiblity.

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