#and he said that it wasn’t; that he was suffering back then too but that he wanted to keep me happy and that he eventually grew to love her

[straylightdream]

unconditional

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: yoon joenghan x f.reader

↳ life has been hard, and you know you’re not easy to love right now. No matter how hard things get he’a always by your side.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: established relationship

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff, angst, lots of emotions, mentions or depression and anxiety, suggestive: eluding to sex in the past, and mentions of showering together

an: this is a short one, but I’m definitely in my Jeonghan feels right now.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Staring at him intently you were trying to figure out how to put into words everything that was going on through your mind. Leaning against the kitchen counter he just stared at you wondering if you were ever going to speak. Things haven’t been the easiest in this relationship recently.

“I must be really hard to be with,” a sigh passed your lips. He couldn’t even say anything. He just stared at you with his warm dark eyes. “I’m gonna take that silence as a yes,” you crossed your arms and just stared at him.

You were going through a lot at the moment. Your father had randomly left your mother a few months ago for a random woman. You were suffering from depression and anxiety. In the process of dealing with that kept pushing away Jeonghan while he was just trying to be there for you. You weren't the easiest person to be with right now but he didn’t care. He just knew you needed him to tell you were going to be okay. He knew that even though you were going through a rough patch, you just needed some to love and support you unconditionally.

“I’m trying my hardest to be there for you,” he says walking towards you. He really just wanted to hug you and tell you to let him in. He hates when you become so guarded that he can’t get through to you.

“I know you are, and do you think it’s honestly fair you have to put up with me?” Your eyes watered at the thought that maybe you should break up. Maybe you should give him an out. He doesn’t deserve all the hard time you put him through. He deserves someone who is going to love and support him like he supports you.

“I’m not giving up on you,” he stood right in front of you staring at you with kind eyes. His hand rests on your cheek as he gently drags his thumb across your delicate skin. “I’m never going to love anyone like I love you.”

If you looked up the definition of a “perfect boyfriend” in the dictionary you would probably find a picture of Yoon Jeonghan. He was the most caring and loving boyfriend in the world and would do anything to make you happy. He constantly goes out of his way to do things that he knows will make you smile.

Bright eyes started at you intently as you fought back tears. He didn’t even bother saying anything else he just wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his strong chest. You cling to him instantly. You don’t want to be difficult. You wished more than anything you could just be happy.

“I love you and we’re in this together,” he murmured with his lips resting on top of your head. Nuzzling your head into his chest. You knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He was in it for the long haul and would do anything for you. His hand rubs your back and you hold onto him. Gentle tears slowly slide down your cheeks.

“I love you too,” you said softly.

“Why don’t we go to bed and I can hold you?” he let go of you slowly and gave you a small smile. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I would like that,” you reached down and grabbed his soft hand.

Slowly you made your way towards your bedroom. You both crawled onto the queen size bed that sits under the window. You snuggled up as physically close as you could get to Jeonghan. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close as your head rested on his shoulder.

“Thank you for putting up with me,” you sighed. You’ll never understand how you managed to find someone like Jeonghan. He’s truly perfect in every sense of the word. You love him with your whole heart and soul, and you know he loves you.

“I love you and I’m always going to be there for you,” he gently kissed the top of your head, causing you to smile as she closed her eyes.

“Let’s lay down,” he moves so he’s laying down and he pulls up close to him with your head resting on his chest. “Do you know the moment I realized I was in love with you?” He absentmindedly draws shapes on your arms.

“No?”

“We had been dating for two and half weeks and it was the day we got caught in the rainstorm.” You vividly remember this day. “We had gone to the museum because my favorite artists had paintings there and I remember I could barely pay attention to the art. I was captivated watching you. You seemed so interested in learning about the things I love.” When you met him and you found out about his love for art. You learn everything about his favorite artist so you could share his love for art.

“I liked you so much from the beginning, I wanted to make sure you knew how much I cared for you.”

“I can still picture you that day. I remember it was a beautiful spring day and you wore that pretty light blue dress.” You didn’t tell him but you bought that dress to wear on that date.

“It was a warm spring day. I had no clue it was supposed to rain. I didn’t even bother bringing a jacket.”

“I know you hated the rain that day, but everything about that day was perfect for me. I realized watching you stare at those paintings that I was in love with you.” You almost want to start crying again. You aren’t sure how you managed to get Jeonghan to love you like he does.

“I realized I love you probably at the month mark.”

“You mean after that I told you I love you?” He smiles. He never had a problem being the first one to say those three big words.

“When you told me you love me, I realized then that I felt things for you I hadn’t ever felt before,” leaning up your press a gentle kiss to his neck. “It clicked for me when you spent the night after we went out with your friend. I remember the way you held my hand just seemed so proud to introduce me as your girlfriend.”

“I was head over heels for you. Of course I was proud to introduce you to them.”

“That night in bed things just felt more intimate and intense and I realized it was because I was in love with you.”

He closes his eyes smiling. “You told me that night you loved me while we took a shower together. I just remember how nervous you were. I thought you looked absolutely adorable.”

“I loved you then and I still love you with my whole heart,” you snuggle closer to him.

“Baby I have loved you with my whole heart and soul since that rainy day.”

You know no matter how hard things get for you Jeonghan is always going to love. He’s always going to be by your side. Soon you both drifted off to sleep knowing no matter what you have each other.

[the-bi-space-ace]

I’m Cold

I told you I was back on my Crosshair and Echo bullshit and you couldn’t stop me and I’m back again. This time with another headcanon and a short fic for EchoVember for everyone to enjoy 🩶

I think the phrase “I’m cold.” Became a sign for these two to let the other comfort them. To stop arguments about feeling coddled or not wanting to appear weak. “I’m cold” means move over. Let me take some of the burden. Don’t argue with me. It’s a way to make the other feel better about accepting comfort so they feel more willing to accept it, as if they're helping the other person instead.

How about a cute little fic about how that starts?

Have you ever wanted a fic like "Oh, Shut Up" but the roles reversed? Well, here ya go! Some Echo and Crosshair hurt/comfort for your enjoyment <3

Happy Echovember!

Echo woke to what sounded like the cross of a groan and a whine, high pitched but pained. Instinct threw him to his feet, touching down onto the metal floor of the Marauder, confronted only with the dim light of the bunk room and the subtle snores from his squad. All sleeping except for Wrecker up in the cockpit on watch. It was still deep in the night cycle, their next mission still a rotation out from their current position. There that noise was again. This time Echo could pinpoint where it was coming from. He turned towards it, spotting the restless lump on the bunk across from him. 

Crosshair was sleeping but it wasn’t restful, body tossing and turning underneath the covers. Every so often he let out a noise not unlike the first one. Short gasps and grumbles that could have been words but Echo couldn’t discern what he was trying to say. It wasn’t often that Crosshair got nightmares. There were always times bad dreams plagued them but Crosshair’s were few and far between. It was always possible that he just hid it better than the rest of them, too proud to show himself needing help in front of them. On the rare occasion he couldn’t hide it, usually Wrecker was at his side the second he made a noise, not even bothering to wake him up before climbing into the bunk. Crosshair always grumbled, bit back something snappy about how he’d been woken up, but he let Wrecker lay with him. Maybe that said more about Crosshair’s state in those moments than anything else. 

Another toss, face screwed up in pain, and Echo couldn’t wait any longer. He was careful not to let his feet make noise when he started to tip toe over to the other bunk. Noise behind him drew his eyes upward, meeting Hunter’s gaze as he was midway through tossing his own blanket off. Hunter tipped his head at Echo, eyes darting between him and their suffering squadmate. Was he the best person for this? That he didn’t quite know but he was already out of bed. No need to have someone else take over what he’d already determined he would do. 

Echo paused but flashed a quick hand signal to his sergeant. 

I’ll take point. 

Surprise flashed across Hunter’s expression for only a second then he flashed a quick OK before settling back down in his bunk. Echo could feel the eyes still on him but he’d committed to this course of action and he’d never been one to give up so soon. 

Approaching a squad mate had never felt so weighty before. The dominoes had been loud, excitable, but he’d never felt quite so out of his depth. Perhaps approaching from eye level was safer. Echo crouched by the side of the bunk so he could watch Crosshair’s face, screwed up as it was. Tear tracks ran down his face, unable to stop the emotion while still asleep, leaving a glistening target in the dark. Echo took a deep breath. 

“Crosshair.” Echo whispered. Nothing. Still tossing and turning uninhibited. With gentleness he’d not exhibited in a while he laid a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder, rocking him gently. “Hey, Cross.” The touch woke him almost instantly, breath sucked in through his nose and bleary eyes cracking open. As quick and observant as ever, Crosshair closed his eyes again and rubbed the back of his arm over his face, trying to disguise the telltale sign of tears. 

Echo’s heart squeezed a bit. He didn’t have to do that. Hide. Not from any of them. 

“What do you want, reg?” He bit out. Scratchiness from sleep mixed with a thickness that Echo hadn’t heard from Crosshair before. 

“You were making noise.” Echo said. His hand was pushed away as Crosshair rolled over onto his back, eyes studying the ceiling above him. 

Crosshair scoffed. “Sorry to disturb your sleep, didn’t realize regs needed such perfect conditions to pass out.” He sniffed, rubbing his arm over his eyes once more to confirm he’d gotten all of the tears off of his cheeks. Echo felt like he was trying to approach a scared tooka, one that was one step away from hissing and batting him away. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, ignoring the dig.

“Piss off.” Crosshair bit out, head turning to face the opposite wall. Wasn’t an answer to the question. 

“I get nightmares, too, ya know.” Echo sighed, resting his arm and scomp against each other on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m aware.” He grumbled, letting them fall into silence. The quiet only lasted until Crosshair huffed, turning back onto his side to stare menacingly at Echo. The red rimmed eyes undercut the curated mask. “Just go back to bed.” A dismissal. He wasn’t going to be thwarted that easily. Breaking down Crosshair’s walls took consistency. He was learning the longer he spent with Clone Force 99 that his bond with Crosshair would take work but once it was earned it would be difficult to break. 

Echo was planning on earning it.

“Already awake. No sense going all the way over there again.” Echo shrugged, gesturing behind him with his scomp. All it did was make Crosshair glare a bit harder as if it would scare Echo away from him. Most of the bite to him was to scare people off, not let them too close otherwise they might start to matter. That’s what freaked Crosshair out, Echo was sure of it, that someone new might matter to him and it would hurt if one day they were gone. Better to ruin it before it got to that point, frighten off Echo before he made up his mind and decided to stay for good. 

Not a chance he was letting that happen. 

Echo had twice Crosshair’s weight in stubbornness. Once his mind was made up he was sticking to it, even if he had to get knocked down a few times before he could stand on his own two feet. He met the glare with a raised eyebrow, tipping his head in challenge. 

A petulant eye roll accompanied a tired deflation. “I’m fine, reg. Use your pity on someone else.” 

“It’s not pity. You woke me, remember? This is your punishment for that.” The joke halfway landed, he saw it in Crosshair’s eyes, but it wasn’t quite enough to soften his mood, still grumbling and keeping his feelings too close to his chest. Echo reached his scomp out as an offering, one that Crosshair eyed but didn’t take. Not taking any of the bait. Must’ve been a pretty shitty dream. Echo deflated. His mind raced through options. Whatever he chose to do might get him slapped for his effort with the way his squadmate was reacting. He was at a loss until he shrugged, letting his head lay on his folded arm. 

“I’m cold.” Echo wasn’t sure how he had meant that to sound, how he’d like it to be taken, but waiting was the only way you got an answer out of their sniper. Crosshair watched his face for what felt like a full minute, thoughts racing behind steady eyes, brow pinching with that well earned skepticism. Temperature was almost always consistent on ships, especially theirs. Tech didn’t like it fluctuating too much. Bad for his ship as he’d say. The ‘cold’ was a poor excuse and they both knew it. Giving up was on the horizon, he’d fumbled this interaction enough it was about time to pack it in, but Crosshair surprised him as he often did. 

Crosshair shuffled backwards, making room on the tiny regulation bunk, then lifted the blanket as if offering an invitation. Hesitation would only make Crosshair skittish so Echo took the opportunity in stride and slid into the free space. The mattress was warm, heated by the body recently laying in that spot, and the blanket thrown over his shoulders added to the exchange of body heat. Echo turned onto his back and lifted his arm to let Crosshair scoot forward, tucking into the space to rest his head comfortably on his chest. Echo held him tightly, hand rubbing absentmindedly over the expanse of his back. A weary sigh left the other man’s body, finally melting into Echo’s side like it had brought at least some relief. 

Echo would like to believe that he could still give this kind of comfort. That he wasn’t so changed that his squad wouldn’t want to share such close space with him. He remembered holding Fives like this, carding fingers through his hair. Crosshair’s wasn’t quite as long but it was enough to run the tips of his fingers through, blunt nails scratching lightly over his scalp. 

“Echo?” The muffled voice brought Echo’s eyes downward. Crosshair wasn’t looking at him but he did squeeze tighter into the space, pressing his forehead to Echo’s neck, his arm stretching across Echo’s waist to keep the hold firm. No other words came but he got the message. Whether it was the way he squeezed back or the way his chest stuttered every so often Echo wouldn’t ever divulge. It was enough of an admission. Enough to know he was on the right track. Echo was as content to be the source of warmth for the night as Crosshair was to accept it now. 

Protectiveness swept through him, almost overwhelmingly so. Something in him wanted to chase away all of those sour thoughts. The ones that made pits grow in your stomach and your throat tighten. Make sure none of Clone Force 99 had to hurt, even if that hurt came in the form of nightmares or cold nights. Without thinking too hard about it Echo pressed a quick kiss to the top of Crosshair’s head. “I know, Cross, I know.” 

[maxdibert]

And that is precisely the worst reason, because just as they could choose to exercise violence, they could also choose not to, but they opted for the first choice. We can’t forget the reason behind that power: their power came from the lack of consequences for their actions and the certainty that there would be no serious repercussions. James and Sirius knew they could attack Severus because he was someone without a family name, blood status, or financial resources. No one was going to defend him, no one cared about him, he wasn’t important among his peers, and he didn’t have present parents. He had no money, no influence—he was a nobody.

And they weren’t nobodies. They had all of that. James knew his parents would do anything for him, and while Sirius came from a bad household, Walburga would never have allowed her son to be humiliated—even if only to flaunt the power of the Black family and preserve their image. They had a safety net; Severus didn’t. So they could do whatever they wanted to him. If that hadn’t been the case, they would’ve picked on Mulciber or Rosier or any other Slytherin. But they didn’t—because they couldn’t. Those kids came from good families with resources, and their actions would’ve had consequences. So James and Sirius weren’t interested. Sure, they might’ve played a prank on them once or insulted them, but there was no prolonged bullying, no targeted abuse, because if they’d done that, they’d have gotten into trouble. With Severus, they had free rein—and that’s the most sinister part of it all: they went after him because he was defenseless.

They could have chosen not to do it. They could’ve been like many other popular boys and girls with social influence who don’t go out of their way to torment others. They could’ve chosen not to be violent, but they didn’t want to. I was part of a popular group in my school, and there were kids with a lot of money whose parents were important people, and they didn’t go around tormenting anyone. People can choose not to be terrible human beings—especially people like James, who had no trauma or underlying reasons to explain his behavior beyond being a violent, narcissistic jerk.

James was raised in a loving, progressive family, surrounded by care and privilege. His duty was to choose not to be violent, yet he decided to become a despicable, classist bully. Even Sirius has a backstory that makes his sociopathic tendencies somewhat understandable, but James? He’s just a fragile, egotistical jerk who couldn’t stand someone else getting close to the girl he liked, and because that someone turned out to be an easy target, he chose to torture him—even after he “got” the girl. Honestly, I find him a despicable character in every sense.

I also completely agree with everything you said. When people talk about Severus being resentful and violent, they tend to equate him with James and this supposed “change” James underwent that we never see or have any evidence of. But people often forget what I said earlier: James had no reason to be a jerk. His whole life was easy. He was filthy rich, adored by his parents, and after finishing school, he no longer ran into Severus in the halls, so he had no one to torment.

Meanwhile, Severus faced violence at home and at school. He endured teachers (the people responsible for his well-being) ignoring the bullying he suffered, even telling him to stay quiet when he was almost killed. He lived in a house full of supremacists as a half-blood, constantly having to prove he deserved to be there despite his status. He had no financial safety net to fall back on if things went wrong. He was groomed by members of a cult. He was groomed, emotionally manipulated, and had his insecurities and traumas exploited by Dumbledore. Very few people could have endured Severus’s life without ending up taking their own life.

People completely disregard his context. Sure, he had a horrible personality, but his life was horrible too. It’s not like he had many other options.

“I was bullied in school and didn’t turn out like Snape.”

Well, that argument works both ways. I was never bullied in school—in fact, I’d say I was part of a group of people considered “cool,” and not once in our lives did we go around picking on others, either verbally or physically. Nor were we going around drawing attention to ourselves with jokes that only appealed to the intellectually challenged. So, I don’t know, this whole “kids will be kids” thing doesn’t sit right with me because I was in that position, and I was never that childish. Neither were my friends. If we’re going to personalize the argument without considering the characters’ context, then let’s all do it, right?

The ironic part is that the same people who endlessly excuse the Marauders are exactly the kind of people the Marauders would have bullied relentlessly, and the fact that they genuinely don’t see it is… I don’t know whether to find it sad, pathetic, or both.

[admirationandromantics]

Going overboard, 1: Memento Mori

Okay, so first the prologue, and now the first chapter. As I've said before, not all chapters include a Josh-interactions because of accuracy to the game, so you'll just have to live with it. If you haven't read the Prologue, go to my profile, then the masterlist, Josh Washington. You'll find it there. Get ready for tomorrow!

❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀--✽--❀

Chapter 1: Memento Mori

After what happened up on the mountain last year, Josh didn’t stay in touch. At first we all tried to talk to him, help him, but we gave up one after another. He talked with Sam a lot. I think she did the most she could until he cut contact. I didn’t want to put too much on him, and we all were in grief as well, so it probably was the best solution. 

Sam and I had regular coffees. It helped us both. We shared stories about them, and she told me about everything which happened that night. The prank wasn’t about me, nor Josh. Not even Beth, but she still had to suffer the consequences. Poor Beth, and poor Hannah. We all knew she had a thing for Mike, but setting her up like that was not okay. I now despised them all, Jessica, Emily, Mike, Matt, Ashley. Matt was such a sweet guy, I couldn’t imagine him standing there with a camera, recording everything. For me though, Ashley hurt the most. I loved her, I truly did, but I cut contact quickly after I got to know about the evening. She sent me a bunch of texts, begging me to talk to her. She was sorry, she was drunk, caught up in the moment, and everyone was doing it so she felt like she had to. She never knew that the aftermath would be as bloody as it did. I still didn’t text her back. 

A month before the anniversary of their disappearance, Sam got a video message from Josh. He invited her up to the cabin again, stating that this would be a way to honour their memory, and relive the experience, but with a good ending. There would be booze, partying and just making new memories. Based on the video, it seemed like he asked everyone in the old group. Everyone except me. I felt hurt. Betrayed in a way. I was one of the few he talked to, cried to. Our relationship didn’t evolve after the event, but I was still there for him, trying to comfort him. Sam told me that I should come with her, but I declined. If he didn’t want me there, it was okay. She couldn’t understand why, but she kept being insistent, urging me to give it a chance. I didn’t have to be there the whole time, and if I wanted to, I could leave the very next day since the bus went through the area once every day. 

It would be good to talk to Josh, maybe even if he didn’t want to. I was selfish, I knew that, but I had to see him. I wanted to see how he was doing, how he was feeling. This also made me think of Chris. He would probably be there, and I hadn’t kept in touch with him either. I felt bad, but at the same time, we weren’t that close. I knew that he still hung out with Ashley sometimes, and maybe that made me a bit afraid. Maybe she would try to contact me through him? Maybe I wasn’t just selfish. Ashley also needed to talk. Talk to me, clear the air. I would let her. I finally agreed to come with Sam up to the cabin. 

***

The bus is empty, except for Sam and I of course. She didn’t pack much, and I didn’t either. I figured that I wouldn’t stay long. I just needed to talk to people, get some weights off my shoulders. The radio is playing, and no surprise, it’s about Beth and Hannah. I hold my composure, trying not to cry. The trip is long, and I end up sleeping on her shoulder for a good amount of it. Sam is watching something on her phone, but I don’t peek. I simply look out the window. There is an eerie feeling to these mountains. I felt the same last year, but this time it feels stronger. The black trees are covered in snow, untouched by animals. 

Finally we reach our stop. The sign says “Blackwood Pines” and hadn’t it been for last year's events, I would still love the name. Being here for the first time felt magical, straight out of Narnia, joining a winter wonderland of mystery. Now, I feel nervous. The air isn’t as fresh, the ground not as hard and the snow was too white. Instead of smelling winter, I smell something musk, like a dead animal or rotten meat. I look over at Sam, and I think she notices too. 

We start walking in silence, through the gate and up the trail. As we walk, she stops. 

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I whisper, getting anxious. Maybe it’s a wild animal, a wolf or a bear. 

“Hello!?” Sam shouts, and my eyes widen. Why would she do that, what if the animal looks at us as a threat now. I look around, expecting something to pop out, but it’s silent. 

“Sorry, I probably just thought I heard something,” she says, continuing walking. She notices my tenseness. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, absolutely not” I state, looking around again. 

“Hey I get it, this is weird, but we’re doing this for Josh right,” she starts, taking my hand, stopping me. 

“I hate to say it, but you need to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen, and people are just being friendly”

“I know, I know. I just can’t shake off this feeling that there’s something here”

“It’s because of last year. We’re all still thinking about it, so we know how you’re feeling”

I look up at her. She’s right, I’m not alone in this, and we’ve both been there for each other the whole year. 

“Yeah, thanks for the talk. It’s just… well, weird”

“It is, but I think this is good for you. This trip could be a way for you to let go, get some closure. They both would’ve wanted that for you” she says, before pulling me into a hug. I breathe, and some of the tension lifts. Thank God I still have Sam. When we pull away she looks at me, smiling. I smile back, before looking behind her. My mouth opens, eyes widen and my breath hitches. I grab her hand, holding hard. 

“S-Sam, c-c-careful. Stand s-s-till,” I whisper. She holds her breath while searching my face for answers. 

“Boo!” I shout, punching her with both my hands. She screeches, jumps and I feel her pulse in her hand. 

“Got you” I laugh, while she’s still trying to compose herself. 

“Fucking asshole” she says. I can’t stop laughing. 

“You know, you’re going to ‘wolf wolf’ me.”

“I can live with that” I continue laughing, before starting to walk again, her following after. 

“I’m joking, that was out of line, sorry” I say after a while. 

“At least you got to see my ‘frozen’ face”

“Yeah that’s why I laughed” 

We reach the gate, and a piece of paper is pinned on the lock. 

“The gate’s busted, climb over -Chris” 

“I guess we have to climb,” I state, looking at the gate. There are big spikes on the top of the gate, so I look over at the side. It’s a stone wall. 

“Right up my alley” Sam says enthusiastically. Of course it is. 

“I’ll give you a lift first if you take my bag” she says, already taking off her bag. 

“Fine, just don’t throw me over with those strong climber-arms of yours” I reply, taking her bag and making my way to the wall. She puts out her hands and I grab somewhere safe on the wall. She helps me get up, and I jump down the other side, looking up, waiting for her. 

“Gosh, the stones are cold” she complains, finally getting to the top. 

“Should’ve worn gloves” I smile, showing off my red-covered hands in a theatrical manner. She laughs before hopping down. I give her backpack back, and we continue up. 

When we finally arrive at the cable car station, the place seems empty. I see a couple of cars in the parking lot, but don’t want to check who they belong to. One of them must be Josh’s. I walk up to the bench, noticing a backpack and a ringing phone. My curiosity is immense, but I don’t touch it. Sam notices who’s bag it is. 

“Hey Chris!” she yells, looking around for him. 

“Hey guys” he answers, and we both turn around. He seems older, more harsh than the year before, but I don’t comment on it. 

“How are you ladies?”

“Well, as you can expect” Sam answers, still smiling. I smile as well, keeping the mood light. I don’t notice how much I’ve missed him before seeing him now. Something in me breaks a little. 

“Oh, so, I found something kind of amazing”

“What?”

“I’m not gonna tell you got to see for yourself” he smiles, grabbing his backpack and leading us around the house. We get to the other side where we’re met with a shooting range. Barrels and bottles stacked for hitting, as well as bags hanging from the trees. 

“Ta-da! Pretty rad right?” Chris exclaims, loving this a bit too much. Sam forces a smile, guns are not a source of happiness for a pacifist. 

“A gun range on the bottom of a ski lodge” I comment. “How… nordic?”

Chris picks up a gun before looking at me. 

“Well, have you met Josh’s dad?”

“Yeah”

“Then we shouldn’t be surprised” he says before turning and aiming the gun. I hold my breath, not comfortable with this funny clumsy guy holding a death-weapon. He shoots the bags and one of the cans. I’m kind of impressed. 

“Nice shootin Tex” Sam teases, not impressed. I guess it would take something better than shooting to impress her. She fakes an annoyed look before turning my way. 

“Wanna try?”

“You know what, sure. It’s been a while” I say before taking the gun from him, taking off my backpack and laying it beside me. 

“You’ve done this before?”

“Josh has taken me shooting several times, not hunting though, luckily” I smile, remembering how close we felt the first time he showed me how to use it. 

“I bet that’s not the only thing you two have done” he comments, a smirk on his lips. 

“Haha, funny guy” I tease back. Sam holds her laughter. I shoot a couple of bags, stopping when a squirrel jumps on one of the barrels. 

“I guess that’s our sign to start going to the lodge,” I say, leaving the gun and grabbing my bag. 

“Jeez, I wish Josh would take me shooting,” Chris says, and I smile. 

The cable car is coming, and Sam makes her way over there. I use the opportunity to grab ahold of him. 

“Hey Chris, about this year-” I start, but he holds a finger up, signalling for me to stop. 

“I get it, if I were in your shoes I would’ve done the same”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s weird being back, but I’ve been wanting to clear up everything. We should keep in contact, even though you don’t want to talk to Ashley, I understand”

“When did you become such an understanding gentleman,” I tease, punching his arm and start walking. He lifts his arms in the air. 

“Haven’t I always been?” And I laugh at him. 

We all get in the cable car, and it starts moving up. Chris starts talking about how he and Josh met, and I pay close attention. I’ve only heard this story from Josh, and I love getting the different story-perspectives. 

***

We arrive at the top, I stand and try to open the door. It will not open. 

“Uh, guys, I can’t get the door open.” Chris tries, but can’t manage either. His response is to smack the window. 

“Ahh, what the hell!” I hear someone say. Jessica. I compose myself. 

“Jess! Over here, open the door!” Chris shouts. I see her through the window, and I bite my lips from having to look put together. Don’t look like a bitch, don’t look like a bitch, don’t look like you have anything against this piece of scum. I keep chanting in my head. 

She opens the door, and we all thank her. As we walk out, Chris starts whining. 

“Oh my god. I thought we were goners. Another ten minutes in there and I would’ve chewed off my own leg.”

“Aw, sick Chris,” Sam comments. 

“Look, I’ve got a lot of meat on my bones. This is all muscle down there.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Yeah riiiiiight”

“Keep telling yourself that Chris,” I add, clapping him on the shoulder as I walk past him. He lowers his voice to a whisper. 

“Well, we all know who’s bone you want to jump…”

I turn around, mouth agape and eyes threatening. He immediately puts his hands up in defence, walking backwards two paces. 

“Just jokes, just jokes” says, voice cracking. 

“Dickhead”

“Notice how I’m not going to make another joke about that,” he answers. I quickly make a snowball and throw it at him, hitting his chest. Sam places herself between us, arms tense as if waiting for someone to attack. 

Chris uses this opportunity to snatch whatever Jess is holding. 

“Well, well, well… What do we have here?”

“Chris” Sam starts. He opens it, a surprised look on his face. 

“My goodness! Seems like someone has a crush on our good friend and dear class president Michael Munroe.” Shit. That’s not good. 

“Chris,” I threaten. 

“And what kind of sizzling erotica might our Jessica be capable of imagining, I wonder…”

Before he’s able to see more, Jess quickly snatches the item back. 

“If you must know-” she starts.

“Mike and I are together now.” We all look at each other. 

“Drama,” Chris answers. 

“No, pretty cut clean actually. Em’s out, I’m in,” she explains. I look over at Sam. She doesn’t know what to say. Luckily, Chris breaks the awkwardness. 

“Well, we should keep going” 

“You go, I’ll be waiting here for a bit”

“Waiting for Mike?”

“Just go”

We oblige, walking further and leaving her behind. The trail is quite big and visible. It’s comfortable to walk on. As we turn a corner, I see the cabin. The cabin where Josh is, where Ashley is probably waiting. The cabin which was the last place two of our best friends were seen alive one year ago.

[aziraphales-library]

Hey there! Do you have any refs for fics involving a road trip (extra points if its aziracrow as Angel/demon and not an au altho aus are lovely too!!)

Hi! We have some road trip fics here, and I've got more now...

leave you faithless by midnightbotany (T)

As Aziraphale struggles with the demands of his new role as Supreme Archangel, a heartbroken Crowley embarks on a journey around the world hoping to stop Armageddon. Again.

Where The Furniture Used To Be by Magpie_BKK (T)

The Bentley has mysteriously brought Crowley back to central London, just as an old friend turns up at the bookshop. But not everything is as it appears, and Crowley finds himself on the run with an amnesiac angel, trying to unlock his memories along the way.

The Lost Apostle by miraworos (G)

After a long hiatus, Crowley badgers Aziraphale to go on a road trip with him. But it's more a quest than a road trip, and both Crowley and Aziraphale may be getting into more than they bargained for. Bentley POV.

Waterfall by duustbunny (E)

Two years after Aziraphale accepts the Metatron’s offer, Crowley is captured as he attempts to infiltrate Heaven and Aziraphale is tasked with executing public punishment. Instead, he lets the demon lead him on a quest to recover a lost item that can help them stop the end of the world once more. Because Heaven is not the boss of him anymore, and preventing the Apocalypse will never stop being his and Crowley’s job.

The Journey by ElderlySardine (M)

“Anthony J Crowley… Mayfair, London… Next of kin: Mr A Z Fell…” Crowley nodded. It wasn’t as if he had anyone else. “Emergency contact: also Mr Fell…” Crowley had almost stopped listening. “Relationship to applicant: husband…” “Husband?!” Crowley and Mrs Lowry spoke together as one, for the first and almost certainly the last time in their lives. “Husband.” Crowley recovered first, and fixed Mrs Lowry with a hard stare into which he infused just a little bit of demonic energy. “Is that a problem?” It was a problem. It was Aziraphale's harebrained plan, and it was clearly doomed to failure, as well as embarrassment and ignominy. But since when had Crowley been able to say no to the angel? It was only two weeks, and 3,850 miles. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

hurry back, please bring it back home to me by Percyjacksonfan3 (T)

“Why should I?” The demon interrupts cuttingly. “You’ve made it perfectly clear where your priorities lie and anything I say won’t make a bit of difference.” “That’s not true at all.” Aziraphale replies after a long hurt moment. “And you know it. Besides, you’re being stubborn. You’ll help me eventually.” Rage flashes over Crowley’s face. “You think so, do you?” Aziraphale juts his chin up stubbornly, ignoring the unpleasant feelings Crowley’s expression stirs in him. “Yes.” Aziraphale needs Crowley's help in saving humanity from the Second Coming and despite what happened between them he's determined to get it. After all, it's not only that he needs Crowley, but his plan also includes their car. As for the other matters between the two of them... well there's no reason those can't be sorted out along the way as well, is there? Or, a possible take on Series 3 that includes the Bentley, a resurrected Jesus Christ set on bringing about the End of Days, and an angel and a demon who are stupidly in love with each other but are both suffering from a lack of experience on how to actually deal with said emotions. Emphasis on the stupidly.

- Mod D

[cosmowgyral]

Jude's Main Story

Chapters 15-17 Snippets

Liam approached the MC while she was lost in her thoughts. She then asked him for some love advice to which he replied that although he was interested in love, it was something he never experienced before. She could feel a subtle sense of darkness and sorrow behind his words. (Our Villains are truly depressed souls part2)

Meanwhile Victor approaches Jude and asks him if he was hiding something from Crown. Jude replied in frustration that he shouldn’t be the one asking him that question since Victor hides almost everything from them. Harrison hates him because he could see through all his lies. Victor is taken aback by that and says that the only thing he could honestly share at that moment was that he genuinely desired freedom for the Crown members. Should their freedom be in danger, he would do anything necessary.

The next day, MC reaches Jude’s office and learns that Theo was also attacked by the syndicate members. Before, only Jude and Ellis were being targeted, but now that his employees are also getting attacked, Jude decides to negotiate with them by offering them all his reports. He intended to meet the leader later that night and Ellis and MC said that they would join too.

Later that evening, while waiting for Ellis to call a carriage, she approached Jude coyly and said that she was nervous, not because of the meeting with the leader. (it was because of him)

"When I looked up, Jude was leaning one hand against the wall and looking down at me."

(Uwaaaaaahhhh! Kabedon JUDE!)

He told her not to forget the promise she made to him (of not dying before him). She said that she would never break it and that he can seek revenge on her if she did, by following her to hell and tormenting her.

"What sorta masochist are ya, wantin' to be tortured even after death? Ain't ya a weird pervert?"

She then takes his hand and tells him not to give up on his promise to his sister, no matter how much suffering he had to endure.

Upon arriving at the designated meeting location, they find that the Syndicate leader was murdered. The British army then surrounds them, and arrests Jude on charges of treason against the Queen and UK, alleging that he had been collaborating with the Syndicate and conducting research on arms and missiles. It is then discovered that the Privy Council was behind the entire scheme. They’re the ones holding a grudge against Crown. So they got the British army to falsely ally with the Syndicate as a way to trick Jude and capture him. In this manner, the British army could access Jude’s research and the Privy Council would eliminate Crown. When the army grew suspicious of the MC and ordered a strip search, she screamed and asked for help from them, claiming the Crown had her imprisoned.

The next chapter didn’t contain anything too significant. MC was taken to the military base and given food and shelter. As she sat on the table listening to the soldiers cussing about Jude and Crown, she remembered the evenings spent with Jude and Ellis after work, going out for meals. The army general, Gilbert, handed her a pocket watch saying it fell out of Jude’s pocket, but she noticed a robin engraved on the back, revealing it wasn’t his. She insisted that it belonged to her and held onto it.

[dailymonraszkic]

A mirage

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60859564

"Old man's dream?"

"That's what it is," he said, his voice dropping lower. He stared at his bloodied hands and chuckled. "A dream, nothing more."

Part 1

The sound of a cheer from the Colosseum brought her back to her predicament. She rolled her eyes and shook her head as she listened to the mindless cheering from the building. The vendors close to it were happily selling their goods knowing that people used to buy more once they saw a fight. None of those people seemed to see the homeless and hungry lying by the walls, how little children were lying unmoving and staring at the sun not playing or running. She shook her head once again and thanked the vendor, turning around to ask her servant to grab the food baskets when she noticed a wagon stopping near the Colosseum.

Men of different ages walked out, some watching the buildings and people in astonishment, some not looking up. She noticed that most of them were covered in bloodied cloths and some were bandaged. She grimaced. Such was the fate of the gladiator - to die for the cheer of the crowd.

“My lady,” Aora stepped closer, a basket with bread in her hands. “Are you ready to return?”

She nodded and looked at Areas. She waved her hand to him and he jogged to grab the baskets full of vegetables and fruit. They could return to her house and start preparation for her brother’s return. She knew that it would be a long day before the Emperors would allow him to go back home to his wife and sister but she also knew that after everything he saw and done for Rome, he would need his rest.

Slowly she made her way with the deeper basket to the wall, children perking up at her sight. She smiled at them and kneeled next to some of the youngest children. She uncovered the inside of the basket. Bread rolls, dried fruit, fresh vegetables. She started to divide the food while Aora distributed the water she had bought. Her brother always said that her heart was too soft for the suffering of others. As a child, she gave away her things, food, and allowance to others who needed it.

“Are you a Princess?”

An innocent question from the child brought her back from her thoughts. She was daydreaming way too much. She smiled and turned her head to him.

“No, sweet one. I am a citizen of Rome and a believer it is a place for all of us to be equal.”

“You believe in old man’s dreams then,”

Her head snapped back and the sun blinded her for a moment. She moved her head a little and blinked to get rid of the sudden heat in her vision. Before her stood one of the men brought by the wagon, he had blue eyes in the shade of the stormy sea and curls framing his face. His face looked Roman but his voice held an accent she couldn’t place. He had blood on his tunic, at his throat, but wasn’t hurt anywhere close to it.

“Old man’s dreams?” She asked curiously and stood. Areas was close to the man, ready to help her if needed.

The man, the gladiator, nodded. His broad build was making her feel like she was staring at the statue of one of Roman heroes.

“Emperor Marcus Aurelius believed that Rome could be for everyone, that it could be a wonderful republic with people equal.”

She blinked surprised, how did he know about the Emperor’s vision? She cocked her head and looked at him from top to bottom. Even if she tried to place his origins her answer would be wrong. He looked like a Roman man. But why would a Roman man be a gladiator from the conquest? He could have deserted his legion but it was rare for men to do so.

“And how a…,” She stopped to look for the right word her brother used. “A barbarian would know about the Emperor’s dream?”

He chuckled and looked over her head; his eyes glazing over.

“From the stories,” his voice got deeper as he said those words.

She frowned; sudden footsteps made her turn around and look at a bald man in leather armour. He was the handler of the gladiators.

“My apologies,” he breathed out. “They just got here and never thought of the rules not to talk to a lady higher in society than them.”

She smiled tightly as she watched the man grab the gladiator and drag him towards the area. Before they both disappeared behind the wall, the gladiator turned his head and locked his eyes with hers.

“A dream,” he mouthed.

She swallowed hard and returned to her task. She needed to get back to her brother’s villa before his legion would return. If she could, she preferred to avoid the Emperors at all costs. The twins were spoiled children not fit for rule but alas they were the only children of Emperor Severus and there was no other choice after his death.

When she stepped into the villa it was quiet. Her sister-in-law must have retired to her chambers or was meeting the senators. Marcella knew about the meetings since she was fifteen. Lucilla was supposed to be banished after her brother’s death due to Severus’ fear of her taking over but Acacius argued to marry her to allow her to stay.

Marcella adored Lucilla but she knew that there was no real love between her and Acacius. Adoration? Possibly, but both were too vulnerable from their losses to be open for more.

Lucilla’s servant was as always a shadow in the villa. There was nothing that happened without her knowledge. Marcella early on learned that if she wanted to do something secretly she needed to check on her first.

“Marcella,” Lucilla appeared suddenly.

The young woman smiled at her warmly and looked around to search for the servants. Two-spotted her shopping and took it to the kitchen while she was led to the garden by her sister-in-law.

“The Emperors will want something ostentatious for the newest victory. I prayed for Acacius to return safely and unharmed. Gods seem to favour me in this at least.”

The memory of the young prince going missing was fresh even after fifteen years. Lucilla mourned her son every day and never missed a prayer for him. She held onto the hope that Lucius found a place to stay somewhere safe and was living a peaceful life somewhere far from Rome and his ancestors’ madness.

“People have been more and more restless for some time now. There is less food than before, and many decide to leave the city and make their settlements in the country to have more provisions,” Marcella wasn't often told about matters of the Forum but Lucilla was and thus Marcella knew from her. “The Emperors seem to not pay much attention to their citizens' well-being.”

Both of them looked at the film to see if Leta was close. Lucilla knew her servant was spying and used that to see who exactly it was. It started slowly with her talking loudly about matters that were non-existent and then she waited to see who would ask. It became a surprise that it was Senator Thraex who ordered to have her under observation. She had hoped their goal was the same and they both wanted to see Rome as a Republic.

“Acacius will be coming soon. I saw a transport of barbarians near the Colosseum today. If they're here, he will be home soon as well,” The younger woman smiled.

“Hopefully for longer this time. There is not much more land for Rome to conquer and not much more food in Rome to feed its citizens,” Lucilla had a look on her face that Marcella saw sometimes. She remembered the old times.

She only learned from stories about how it was under Marcus Aurelius' rule. Nobody ever said anything particularly bad about it. Even Lucilla was very open about the past. It brought the pain of losing what was dear to her and remembering much happier times when it was completely different now.

“We received a message from the palace. Geta and Caracalla want us to come to the games held in Acacius' honour and his victory for Rome,” Lucilla sighed seeing the look on her sister-in-law’s face. Rome's citizens weren't favourable towards their Emperor's but they did love the games. The only entertainment they were provided by the Empire.

“Emperor Caracalla will cry again because of his pet not playing with him and Emperor Geta will kill every gladiator he can. Such wonderful victory celebration,” Marcella murmured under her breath and looked into the sky. The weather was beautiful and she wished she could've been in the gardens instead.

“When are they expecting us to arrive?”

“It depends if Acacius returns for the night. If not, we go tomorrow. I believe The Twins had games prepared as soon as they heard he had won.”

Marcella had to agree. The Emperors were always prepared for games. Since they took over Rome started to decline in its prosperity. She often thought about the times when she was little and both of them, Marcus and she, were growing up on their father's property. They had an orchard with apples and cherries, their mother also planted figs and olives, the herbs were always the strongest scent around the house.

“Be strong Marcella,” Lucilla smiled as she held her hands. “Soon the fate may change.”

There was something in Lucilla’s voice that made her mysterious and reminded Marcella of the travelling seers. She never believed in the power of their sight, her mother taught her that only the gods held the power to see what was to come. But looking at her sister-in-law now, Marcella was pretty sure she got shivers. It was a little terrifying how Lucilla looked as if she would do unspeakable if it didn't work.

“My Ladies, shall we prepare your meal?”

Marcella nodded and then turned back to her rooms. There was no strength in her to speak to Lucilla anymore.

“Rome has enough people. It needs to feed them,” Acacius' clear distaste for the Emperors was evident in every word he spoke.

The servants looked at each other. They were children raised during Marcus Aurelius' final years and Emperor Commodus's power. They knew hate, lust for power and vile people fighting and killing just to be called more powerful. General was different, he was more focused on the people who did not interest the Emperors at all.

“We’ve decided that your victorious return shall be celebrated,” Emperor Geta said with his usual tone that was the only warning not to decline. “Games! For thirty days!”

Caracalla looked at his brother with the same maniacal glee in his eyes as his older twin possessed. Acacius swallowed and cursed in his thoughts. There was no way to change their minds especially since mindless killing was involved.

“I am most grateful, my Ceasars.”

“And where is your wife today? Did we not honour her enough to be here to welcome you?” Geta’s question made him freeze.

“I suppose my wife is along with my sister awaiting me in our house,” Acacius smiled tightly. He hated to mention Marcella close to Geta. The Emperor killed the last noble lady who caught his interest because of her age. “With your permission, I would like to join them soon.”

Caracalla laughed and clapped his hands suddenly. They turned to see how one of the testers choked on the poisoned food. Acacius’ eyes widened when the twins dismissed him and walked closer to watch the dying man.

“Both of them are children holding power that could burn the world down,” he stated as his chariot moved among the alleys of Rome. His trusted captain Oracus was listening at his side. “They care not for prosperity, love, hate, hunger, thirst. Just for power.”

They rode by the Colosseum and Acacius watched as children gathered close to the entry of the underground. He raised his hand to stop the chariot and got out, people who saw him bowed their heads. He bowed back with a slight nod. The men from Numidia ought to be brought to the Colosseum by now.

“General,” A man ran to him. “It is a surprise to see you here.”

“Indeed. I want to see the newest gladiators. The ones from Numidia.”

The man frowned and nodded, turned around to walk away when he paused suddenly.

“We only have three of them.”

Acacius let out a breath. He thought it might happen. Most probably didn’t survive the travel and some died at the province at the training grounds.

“Show them to me,” he stated.

They walked to the cells and past long tables where some of the gladiators sat. They looked at him in his white and gold armour as if he came from the gods. He remained stone-faced, he did not want to show them how weak that armour made him. They stopped close to the medical room.

“Ravi, we have General Acacius here for the barbarians,” he called as he pushed the door open.

Inside two men were sitting with their eyes closed, bandages around their forearms and torso. One was being stitched, his wound irritated and bleeding. He raised his eyes and Acacius was surprised to see them being blue. This was not a colour common to Numidia. He narrowed his own eyes and stared at the man and then at the other two.

“I have come to offer you a choice,” he spoke and turned to Theio. “I’ll talk to them alone. You may leave.”

The man seemed stunned for a second, then he opened his mouth to say something but Acacius’ glare made him turn around and leave the room.

“Ravi,” he nodded at the medicus.

“General,” Ravi parroted his tone and smirked.

“I am offering you a way out of here. Join my legion and you shall be taken from here even today. You’ll be given housing and food and will be paid.”

Two sitting next to the wall exchanged glances before they sneered.

“I would rather die than be a servant to this ‘Empire’.”

“They’re loyal,” Acacius head snapped to the blue-eyed man. “They swore they’d listen to their leader and until he’s dead, they will follow him.”

“And I assume it is you,” Acacius looked at how the man smirked and raised his head.

The features on his face didn’t fit the rest of the people from Numidia. If Acacius didn’t know better he would say he was looking at a citizen of Rome. Someone familiar even.

“They won’t go. They stay and will kill as many of you in that area as possible. So will I.”

He stood and took a step towards Acacius. Hate, his gaze held pure hate.

“Very well then,” Acacius turned and left the room. Before he left he heard Ravi gathering his medicine and speaking:

“You’re too harsh, my friend. The General is a tool for the Emperors but that does not mean he wants to be one. You should think about it.”

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Touch of Madness

Logan Howlett X girlfriend!reader

Summary: Logan comes to you after being away, and all he wants is your touch, and he knows just how to get on your good side. This is just porn without plot.

Takes place in the same universe as Too Sweet but can be read as standalone

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), fingering, couch sex, soft rough sex, Logan talks you through it, the claws make an appearance (I have a thing for his claws okay), Logan is obsessed with his girl, fluffy relationship, established relationship

WC: 3.9k

A/N: how did I make this longer than too sweet when it was supposed to be a Drabble. Hello idk how to write short shit. But like hello yall are so awesome? I appreciate all the love yall have given my first Logan fic. I also have an older Logan fic in the works but that one has plot so it’ll be a minute before its out. For now here this <3

He couldn’t take it anymore. You were driving him mad. It’s not like he deserved your anger. Not fully anyway. It wasn’t his fault he was gone this long. He had been thinking about you all week, about your soft lips, about the warmth of your thighs, about your sweet moans only for his ears to hear. And all he wanted was to pull you into his arms and take you, over and over, until you begged him to stop. 

But no. 

You were being childish. That’s what he called it anyway. 

“Sweet girl,” he called after you, like a puppy following close behind you as you strided around your apartment. He knew you were doing it on purpose, the excuse of having to do chores so you could elongate his torture. The way you so innocently looked back at him made him clench his jaw. “C’mon.” 

“Don’t sweet girl me, Logan. I told you, I’m busy.” You sassed him, huffing as you kept walking, finding the most insignificant of chores to waste your time with. He rolled his eyes at you, eyebrows furrowed into this perpetual gaze of annoyance. 

The truth was, you were aching for him, your thighs warm and your skin tingling solely at the thought of him taking you to do as he pleased. But, if there was something in this world you could be, it was petty. And if you had to suffer a whole week without him, he could suffer for an hour, even if it was also at your expense. Truly, you almost enjoyed the annoyance in his face, the sharpness in his voice, him damn near groaning behind you every time you evaded him under the excuse of needing to get some dumb chore done. 

“You’re killin’ me here, sugar.” He actually groaned this time, his jaw set. You stopped in your tracks and turned your head to look at him, shooting him a pointed look. “I said I was sorry.”

“Serves you right. And I don’t care if you’re sorry. You haven’t called me in a week.” Your words were sharp with bitterness and it dawned on him. That was why you were upset. A slight bit of humor tugged at the corner of his lips and he breathed out a laugh. You stared at him with blank eyes, you weren’t laughing. 

“C’mon, is that seriously why you’re upset? You know I was out of the state.” He tried to reason with you. Charles had entrusted him and Storm with finding a certain mutant that was causing havoc, three states over. And Logan had very much underestimated how long this would take them. So here he was, after a whole week away, damn near begging you to let him touch you. “It wasn’t like I wanted to go anyway.”

No, he would much rather be with his sweet girl, one that was being particularly difficult and making him suffer when all he wanted to do was hold you, to feel the warmth of your soft skin. 

He stepped into your personal space, his intoxicating scent almost making you give in. You counted to five in your head, eyes closed to remind yourself that you were, indeed, angry at him. 

“So? You got a phone, don’t you? You could’ve called me.” You huffed, eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled into a small pout, Logan had to hold back the urge to laugh at you. “You can’t disappear for a week and expect to come here and do as you please.” 

You shot him a sharp glare, he just stared at you, eyebrows raised in surprise at your sudden shot of confidence. His sweet girl was talking back to him? Giving him attitude? He tilted his head at you, almost as if to dare you to walk away from him.  

There was a bit of malice in your eyes as you gave him one last look before you walked away, thinking of what other useless chore you could add to continue his torture. But Logan had other thoughts in his head. If you weren’t going to behave, he would happily put you in your place. 

“Hey, c’mere or I’m gonna bring you here myself.” He called after you, the strings of his sanity hanging on by a thread, just waiting for you to tug at the last strand. He knew you too well. You turned your head, eyes big in feign innocence and you tilted your head at him in defiance. 

“Make me then.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. In hindsight you should have known better, but you also wanted to see just what could happen if you pushed him hard enough. You saw the way his eyes flashed with malice, he stared you down, and in that moment you remembered just how small you were compared to him. “Oh fuck.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest as adrenaline rushed through you, but it wasn’t like you could go outrun him, especially not in your tiny apartment. He caught you, though he did purposely chase you into your living room, simply because he wanted to get you going, pumped with adrenaline. You squealed as he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you against his chest. His sharp canines nipped at that one spot on your neck that had you whimpering. 

���You goin’ somewhere, sugar?” He husked, his lips hot on your cheek. You couldn’t help but sigh in contentment, eyes closed. God, you missed him. 

“Mhm, still mad at you.” You mumbled, barely hanging on to your silly grudge. A chuckle rumbled in Logan’s chest. 

“That’s alright. I don’t need you to be happy with me to do what I want to do.” He inhaled, breathing your sweet scent, and he spoke as he threw you over his shoulder. “Just need you to look pretty while I do it.” 

You weren’t complaining about your position, you were in fact, bursting into giggles as he effortlessly carried you to the couch, though your giggles turned into another squeal when he smacked his hand flat against your ass. Logan had a grin on his lips as he tossed you on the couch, wasting no time in spreading your legs apart to settle between them.

He leaned down, gripping the armrest above your head, caging you in as he leaned down. He brushed his nose against yours, sighing softly.

“Don’t be such a brat. Kiss me.” The words rumbled in his chest with a groan, his primal needs overcoming his senses. He didn’t have to tell you twice. You laced your fingers in his hair, pulling into a hard and heated kiss.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as he shrugged off his flannel, tossing it somewhere on the floor, his belt soon following the same fate. You tried to sit up against the armrest, but you quickly realized Logan had other plans deep in his perverted mind. With a hold of your ankle he dragged you down on the couch, your back flat on the surface as you looked up at him with big eyes.

“Stay just like that, pretty.” He spoke, pressing another heated kiss to your mouth before tugging off your sweatpants, followed by your panties. He tossed them somewhere over his shoulder, somewhere you would have to run around searching for later. But you couldn’t give a fuck about that. All you could focus on was the heat forming between your legs as Logan settled between them.

His eyes met with yours one last time before he was diving in between your warm thighs. His tongue licked long stripes from your hole up to your clit, circling around the sensitive nerve before going back down. Over and over until your soft gasps and sighs of pleasure turned into moans. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open to do as he pleased. One leg hung over the back of the couch and the other was thrown over his shoulder, and he effortlessly held you down as he shoved his tongue into your cunt. He was like an animal, insatiable as he took you on his tongue.

“Oh fuck. Shit—Logan—” Your eyes rolled back, lips parted as you whined. You gripped the back of the couch, soft twitches taking over you each time his nose brushed your clit.

It was no secret that Logan found pleasure in giving you yours, and he ate you like it. Grunts and hums rumbled in his chest as his tongue found your clit again, and he reveled in the particularly high pitched cry you let out when he slipped two fingers into your wet core. 

“Needed to taste you so fuckin’ bad. I thought about it all week.” He spat into your clit, groaning at the way your tight walls squeezed his fingers. He could only imagine what you would do when it was his cock stretching your walls. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You chanted, fingers lacing in his hair as he lapped at your clit. You wished you could hold your pleasure, rivet in it for just a little bit longer, but the way he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot, the way his tongue was so relentless on your swollen clit, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my—”

Your words never left your throat, chest pounding with sheer adrenaline as your release coated his face and fingers. It was sudden, it left you breathless as your thighs twitched with aftershock. Your eyes were wide and glossy in shock as you shuddered with the remnants of your orgasm. It wasn’t until you pathetically attempted to drag yourself away that Logan stopped. You were shaking, gasping softly when he pulled his fingers from you, but you all but cried when he licked at your wet pussy, getting a taste of you.

“Logan, please I can’t—” Your voice was shaky as you tried to move away from his face, he chuckled at you, pressing his face against your inner thigh before he crawled up to your face.

“‘Is okay. You did good.” He kissed your lips, his large hands holding your face as he let you taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned, clenching around nothing already in anticipation of him filling you. “You wanna stop?”

“No, no, no! Need you, please!” You were quick to protest, wrapping your legs around his waist to prevent him from going anywhere. You couldn’t really stop him from doing anything, but he found it endearing that you tried. He bumped his nose against yours, lips pulled up into a tiny smile.

“Need me where, hm?” He opened his eyes to look at you, and truly how he didn’t bend you over the nearest flat surface the second he saw you was beyond his comprehension. You looked so perfect like this, underneath him, clinging to him. His sweet girl. He didn’t know what it was about you, but from the moment he met you he was done for. You drove him absolutely mad and now he just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Inside me, Logan. Please.” You sighed out, face flushed with embarrassment. He smoothed out the frown lines on your forehead with a tiny kiss. A sweet gesture in comparison to what he was about to do to you.

In one swift motion he had you bent over the armrest, with your ass to him and your chest flat against the armrest. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip as you glanced over your shoulder to watch as he pulled off his white tank top. Your glazed eyes fawned over each perfect muscle in his body, taking particular interest in the veins that popped in his arm when he flexed them as he ridded himself of his jeans. How you ended up with a man so incredibly hot, you had no idea, but you were thanking the Gods for that.

“I need to be inside you, too.” He rasped into your ear, groaning in ecstasy as he sank himself into your needy cunt. Your jaw fell open he filled you, inch by inch. He pulled your t-shirt over your head, instantly attaching his lips to your shoulder as he rutted his hips against your ass. 

His pace was grueling from the start, grip tight on your hips, sure to leave bruises in the morning. A little reminder of his intoxicating presence. You braced yourself on the armrest, sounds of pleasure leaving your lips almost instantly. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, the thick hairs on his chest leaving a tingling sensation across your back as he held you flush against his chest. Heavy breaths filled your ears as you so desperately reached to touch him, any of him. Your trembling fingers found the sound of his face and he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“This what you needed, hm? Maybe I should fuck sweet pussy more often? Give it more attention?” He grunted the words in your ears, lips pressed against your cheek as a sheen layer of sweat began to coat your soft skin. You whimpered and nodded weakly, your cunt clenching him with excitement. He smirked softly, his hand coming up to lace through your hair. “Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl?”

Logan held your face down as his hips drilled into you, each delicious drag of his cock bringing you closer and closer to your sweet release. God, you needed it. All you could do was moan in response.

“Y-yes! God, yes. Please Logan.” You whined out shamelessly, eyes rolled back into your head. Logan hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pressed his lips to your temple, the gentle gesture ironic considering just what he was doing to you. He said nothing as he sneaked his free hand to the front of your body, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles on your sensitive clit. Your jaw fell open, your hand flying to grip his wrist. Your thighs clenched around his hand, whining as his cock  brushed that one spot that had you seeing white. “Logan—”

Your voice was a warning, but he welcomed it. He flicked his wrist without mercy as he rolled his hips, his words only encouraging you to fall apart for him.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You can do that, can’t you? I know you want to.” He let go of your hair to turn your head to meet his eager lips. He happily swallowed the pathetic sounds that left your mouth as he flicked at your clit, his cock hitting so impossibly deep you were left trembling as your release seeped around him. 

Logan held you down on his cock, his thumb playing with your clit until you were gasping and your nails dug into the skin of his wrist. He kissed along your jaw as his hips stilled for just a second, your body still shaking underneath him.

“You okay?” He asked softly, grabbing your face to look at him. You looked at him with hooded eyes and nodded weakly, barely lifting yourself off the couch.

“Yeah. ‘m okay.” 

Logan tilted his head at you, an eyebrow raised with amusement as he leaned down to leave a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“Perfect.”

He grabbed your hips, pulling out his cock to manhandle you onto your back before he was sinking himself into you again. Your slick walls welcomed him perfectly, like this was the only place he belonged, but he wasn’t complaining. If he could die, he would die happily buried deep in your cunt.

“Oh, God, Logan.” You gasped, thighs twitching as you looked down to find where his thick cock is filling you, splitting you open over and over. Your jaw fell open as you watched him grab one of your ankles and he held it up by his shoulder, spreading you open for him to dig himself deeper and deeper within you tight walls. 

“Look at me, baby.” He groaned, chest heavy as a thin layer of sweat covered his muscled body. You did your best to comply, you looked up, eyes blurry with tears of pleasure as he damn near folded your body in half. Your knees were pressed against your chest as he leaned down to brush his nose against yours. “Yes, there she is. My pretty girl. I missed you.” 

You couldn’t help but moan at his words, and also at the sting of his cock rapidly bringing you to your third release. The way he brought your legs to his shoulders, he sunk himself so deep within your walls you swore you felt him in your stomach. It felt so good you wanted to cry.

“Missed you too, Logan.” You brought your lips up to his, eyebrows furrowed into an expression of pure arousal as you gripped his hair, clinging to him for dear life.

Your release was quick and sudden, hitting you without a warning the second Logan pressed his thumb to your swollen clit. You were just so sensitive, tears staining your cheeks as you sobbed. You clutched on to his large bicep as you spilled around his cock. The way your tight walls squeeze him made him groan, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on chasing his own release while fucking you through your own.

“Look at you, you’re just so good for me. Fuck it, I’ll just take you with me next time.” Groans fell freely from his soft lips as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one hand, and the other held the armrest above your head. He leaned down to press his forehead against yours as your sweet praises and chants of his name filled his ears. 

The sound that rumbled in Logan’s chest was animalistic, a deep growl as he coated your insides with his hot release. The metallic sound of sharp claws filled your ears once more as his claws unsheathed themselves from his knuckles, one on the back of the couch and the other just above your head, again. You gasped his name with a soft laugh, though you would be lying if you said it didn’t drive you feral when his claws accidentally came out. You brought a hand to his face as he pulled his claws out of your couch, the sharp metal once again hiding themselves within his knuckles with a sound. He held himself up on his forearm as his head fell to your neck.

“I’ll pay for it.” He muttered a chuckle into your neck, leaving a soft kiss to your jaw. You laughed, draping a hand over your forehead, breathing in deeply as you felt your mixed releases seep around his cock and drip onto the couch. He should just buy you a new couch, he thought.

“Wanna buy me a new body while you’re at it?” You teased him, already sensing you would have bruises and your thighs would ache for days.

“Did I hurt you?” Concern filled his voice as he lifted his head to scan your face for any discomfort as his hand came up to graze the thigh draped over his waist. You scrunched up your nose at him and shook your head.

“Of course not hun. Don’t be silly.” You traced your fingers over his face and gave him a lopsided smile.

“I did miss you, for the record.” 

You pressed a kiss to his lips. “I missed you too Logan.”

“Lemme clean you up sugar.” He sneaked a kiss to your cheek as he untangled himself from you, much to your protest.

You whined at the emptiness he left you as he stood up. Though you did quite enjoy the sight of his perfect ass he walked off to find something to clean his mess with. When he came back, he had a small towel and he cleaned you without protest, he left warm kisses on your face as you talked to him about your day. He ultimately tossed the towel aside and slipped on his boxers, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his still hard cock, but you needed a break. You didn’t let him leave though, reaching to grab his wrist with soft eyes

“Wanna watch a movie? I miss watching movies with you.” You mumbled, voice soft as you looked at him with pleading eyes. He laughed softly at you, you made it sound like you hadn’t seen him in a month.

But, how could he ever say no to his sweet girl?

“Mhm, put on somethin’ .” He gently moved you so that he was lying behind you on the couch, his big arms wrapped around you as he held you against his chest. Though you were still completely naked, you paid no mind to it. It actually felt kinda nice to be so close to him and feel the warmth of his body in such an intimate way.

He covered you both with the throw blanket you always kept over the couch for days exactly like this, for those days you wanted to feel warm and close with him on the couch. He ignored the three holes where stuffing was coming out of the ripped fabric as he pulled the soft blanket up to your chest and as you happily settled in his arms, clicking away at the TV. He would buy you a new couch, just as he bought you new pillows, and new blankets. And anything you asked him to, really.

Logan wasn’t used to domestic, the soft touches, cuddling, but he liked doing it with you. He craved it actually, probably just as much as he craved the sex.

“Next time you’re away that long, just give me a call? Please? So that I’m not worried sick thinking you died.” You finally said, the whole reason for such intense feelings merely an hour ago finally surfacing. He laughed softly at how ridiculous you sounded. He technically can’t die, he thought.

“I wouldn’t.. I can’t…Y’know what? You’re right. I’m still getting used to this whole having a girl thing. But I'll do better, yeah? Don’t need you to be mad, sugar.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, settling his face on your neck as he attempted to pay attention to whatever horror movie you decided to watch today. “But if you’re gonna let me fuck you like that when you’re mad, get mad more often.” 

“Logan.” You scolded him, nudging his ribs softly as a warm blush coated your cheeks, knowing you wouldn’t hurt him, but it still made him chuckle. 

He had to admit, he lasted way longer than he did last time. He lasted almost halfway through the movie before the feeling of his cock sitting hot and heavy in his boxers became apparent to him again. He inhaled your scent softly, his lips ghosting over your neck as he rolled his hips softly against your ass. And while you did try to protest, whining that you wanted to get through one movie with him, the sting of his cock was better than any movie in this world. The credits rolled, the soundtrack now drowned out by the sound of your sweet moans. Logan would be damned if he let you leave the warmth of his body for even just one second tonight. Or maybe ever. 

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Thinking about reader finally stumbling onto one of the dogs shifted into their human form. Maybe Soap raiding the cabinets in the kitchen for a late night snack? Reader obviously freaks tf out about a whole ass man in their house... but the rest of the force are still in their dog forms. Reader's confused why their once very protective dogs are completely okay with this strange man in their house, and why this man is claiming to be one of her dogs.

(Note that these answers are non-linear! I’ll be having fun with a few more asks/requests as if this hasn’t happened yet 😉)

All you wanted was some water to ease the dryness in your throat, but as soon as they noticed you picking up your phone from the bedside table, the dogs kept tugging at your clothes to hold you back—something they never did. You swatted them away without thinking much of it, though, too sleep-adled to think that maybe, just maybe, they were doing it for good reason.

And then you saw the man in your kitchen.

“Why are you naked.”

It wasn’t much of a question. More of a statement—or an exaggeration, really—because he wasn’t naked. He was just wearing sweatpants that hung low on his hips, exposing a deep V-line and a happy trail that would’ve had you drooling if not for the sheer strangeness of the circumstances. At first, you weren’t even sure if you should be afraid—because it was comedic, the way he locked eyes with you, halfway through chomping down on a spoonful of cereal from not even a bowl, but a mug.

He swallows hard, and that’s when you grab a knife—earning several barks from your dogs. At you. Not him.

“He’s literally the intruder here!” you argue back. “You bark at, like, every other guy? What about him?! He’s massive!”

“Aw, thank y—“

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

The man’s smile tightens as he slowly puts the mug and spoon down, and lifts his hands as if in surrender. 

“Easy, lass,” he continues, eyes darting between your face and the knife. “I’m a friend.”

“The fuck you are—“

“Look. Look.” He gestures back and forth between himself and the dogs, who stand in place between you two. “You’re missin’ a pup, aren’t ya? Foxhound that gets into everything? Soap? Thah’s me!”

‘Me?’ What the hell was this guy thinking? But sure enough—just as he said—Soap was missing from the group. It was just Price, Ghost, and Gaz—all tense like you. If not more so. Gaz offers a whine in negotiation, stepping forward to get you to back up a little further, away from the stranger. There’s a beg—no—an intelligent plea in the Labrador’s eyes that nearly makes you falter, unsure of reason or rhyme.

Unsure of yourself.

“That’s— that’s not possible,” you laugh nervously, reaching for the phone in your pocket. “Dogs don’t turn into people, or vice versa. Now get out of my house or I’m calling the poli—“

— “Wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

And now there’s a third fucking person. Standing in your kitchen. Right where Price used to be. And now the shock runs cold, adrenaline gone in place of confusion. And a quick skip through the stages of grief into acceptance.

“Well,” is all that gets out of your mouth. “Shit.”

The world spins, and everything goes black. You’re out like a light. All you see is ‘human-Price’ moving forward, then darkness, and the sensation of two arms catching you before you hit the floor.

The boys hang around until morning light after that, sitting in the living room in dead silence. At least until Gaz gives a final suggestion.

“… You think we can pass it off as a dream?”

_

Bonus Thoughts:

You do, in fact, wake up as if it were a dream. Because you’re back in bed per usual, and the house is in order, and the dogs are piled around you like nothing ever happened. You eye them all suspiciously, then slap yourself. Because what kind of weirdo imagines her pets as hot, tall, buff men? Pervert.

Meanwhile, the boys are just exchanging the quietest glances before you settle back in bed. Because for a good few seconds, they think they’ve been discovered.

Also Soap has suffered a collective *bap* from everyone because it’s what he deserves for threatening their free food supply.

[dragonbarbie]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

aemond targaryen x baratheon!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: aemond targaryen is tasked with bringing the stormlands to his brother's side. but when he arrives he finds the new regent, old lord Borros' young widow, isn't as pliant as he had anticipated. he finds himself drawn to the poised, commanding lady of storm's end, much to his horror. but he refuses to leave without bringing this storm to heel

word count: 12 k (ye gotta suffer for ye smut what can i say)

tags: mentions of past forced/arranged marriage, reader is a member of a minor baratheon branch and is Borros' widow but no other traits are described, smut, handjob, choking kink, fingering, p in v sex, hate sex, creampie, cowgirl, mention of moontea, hints of dom!aemond? or hes just being a control freak i mean the line is very thin [lmk if i missed something]

sidenote: this was such a fun one shot to write, i was writing aemond after so long i think i got a bit carried away hytftgyhuijo do comment/ask and lmk if you'd like this as a series cause i might just have ideas for that

The hall of Storm’s End was cold, the stone walls rising around you as you watched the storm raging outside through the window, expecting to see your guest arrive at the dreary scene any minute. The screech of a dragon approaching managed to reach you, louder even than the sound of thunder. You did not wait to catch a glimpse of the creature for yourself, instead your black gown swept as you made your way to your late husband’s seat, the dark fabric pooling around your feet as you sat, spilling over the stone like a dark tide.

The unmistakable roar of Vhagar’s wings heralded Aemond Targaryen’s arrival, accompanied by a loud ‘thump’ of what you imagined was the ground straining under the beasts feet, to signal just how close to your home the dragon had landed. The dragon’s arrival even rattled the windows, a reminder of the power the prince carried with him—power you knew he intended to wield like a blade. Your jaw tightened for a brief moment. Vhagar’s presence wasn’t just a spectacle, a grand display of power and might; it was a threat.

Your lips curled ever so slightly in distaste. The prince’s arrival on the back of a dragon, no less the largest alive, was nothing less than a veiled threat. He wanted you to know the might of the greens, to feel the heat of dragonfire on your doorstep.

You stretched out your hands and placed them on the arms of the stone seat, chin up, back straight; determined, to be seen as a commanding presence. You wore no crown, but you would impress that this was your land. Your posture must reflect as if you were carved from the same storm-hardened stone that made the keep, a Baratheon through and through, even if from a lesser branch of the family.

 You belonged here, not merely as the old lord’s widow and the new one’s mother, but by your own right too – you had to hold onto that as the gates to the hall were flung open after a few minutes of anticipation.

In he stepped—Aemond One-Eye, cloaked in Targaryen arrogance, his long strides purposeful, each movement precise, till he reached the middle of the hall. His single eye fell upon you immediately, his gaze sharp and assessing, like a man who expected you to yield at the first word. You did not move.

After a few seconds, he continued his steps once more and you let him approach, watched him close the distance until he stood before you. Then, with all the decorum expected of his blood, he bent low and kissed your hand. “My lady Baratheon.” His voice sounded as cold as his hand felt against yours.

“Prince Aemond,” you said, your voice as smooth as silk, yet laced with an undercurrent of steel. “Storm’s End bids you welcome… and your dragon.” you tilted your head ever so slightly, the hint of a smile on your lips. “I must say, it is not every day one finds a beast as colossal as Vhagar at their gates. Her presence is... difficult to miss.”

Aemond straightened, his eye narrowing ever so slightly. “Vhagar’s presence is a reminder of the strength our House offers to those wise enough to stand with it, my lady. A reminder, of a promise of protection.”

“A reminder,” you mused, leaning back in your chair as though you held all the time in the world, “or a threat?”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “Only to those who would stand against us, my lady.”

“Ah,” your eyes danced with playfulness, “and I suppose I must decide whether to accept this…. protection…or risk the wrath of your beast?” Your displeasure at being forced to house the ancient creature as you made the decision about whom to side with was clear. Vhagar’s presence cast such a long shadow, it hung over every word that was spoken in that great hall. You knew Otto Hightower had expected the mere presence of the dragon would encourage the frail, young lady, who’d only been appointed regent because she had the good fortune to give birth to a son unlike Lord Baratheon’s first wife, to come on side without much fuss. You were going to cause him much disappointment.

Vhagar might be mighty, but you would not give in to the feeling of fear at her attendance. You would stand your ground before the prince, and not let him make the mistake to think that he could intimidate you.

Hands clasping behind his back, the prince’s good eye bore into your face, his voice low, laced with a hint of warning “you appear to be a wise woman to me, my lady. You understand how unwise it is to provoke a dragon.”

You laughed softly, the sound ringing across the otherwise eerily quiet hall “Is that what I’m doing, Prince Aemond? Prodding at the dragon’s belly?”

He was trying to impose upon you the upper hand he held, to dangle the danger of his dragon over your head to get you to agree to his demands – you deflected it as if by a flick of your wrist, which left him surprised. He knew you understood him perfectly well, and he was starting to understand you too now, as you lifted your hand to your chin, and leaned on your palm to watch him almost lazily.

Your eyes sparkled with an unspoken challenge as you watched him, letting the silence linger, enjoying the way his patience seemed to thin with each passing second. You could tell he was uncomfortable with how the tension had shifted, though his eyes never left yours and his expression betrayed nothing but you observed how his nose flared up in an indication of the underlying anger and frustration. He was a dragon, yes—but one that had yet to learn patience. You would teach him.

“You know why I’ve come,” he finally said, trying to pull the conversation back into his control. “My grandsire has written to you already of my intent. A marriage alliance between our houses. I would take in marriage one of your stepdaughters, in exchange for the strength of the Stormlands at our back.”

“Ah,” you sighed, “such a generous offer. The strength of Storm’s End married to the might of your house would certainly be something. At the very least it would ensure your brother cannot be defeated outright in a land battle.” You had gone over this with your husband’s advisers multiple times, you knew the strength of your army, the advantages it brought to either side, like the back of your hand. “And yet…” you paused, lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. Aemond straightened his back, tapping his leathered foot, realising you were not going to make his work easy.

“… I have to wonder, why you think I would choose the promises of the Hand over the promises of… others?” you spokepointedly but did not mention the name of his half-sister Rhaenyra, but he understood where you were signalling. “Your brother is not the only claimant with dragons.”

Aemond forcefully replied, in an attempt to demonstrate his advantage while keeping his bubbling anger in check, “The largest dragon in the realm is before your gates. The whore of Dragonstone with her bastards could never match Vhagar.”

His words were filled with vitriol, but they did not move the lady Baratheon. You simply mused “I confess, the notion of the mighty Vhagar at my beck and call is... tempting–” Aemond’s jaw clenched at how you implied him or his dragon would be at your ‘beck and call,’ but he bit back his tongue “–but power is a fickle thing, your grace, is it not? Today, it flies at my gates; tomorrow, it may burn them. If not your dragons’, then your half-sister’s. To stand with either one of you is to stand against the other. And their dragons.”

Aemond took another step forward, refusing to let your words unsettle him. “Storm’s End has always been loyal to the Crown. We expect no less now.”

“Yes but which crown must we bow to now remains unclear, yet.” You casually replied as you rose from your seat, the dark material of your gown swirling around your feet once more. The firelight caught the fabric, casting shifting shadows that made you seem like a figure from a half-forgotten tale – larger than life, and ethereal, not quite inhabiting the same plane as the prince. “As I am sure you are aware my late husband’s father swore an oath to support Rhaenyra. While I do not dismiss this hand of friendship your grandsire, the Hand has offered us, I cannot accept it either.” You met his gaze as you looked up at him, unflinching, your smile pleasing yet razor-sharp. “Loyalty, Prince Aemond, is a curious thing. It can shift, like the sea winds of this land. And I... well, I would prefer to remain more flexible in my allegiances. At least until I’ve had time for some careful consideration.”

Impatience grew within Aemond, you could see the tension in how rigidly he stood. He could sense you were slipping from his grasp, just as easily as the wind slipped through the cracks of your keep’s stone walls. He needed to push harder, to make you commit.

“This is a matter of great urgency, my lady, I—” He was about to press further when you let out a soft sigh and brought a hand to your temple, feigning weariness. “Forgive me, my prince, but I find myself dreadfully fatigued. The burdens of leadership weigh heavily on one such as I. You must understand... after all, I am but a woman, and we are so very frail. We were not built to rule you see… is that not the core reason your brother has raised his banners against the Princess after all?” your eyes seemed to goad the prince to challenge you on your words.

Aemond clenched his folded hands behind him, but betrayed none of the irritation simmering beneath his surface. He could see right through your act. There was nothing frail about the Lady Y/N Baratheon. This was another move in your game, a way to delay him. You were stalling, that much was clear.

“Lady Y/N,” he began, stepping forward again, “we cannot afford—”

“There will be time, Prince Aemond,” you interrupted, finality in your tone, a dismissal thinly veiled behind sweetness “Plenty of time to discuss alliances and armies. Storm’s End is yours for as long as you need it. Make yourself at home.”

Aemond stiffened, realizing that you had no intention of continuing this conversation tonight. You were dismissing him, and there was nothing he could do to force your hand without showing his own weakness.

You turned then, moving toward the doorway with a graceful ease that contradicted your words of weariness. Aemond was fuming with frustration which had finally sept through the cracks of his unbothered exterior. This was the first task he had been assigned as they had started to draw their banners, the first contribution he was expected to make for his family’s cause. He refused to go back empty handed. To win the Baratheon’s to their side was his duty, and he had no intention of returning without anything other than the Stormlands in his pocket.

Just as you reached the threshold, you stopped, casting a glance over your shoulder, your voice light but edged with mockery. “Oh, and do let the staff know whatever your beast will be having. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting, would we?”

Aemond’s grinded his teeth at how you were daring to treat Vhagar as if she were no more than a hound at the gates. His dragon, the largest and most fearsome alive, reduced to a mere beast by your dismissive words. Aemond would not find it so easy to deal with the new lady of Storm’s end as most had expected. Borros’s widow may not have the years of experience to strengthen her, she was a young thing yet, that the old lord had married for the purpose of producing him sons; yet, even he would have never expected you to become this formidable a defender of his seat as you had become.

He watched as you disappeared into the shadows, having given him nothing. Everything in your manner told him one thing: this woman would not bend easily.

You stood beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of your son’s little chest. Seeing him safe and sound was all that kept you going, so whenever your mind would be distressed over the politics and games around you, you would try to be around your son to remind yourself why you were doing all of this in the first place.

Royce slept soundly, a peaceful expression on his innocent face, his tiny hand curled around the edge of his blanket. But peace was an illusion here in Storm’s End, where every decision threatened to shatter the fragile balance you were fighting to maintain. You smoothed a stray lock of dark hair from his brow, your heart heavy with the burden of his future. All this you did for him, to ensure his safety, his future, his seat. One wrong move, and you would not pay for it alone.

Behind you, the crackling fire in the hearth could not chase away the cold reality of the letter from Rhaenyra, now resting on your writing desk – it served as a reminder for you, a reminder that a storm was brewing outside. Ser Byron Swann finally brought you out of your brooding thoughts. “You’ve been quiet for some time, my lady,” came Ser Byron’s voice, tinged with concern as he stepped forward, his armour gently clinking in the quiet room. Byron had been a faithful bannerman to your late husband, and so far to you. You appreciated his counsel and concern.

Not taking your eyes off Royce, you spoke “To choose incorrectly would mean risking his future. The Stormlands could tear itself apart.” Your bannermen, always watching you with suspicion for being a woman who dared to hold power over them, had already whispered their concerns. Some remembered the oath Borros’ father had sworn to Rhaenyra years ago, binding them to her claim. Others had made their displeasure plain—a woman on the Iron Throne, abomination they had muttered darkly, displeased with the idea of a queen ruling over them. The Stormlands was teetering on the brink of division. Then there was the fear of dragons, which prevailed over all else.

You straightened, hand lingering on the bedpost as you turned away from the sight of your son and addressed your counsel more directly. “Choosing Rhaenyra might honour the oath, but it could also fracture the Stormlands beyond repair. Choosing the Greens...” You hesitated, the thought of Aemond Targaryen flashing briefly through your mind. “...may bring us under the protection of dragons, but at what cost?” Otto Hightower was perhaps the most infamous schemer in the land, and the ‘King’ Aegon was by all accounts a useless drunk. Not to mention his younger brother…

Byron crossed his arms, brow furrowed. “Neutrality is not an option either, not with the eyes of both sides upon us.”

You sighed wearily, and agreed “No, choosing neither would invite war right to our doorstep instead.” You paced toward the hearth, placing a hand on the frame of the fireplace as you watched the flickering flames that seemed to reflect your thoughts, anxiously moving, untamed. You had been strong when facing the prince, unwilling to back down or give away any fears you might privately have. Now you had no need to hold onto such a façade, you could admit to yourself that this was an extremely slippery situation you and the Stormlands were in. Your brow furrowed with worry as you looked into the flames, willing for an answer to leap out from them.

Byron's eyes followed you closely. As if he could read your mind, he tried to voice your thoughts “There is no right choice, my lady, you can only hope to pick the lesser of two dangers.” If only you could tell which was which, you thought of who Borros would pick momentarily, but then found yourself thinking that you’d never much cared for his strategic opinion anyway, so there was no reason to rely upon it now.

“what did my lady think of the Hightower’s messenger, the one-eyed prince?” Swann curiously asked.

What did she think of Aemond? A dangerous man, undoubtedly—sharp, calculating, and ever poised for battle, even when the fight was merely in words.

And yet… there was something more. Something you would not, could not, name aloud. His cold, unyielding demeanour stirred something in you—something that made you wary, but also intrigued. Aemond Targaryen was not a man easily thwarted, and that made him dangerous. His arrogance was palpable, his strength undeniable, but beneath that was a fire, simmering just beneath the surface. You had seen it in his eye, in the way he watched you. His features were sculpted as if by marble, standing so close to him you could see why your septa use to tell you the Targaryens were closer to gods than men, you had verified the fantastical accounts of their Valyrian beauty for yourself. You found yourself tilting on the side of agreement with those opinions.

Your fingers tightened ever so slightly on the stone beneath it as you leaned towards the fire. You weren’t a fool. You knew the allure of power, of danger. And Aemond embodied both.

The memory of Aemond’s lingering touch when he kissed your hand, and the veiled threat of the dragon that waited outside your walls, sent a chill down your spine.

You drew in a slow breath, forcing yourself to focus. Attractive or not you could not afford to be distracted by immodest thoughts of the Targaryen prince, not when everything hung in such a precarious balance.

You turned back to meet Ser Byron’s eyes with your own hardened gaze. “Only that to take Aemond Targaryen lightly could prove to be a grave mistake.”

Aemond stood at the narrow window of his assigned chambers, watching the endless churn of the sea beyond Storm’s End. The wind here was relentless, beating against the stone walls with the same fury that seemed to linger in the air since his arrival. It matched his mood—restless, frustrated. He had come to Storm’s End to secure an alliance, to bring the Baratheons to his brother’s cause. But instead, he found his thoughts tangled in something far more distracting.

Lady Y/N Baratheon.

He stepped away from the window and moved towards the small desk, settling into the chair. A half-written letter to his grandsire lay before him, waiting to be finished. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room. Aemond dipped his quill into the ink and resumed writing.

My Lord Hand, I arrived at Storm’s End to find the lady regent in full command of her seat. Y/N Baratheon is not as easily persuaded, as was expected...

His quill paused. His mind drifted back to your first meeting in the great hall. You had been seated on the Baratheon throne, the seat of you late husband. Yet you did not look out of place in it for a second, one could have been easily forgiven for mistaking to think you had been born to it and were not merely guarding it as your son’s keeper. Your alluring eyes had met his without flinching, without the slightest hint of deference. You were calculating, composed, and beautiful—there was no denying that. But it was more than just your appearance that held his attention. There was something in you that challenged him, intrigued him.

Aemond set down the quill on the table with force, flexing his hand in frustration. The same hand, he realised as he looked down upon it, which had held your own to his lips only hours ago. He had felt it then, a pull. A quiet draw towards you that had nothing to do with the game of politics and alliances.

He had seen it in the way you looked at him, how your eyes had lingered when he kissed the back of your palm—a small, fleeting moment that had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He had sensed it the moment you welcomed him with that cold smile, that hint of mockery in your tone when you’d spoken of his dragon. Vhagar was meant to remind you of what he could bring to bear against your house, yet the you had barely blinked. Instead, you’d made a jest of it, turning the veiled threat back on him with the ease of a seasoned player in the game.

You wielded your wit like a blade, much like he wielded his sword. You had unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. And that pull he felt towards you was as unwelcome as it was undeniable.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. This was not what he had come here for. He was not a boy, not some green fool led astray by a pretty face and a clever tongue. He was here for duty—for the future of his house. For his brother’s crown. Y/N Baratheon might be all captivating, but she was merely a pawn he needed on his side, nothing more.

Aemond shook his head and returned to the letter.

I will continue to press our advantage and remind them where true power lies.

With a resolute shake of his head, Aemond signed his name to the letter.

Duty. Only duty.

The days at Storm’s End had settled into a routine of formal dinners and polite conversations, surrounded by the awful weather which seemed ever present outside the walls of the ancient castle. Aemond had been introduced to Lady Y/N’s stepdaughters soon after his arrival, and each one, in her own way, seemed determined to gain his favour.

This was very much to Aemond’s annoyance, and very very much to your own entertainment. You held no great love for your stepdaughters, Floris was the only one you tolerated really. All four of them had been rather uncourteous to you when you, young as you were, not much older than the oldest of them, had first married their father so quickly after their mother’s death. You hadn’t been able to voice how unfair it was for them to lay the blame for that on your feet when it was your father who had practically forced you into the union with Borros. After their father’s death the girls were pretty much on your mercy, and you had decided to be generous enough to keep them under your protection – they were your son’s family after all, even if utterly tiresome. You supposed the responsibility to get them respectable marriages also befell on you, when you thought of Aemond’s offer.

Upon hearing the news of the arrival of a prince they had leapt at the chance to be introduced to him, which you had obliged. That ought to keep him occupied in the meantime, you’d thought with a smirk.

Cassandra, the eldest, had made the first move. She had practically thrown herself into the role of hostess, her wide-eyed enthusiasm grating on Aemond almost immediately.

“Oh, Prince Aemond!” Cassandra exclaimed the moment they were introduced, clasping her hands together as though she were greeting a long-lost friend. “What a joy it is to finally meet you!”

Aemond inclined his head stiffly, already sensing where the conversation would go. She wasted no time in becoming over-familiar with the man who seemed to do nothing but ice her out. Cassandra was pretty enough, but her excitement bordered on ridiculous.

“Tell me,” she continued, undeterred by his silence, “is it true that your dragon is the largest in the world? What a marvelous thing to behold! My father always hated those things but I assure you, I don’t share his aversions one bit—”

Aemond barely managed to suppress an eye roll. Cassandra’s chatter washed over him like the ever-present rain outside—relentless, loud, and entirely uninteresting. His mind wandered as she continued to babble about the wonders of dragonriding, and before he knew it, his gaze had drifted across the room to where you stood, speaking with one of your bannermen.

Unlike your daughters, you were calm, composed, your every movement deliberate. You had a way of carrying yourself that commanded attention without demanding it. There was no loudness, no need for theatrics. You simply were.

“Prince Aemond?” Cassandra’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he blinked, realizing she had asked him a question he hadn’t heard. He looked down at at her out of the corner of his eye, her eyes were wide with anticipation, waiting for a response.

He forced himself to focus. “The sight of Vhagar is stunning, yes, though I doubt she would be as charmed by your enthusiasm as you imagine.” There were few who could stand before his great dragon and not buckle at the knees, he did not think the eldest of the Baratheon girls was one of those rare few.

Cassandra giggled, utterly oblivious to his lack of interest. “Oh, I would never presume to charm a dragon! I’m sure it takes someone with great strength and skill to command such a creature.”

Aemond only nodded, eager to end the conversation. His thoughts were already drifting back to you, who had now turned and caught him watching. You smiled faintly, a knowing glint in your eyes, before turning back to your conversation. He felt a flicker of frustration. You were too aware of his distraction, and it seemed you enjoyed keeping him off balance.

His encounters with Maris, the second eldest, were no better. Maris was clever, and her need to prove it often left him feeling as though he were being interrogated.

“Prince Aemond,” Maris began one evening during dinner, her eyes gleaming with a curiosity that made Aemond immediately wary. “I’ve always been fascinated by Valyrian history. The legacy of Old Valyria, the blood of dragons… surely, someone like you must know its intricacies better than most.”

It was one of Aemond’s favourite topic of study, and thus, initially he was intrigued by her interest in it. “yes, I have read the histories diligently. What parts hold your particular interest?”

“Oh the doom, of course.” And there she lost the prideful dragon-prince, for he was as attached to the legacy of his family’s old homeland as one could be, at the mention of its downfall his face turned to an immediate grimace.

Which was apparently a hilarious scene.

A stifled laugh from the other end of the table made him lift his eye off the younger girl to you, who were hiding your mouth behind the white napkin.

His gaze had drifted to you many times that night already. You had sat at the head of the table, right across from him. Your demeanour blasé, unbothered by the efforts of your stepdaughters to capture his attention. Every now and then, your eyes would meet his, and there would be that faint glimmer of amusement in your gaze, as though the entire charade was a source of quiet entertainment for you. And now, you had dared to openly laugh.

It irked him, the way you seemed to understand his thoughts without him ever voicing them.

Maris pressed on, oblivious to his distraction. “I’ve read that Valyria’s fall was as much due to internal strife as external forces. The dragons, the magic—such power, yet they crumbled from within. Do you think that fate could ever repeat itself here, in Westeros? Could our dragons fail us the way theirs did?”

That question got on his nerves and Aemond’s patience frayed. His thoughts were still tangled with you, and the incessant questioning only worsened his mood. He glanced at Maris, his tone sharp. “You ask too many questions than are appropriate, I think, of a noblewoman, Lady Maris.”

Maris blinked, caught off guard by the sudden coldness in his voice. For a moment, her confidence faltered, and she offered a sheepish smile. “Apologies, my prince. I suppose I can be a bit… overzealous.”

Aemond said nothing, his gaze flicking back to you, now sipping wine with an expression unreadable, though the faintest trace of a smile lingered at the corners of your lips. You raised your goblet slightly in a mock toast, eyes sparkling with levity as if you knew how little interest he had in your stepdaughters.

You both became the last two to depart from the dining hall that night, and walked back to your chambers in stride with each other. The corridors of Storm’s End were quiet, save for the soft rustling of your gown and the faint echo of footsteps. With a sly glance, you broke the silence.

“You were rather harsh with poor Maris tonight,” you said, your voice carrying a playful lilt. “I think you might have left her heart in pieces. All that talk of Valyrian history and you simply dismissed her with a single, icy look. Quite the cruel prince, aren’t you?”

Aemond cast a sideways glance at you, “I have little patience for those who speak without thought.” he stiffly replied.

You let out a soft, playful laugh, eyes twinkling with mischief, completely unbothered by his frigid demeanour “Yes, I noticed. But tell me, Your Grace, do you always deal with such cruelty, or was Maris simply the unlucky target of your wrath?”

Aemond slowed his pace, his gaze narrowing slightly as he looked down at you. “I am not cruel by nature, Lady Y/N. But I value directness. Your stepdaughters prefer to dance around what they truly want.” His voice lowered, carrying a hint of something more, something that suggested this conversation was no longer about Maris. “I prefer a more… forthright approach.”

You arched an eyebrow, your smile deepening, though your eyes remained sharp. “Forthrightness is an admirable trait,” you mused, the tone almost purring. “But sometimes a little patience goes a long way, don’t you think? Not everything worth having is so easily won.”

Aemond stepped closer, closing the gap between you as you walked. His gaze was intense, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that what this is, then? A game of patience?” His eye flickered over your face, searching for some crack in your composure, some indication that he was getting through the walls you so carefully kept in place.

It would be so easy, you found yourself thinking, for something to occur between the two of you in this very hallway, without no one being the wiser. You couldn’t deny, the temptation was there for you. What you could not predict was how similar line of thinking was running through the prince’s head as well, how painfully easy it would be for him to press you against the stone wall and take you then and there. He wasn’t sure you’d even resist.

He forced himself to steer clear of those thoughts when he next spoke, “I wonder, Y/N, how long you intend to keep me waiting.”

You stopped walking, turning to face him fully,  gaze unwavering. The flirtatious spark in your eyes faded, replaced by the calculation of powers you had to keep track of every moment as the regent of the Stormlands. “What exactly are you waiting for, Prince Aemond?” you asked, your low voice carrying all the weight of a challenge.

Aemond’s eye darked, the tension between you both thickening. He leaned in, his voice low and smooth. “An answer, perhaps. To the alliance. You know why I am here, and yet you continue to delay. You say patience is a virtue, but I wonder how much longer we’ll pretend this is a game.”

Your lips twitched into a smile, though there was no warmth in it. “It’s late, my prince,” you replied after a beat, stepping back ever so slightly, putting just enough distance between you both to break the moment. “Surely, even a man as determined as you must know when the hour is too late for such discussions.”

Aemond hummed lowly in frustration, sensing the shift. You were pulling away, retreating just as he thought he had gained some ground. His voice remained steady, but there was a hard edge to it now. “The hour is late, but the war waits for no one, My Lady.”

You sighed at his tenaciousness but did not reply, turning around towards your chamber “Good night, Prince Aemond. Do try to get some rest. You’ll need it—”  You turned to have one final look at him as you closed your doors, “—I believe Cassandra is planning on accompanying you to our library here in the morrow.” You smirked, as you shut the door on him.

Aemond stood still, his fists clenched at his sides. He had come close, but once again, you had slipped through his grasp, leaving him with nothing but the lingering tension and the maddening sense that you were still in control of this dangerous game.

Ellyn, the third-born, was, if anything, the easiest to deal with—if only because she was utterly uninspiring. She made no effort to engage him in conversation, content to let her sisters fight over his attention while she sat in silence, staring into her food.

“It rains often here,” Ellyn said one afternoon, as they both stood by the windows watching the storm outside. “You get used to it.”

Aemond glanced at her, waiting for more, but that was all she said. No follow-up, no elaboration, just a dull observation about the weather. He resisted the urge to sigh. This, too, was a waste of time.

He found himself watching you again, speaking with one of the castle’s servants in the courtyard. Even in these small, everyday moments, you commanded attention. It was infuriating how easily you pulled his focus away from everything else. He was here for an alliance, not to be distracted by a woman who was clearly dangling him like a child’s toy. What infuriated him even further was, he didn’t think you’d meant for this to occur at all. He was falling into a trap all of his own making, tormented by his own desires. Your simple presence doused those flames. Who needed enemies when his own lust was doing the work.

As he caught you stretching your neck, clearly tensed and in pain after having to run around and manage the affairs of the household as well as the work that should have been your lord husband’s, he could not stop himself from wanting to reach out and ease that burden for you. He wanted to ease all your burdens truth be told…

He closed his eye and took in a deep breath to steady himself. No, you were not the one he was here to court, at least not beyond courting an alliance.

Floris, the youngest, at least didn’t waste his time. She barely spoke at all, her fear of him palpable. Every time he caught her looking at him, she would quickly avert her gaze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. At dinners, she sat in near silence, her eyes fixed on her plate, only daring to glance up at him when she thought no one was looking.

Floris was undeniably beautiful, he noted one night at dinner—delicate features, soft dark hair, and a quiet grace that set her apart from her more eager sisters. She had a certain fragility, the kind that made her seem as though she might shatter under the weight of his gaze alone.

As he had expected, the moment their eyes met, alarm crossed her expressions. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she quickly averted her eyes, her hands fidgeting, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Aemond allowed a moment of silence before speaking, his voice low and steady. “Lady Floris, you’ve barely spoken all evening.” Floris was startled, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes flickered up to him for the briefest moment before falling back to her lap. “I... I didn’t wish to intrude, my prince,” she stammered.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do I frighten you, Lady Floris?” Her eyes darted to him again, wide and filled with anxiety, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. Aemond leaned back, feeling more indifferent than curious now.

Floris was beautiful, yes, but her beauty was fleeting to him. It lacked depth. His mind wandered, almost involuntarily, to you. How could he think of Floris when her stepmother sat just across the table, quietly capturing his eye without ever saying so much as a word?

You were something else entirely—your beauty had a sharpness to it, a confidence, a power that Floris sorely lacked. You knew your worth and how to wield it, and it was the graceful way you held yourself that lingered in his thoughts far longer than Floris’s timid presence ever could.

You took no note of him this time, too engrossed in conversing with your bannermen Ser Byron. Aemond couldn’t explain why the sight of you leaning towards him and talking in whispers with the man set the hair on the back of his neck on fire. That closeness with another man was not appropriate of an unmarried woman, he bitterly opined.

He was glad when Ser Byron had to abruptly leave after a servant delivered him a letter in the middle of dinner. But the hurried steps the knight took also arose his suspicions about the letters contents. “Has something happened?” he had asked you as he watched Swann leave, you simply dismissed it as some trivial dispute among your staff that needed mediating. He said nothing but did not think to take your word as it was.

Like a moth to a flame he sought you out once more as you walked back to your chambers. Sensing he was following you with quiet, almost hidden footsteps you abruptly spoke up “You seem troubled, my prince,” smiling at him as you stopped in your tracks and turned around towards him, “Are my stepdaughters proving too much for you to handle?”

“They are persistent,” Aemond replied, his tone carefully neutral. That earned him the first real, open laugh he had heard out of you. “Yes I suppose that is one way to put it. Are you still as adamant on marriage with one of them after meeting them or have we finally deterred you?”

The prince stuck out his chin most stubbornly, “I still intend to secure the alliance if that is what you ask.” That caused your smile to falter as you shook your head and turned towards your chambers, “of course you do.” Here you were delighted at one light moment with the dark prince, but Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not steadfast.

“Your persistence could almost give theirs’ competition.” You teased before leaving.

Aemond’s patience was bound to eventually run its course. For days, he had watched you receive messages, carried in by suspicious birds, and each time you’d dismissed his inquiries with vague answers and a smile that only fuelled his frustration. After receiving a letter from his grandsire demanding to know his progress, he realised he had very little to show for his time here and decided he had been played with quite enough. Tonight, he had no intention of being so easily brushed aside.

He strode through the corridors, his jaw clenched, his boots striking hard against the stone floor. Without hesitation, he pushed open the heavy door to your chambers. Inside, you sat on an ornate desk, your husband’s, a letter in hand, with your gaze flicking up to meet his slowly. You didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You merely raised an eyebrow, as though his intrusion was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

“Prince Aemond,” you greeted scornfully, not attempting to hide your displeasure at his unannounced entry, “You enter, insolently, without permission. I hope you have an urgent excuse behind such an incursion on my privacy?”

“Enough of your games, Lady Y/N,” Aemond snapped, his voice dangerous as he advanced toward you. “I’ve seen the ravens, the messages you’ve been receiving. Do not insult me by pretending I do not know who they are from.” He spat out.

You remained still, your expression unreadable as you took your time to set the letter aside. "And who, pray, do you imagine my correspondents to be?” you refused to match his tone, carefully keeping yourself in check.

“The bitch mother of bastards – Rhaenyra” Aemond hissed her name like it was a curse. “You’ve been stringing me along, all this while sending your little birds to her. I won’t be made a fool, not by you.”

Your eyes flashed at the accusation, but your voice remained steady, cutting. “Foolishness is something one brings upon oneself, Your Grace. If you feel such, do not lay the blame at my feet.”

The prince’s temper flared, and he walked forward in a swift stride, his presence filling the room with barely contained fury. He pressed his fingertips on your dark oak desk, to imposingly lean forward towards where you sat. If the feeling of looking up at a furious dragonlord pressing down upon you made you scared at all, you didn’t show it. “Do not make the mistake to think I am unaware of your little schemes. Keeping me here, playing coy while you weigh your options. But I warn you, Y/N—”

You took a breath, your chin lifting as you met his gaze head-on,  interrupting his little speech “You warn me?” Your voice dropped, deadly calm, as you slowly rose from where you sat to match his stature. “And what will you do, Aemond? Bring your dragon down upon me? Burn Storm’s End to ash because I don’t bend to your will?”

Aemond’s lips twisted into a cold smile, his voice softening into something more dangerous. “You think I won’t?” This was not a man who would let insults go unanswered.

You were the storm’s daughter too though, not one to back down at the first sight of strong winds. “Burn it down if you wish, but it will not win you the Stormlands. It will not win you this war.”

You stood only inches apart now, close enough for you to feel him breathing down on you. Aemond’s eye narrowed, his anger palpable as he spoke, each word laced with cruel intent. “It would be nothing more than rubble if I wished it, and you, Lady Baratheon, would be nothing more than a forgotten name in the ashes.”

Your eyes blazed with fury, never leaving his as you sidestepped the table to stand next to him. “You think threats will bend me? That I am some weak-willed lady who’d cower before your dragon’s mere breath?” Your voice was sharp, holding back a tidal wave of anger. “I am no stranger to men like you, men who believe they can brandish fear like a sword.” After all, Borros had tried to break you and failed, you had prevailed over him. Your son was your victory. Now your husband laid six leagues under the ground while you sat on his seat. If Aemond Targaryen thought he could break you, he would be proven wrong too. “Know this—Storm’s End will stand long after you and your beast are dust. Dragon fire or not.”

They were too close, the air around them crackling with the force of their anger. For a moment, neither spoke, their eyes locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to give an inch. The heat between them had shifted, it had become something trecherous, as Aemond’s gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

Without warning, the tension snapped.

Aemond moved first, his hand gripping your arm as he pulled you to him, his mouth crashing down onto yours with a force born of fury as much as lust. You responded in kind, your fingers grabbing onto his leather coat as you kissed him back with equal fervour, both of yours’ anger feeding the fire that had long been building between you.

Aemond’s hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers almost clawing at your soft skin. Your hand instinctively bawled itself around the leather beneath it, pressing your body impossibly close to his.

It was not a kiss of tenderness, but of conquest, a desire ignited by the very battle that raged between you —fierce and unrelenting. Neither of you attempted to be gentle, perhaps being rough and demanding was just in both yours’ natures.

Aemond only broke the kiss to knock down the various trinkets that had been occupying the late Lord Baratheon’s desk, to then lift you with ease and make you sit atop it. You felt guilty at destroying your late husband’s things so callously as you caught sight of the now broken, spilled ink bottle on the floor, when the thought of how Borros had never even bothered to learn how to read to actually make use of the thing, made it disappear. Besides the dragon prince did not leave you much time to have thoughts anyway. His mouth was soon upon yours once again, as he parted your legs to make space for himself between them.

When his cold hand suddenly slipped underneath your heavy black dress, you couldn’t suppress a gasp at the feeling, which he used to slip his tongue inside you, deepening the kiss. The feeling of his hand trailing up your thigh made the hair on the back of your arms stand. Your hand found its way to the prince’s perfectly kept up hair, entangling themselves in his silver locks in knots, as if you wanted to ruin it, ruin him. When you tugged at his tresses sharply, you caused him to growl into the kiss, a sound which made you deliciously crave for him.

It seemed you had called forth some beast in that act though, for Aemond abandoned your lips entirely and the hand on your thigh moved towards your core, starting to remove your small clothes. In your own impatience, you helped him guide the cloth down till it was off of you, your hand then moving to undo his breeches with hurried fingers.

You gasped at the feeling of having his length in your hand, it had been a long time since you’d felt anything similar, having been widowed many moons ago. You spat in your hand to use it as moisture before you pulled on his manhood firmly, feeling your cunt become warm and wet at the very feeling of having him in your palm. Aemond’s breathing had become more ragged, responding to your actions. His hand found your neck, pressing itself around the frail little thing till you saw stars and the movement of your hand became sloppy, but you never once told him to stop. Your head titled back as if transported off Storm’s End to a world altogether new in pleasure. When his hand finally released you, you coughed back to reality, and your hand stilled.

His hands moved to your shoulder as he pulled himself to your ear to breathe down, “I don’t remember telling you you could stop, Lady Baratheon.” His words left you on edge and you swallowed, quickly nodding as you continued to move your hands over his now hardened length. He gave you a twisted smile, as his hand faintly pulled your hair stands away from your face, “You look more suited to play this obedient servant of the crown than that feeble attempt at playing the lord of the castle you have been doing, my lady.”

Even if your brain could have managed to come up with some biting remark for him, the sudden invasion of two of the prince’s spindly fingers inside your pussy cut those thoughts out. “Seven hells” you cussed out at the feeling. Aemond hummed approvingly at your response. His free hand found itself pulling on the gown as it draped over your shoulders, tearing the cloth with a screech so it would expose to him your bare shoulder.

His lips moved over the uncovered, soft skin of yours with gentleness which contradicted the brutal pace at which his hand moved against the walls inside you. It seemed he wanted to torture you with his pace, tease you just as much as punish you for how you had been holding out on him since he had arrived. Aemond Targaryen demanded nothing if not complete control, and you had taken that from him the moment you had met him. Such a treasonous act demanded retribution.

You felt a sharp pain when his lips against your skin were replaced by his teeth, biting hard enough to leave the place blue for the next day, but not content with letting you adjust to just that, he also placed another finger inside you in that moment, overwhelming you with sensations.

“Aemond—” you gasped, only to have him command you, “you do not yet have the leave to call me by name. if you’re forgetting your manners, we can cease this now” “no!” the negation tumbled out of your mouth embarrassingly fast, the feeling of his fingers moving inside you having caused all your previous haughtiness and resolve to disappear. “Your Grace—” You corrected yourself, “—I think… I think I’m” before you could get the word close out of your mouth, you found yourself suddenly empty, his fingers removed.

You didn’t know if you had it in you to beg him to fuck you, but thank the gods you didn’t have to go that far. For it only took a moment for Aemond to replace his hand with his cock, filling you in one go till tears formed in your eyes. He mercilessly filled you till there was nothing left but the tight of feeling your walls squeezing around him. “When was the last time you were properly fucked, hm? Did fat old Borros Baratheon even fill this cunt half way?” He taunted you, but you could merely moan in reply, your mind clouded.

He emptied you and let manhood hit you to the tilt once more in a swift action, knocking the wind out of you, your mouth hanging open in a silent gasp. Aemond did not prepare you for his pace by starting slow, but instead pulled out and pulled back inside of you with the full force of his length till your fingers grabbed the edge of the desk beneath you for some kind of support. His hips moved at a brutal pace, his hands holding onto your legs to keep you in place, to keep you open for him. You hadn’t been fucked in so long, to be filled like this repeatedly was too much for you. You shook your head and tried to keep a hand on his chest, “slower, please… your grace…” your breathed, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“shhh” in an act of uncharacteristic tenderness, Aemond pulled you to himself till your chin rested on his shoulder, his hips never ceasing their assault. “not yet.” You whined at his denial, tears starting to run down your cheeks, but you did not reject him. He continued to touch your sensitive spot with each thrust, and you simply took it, almost helpless in your obedience.

“How docile, how sweet…” he cooed. He liked this, for the first time since Vhagar had landed in these lands he had felt a sense of control. It wound him up more than anything else, to have you in his hands, for the first time his plaything, rather than the other way around. The way he could elicit your face to distort in pleasure, cause you to give up that stature of authority and move as he commanded, made him harder than he thought possible.

The way your breathing had become more rapid and your walls were closing in around him, he knew you couldn’t this take much longer, and so he finally allowed, “Let yourself come on your prince’s cock, Y/N” You curled your toes at the pleasure surmounting, your mouth unable to stifle a cry as you came around his cock. Your cum streamed down your thighs, ruining the dress you wore in the process.

The act had left you too tired to even sit up, you collapsed till your back hit the wood of the desk as Aemond continued to chase his high inside you. You could only whimper at the feeling, till you felt his cock twitch and unburden itself inside you, your mind too numb to protest.

As Aemond pulled out of you, you closed your eyes attempting to even out your breathing and calm your heart. Your mouth had gone dry and an ache had formed between your legs from the vigour of the prince’s pace.

The sound of the prince’s leaving steps sounded across the room till the door he had brazenly pushed open earlier, shut close shut behind him. Once you were alone you finally opened your eyes and sat up on the table.

As you walked over to the washbasin your servants had placed in the corner, to splash water to cool down the fire the prince had ignited within you, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Dishevelled hair, torn clothes and flushed cheeks. This wasn’t how you’d expected your negotiations to leave you.

Aemond was up at the crack of dawn, despite the little sleep he had received the night before, his body too set in its routine to allow him to sleep in. He’d remained distracted all morning though, from his usual training to breakfast, his mind still buzzed from the night before— with you.

His thoughts lingered on the memory of your body pressed against his, the taste of your lips still vivid in his mind. Truth be told such thoughts had barely allowed him to sleep, he had to do everything in his power to restrain himself from marching down to your chambers to have you once again. Come morning, it seemed his feet had made up their own mind as they carried him to the grand hall where you broke fast every morning, determined to speak to you. But speak to you about joining the war, or joining him, he wasn’t sure as he took strong steps towards those stone gates, until a shaky, scared servant reluctantly blocked his way with bowed head.

“Prince Aemond,” the servant began cautiously, “Lady Baratheon is indisposed this morning.” That gave him pause. Now that he looked around, there seemed to be more activity around the castle, it was certainly peopled with more men than usual. There was something different in the air, you were up to something. The servant carried on stammering “She-she re-regrets that she is unable to see you, but she extends the c-c-courtesy of allowing you to escort one-one of her stepdaughters for the day….should you wish.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the message, his eyes narrowing slightly. It wasn’t the refusal that stung—he had known you would be up plotting, woman of action as you are —but the implication that he should entertain one of your stepdaughters instead. His mind briefly flickered to Floris, Cassandra, Maris, and Ellyn—each dull and uninspiring in their own ways. None of them possessed your sharpness, your strength. His patience for their company had worn thin days ago, and now, after the night he had shared with you, the thought of spending an entire day with one of them felt intolerable.

“Which of the ladies would you prefer to accompany today, m-m-my prince?” the servant asked, still refusing to meet his eye. Aemond barely suppressed a sneer. “None,” he stared at the closed gate ahead of him. He wondered what you were doing behind those doors, wondered if you were mulling over his proposal or planning how to betray him to his half-sister. He wanted to know how you were thinking of this situation, how your mind would tick at the facts before it. He wanted you. He placed one hand on the stone gate, feeling the cool surface beneath his palm. You were so close to him, almost within his reach.

Yet, he thought as with decisive steps he turned around and started to walk away, so far.

He spent the day inspecting the grounds, trying to gauge the situation. He understood soon you’d called your bannermen to counsel you, but which way they would sway you remained unknown.

He mulled over the previous night in his mind often, no matter how much he tried to deny how he felt with you, he had to admit you had awoken something in him. You were unlike any woman he had seen – someone bold, someone who challenged him. You had surrendered in the end, but not without making him work for it. It had been a hollow victory, one that left him dissatisfied and wanting for more.

As the day wore on Aemond found himself restless. The usual routine of the castle felt stifling, and your absence only deepened his bitterness. By nightfall, his frustration had grown, it was perceptible in the way he stared into the fire, sitting in his chambers, waiting for news.

A soft knock at the door of his eerily quiet chambers alerted him. Aemond straightened, his brow furrowing as he rose to open it. Beating him to it, to his surprise, you opened it without invitation, dressed in nothing but a white, silk nightgown. The firelight flickered behind him, casting a warm glow across your features.

Your lips curved into a faint smile, “I hope I’m not disturbing you, my prince,” you teased. Aemond’s gaze lingered on you in a suspicious manner, his expression unreadable. “You rarely come without purpose, my Lady. What is it tonight?”

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you as you moved further into his chambers. “After much consultation with my bannermen,” you began, your voice steady with a note of finality, “I have made my decision.”

He was intrigued as he matched your steps to meet you half way across his chambers, agitated to hear this “And what have you decided?”

 “Storm’s End will declare for King Aegon.”

Aemond’s chest tightened, his thoughts racing as he processed your announcement. He had done it, finally done it. He had brought you to his brother’s side, fulfilled the promise he had made to his mother and grandsire. He had proven himself worthy. He would not be the son who shirked duty like his brother, no, he would be considered the one who stepped up when his family needed him most. His chest swelled in self-pride at the thought.

But there was something more to it of course, he thought as he saw how your eyes followed his every move, as if attempting to pierce through him and grasp his soul. He had to be in your debt for this, he knew that. He wasn’t sure how well he could have done at his task had you made up his mind against him. “The crown will not forget your loyalty” his leather boots took the final steps to close the gap between you both, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you to his chest. He stared down at you as he added in a whispered voice “…and I’m certain it will find a way to express its immense gratitude.”

You words were raspy as you answered staring up at him, captivated. “Consider it a reward for your… persistence.” He hummed in response, bending just a little so his lips were at level with yours, never touching but hovering like phantoms.

Your own lips curved upwards as you began to comment with a hint of amusement “My stepdaughters will be waiting with bated breath, eager to hear which one of them you’ll choose as your bride.”

Aemond’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, he turned his head so his nose grazed your neck as he took in your scent, his breath tickling your skin. “Any suggestions to make my choice easier? You do know them better than anyone.” He muttered against you, before pressing his lips to your ear lightly.

You tilted your head thoughtfully, allowing him access to your neck, trailing kisses down it.  “Cassandra is the eldest,” you began dryly. “But she’s air-headed, always prattling on about nonsense. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sensible word out of that one.”

Aemond chuckled softly, as he considered your words. “And the others?” he baited you to go on, his hands starting to lift your sheer nightgown to allow his fingertips to graze your thighs.

“Maris is clever,” you continued, your breathing hitched at his actions though there was a flicker of exasperation in your voice as you added “Too clever, sometimes. That girl never learned the art of silence. Always chattering, always thinking she knows better.” You sighed, your expression shifting to mild disdain. “Ellyn is dull. Always whining about something—nothing ever pleases her.”

Aemond arched a brow, smirking, finding your frankness far more entertaining than the thought of any of these girls. “And Floris?”

You laughed softly, a melodic sound that carried a trace of mockery. “Floris is beautiful, yes. But she’s already scared half to death by the mere sight of you.” Your eyes flicked to his face, and before he could react, you lifted your hand and reached toward his eyepatch, smitten. “I wonder why that is...”

Your fingers brushed the edge of the leather patch, but before you could go any further, Aemond’s hand shot up, gripping your wrist firmly. He pulled your hand away, his gaze dark and intense as he leaned closer. “And you, my lady?” he asked, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it. “Are you no longer scared?”

Your lips parted slightly, and your heart raced as you stared up at him, unflinching. A slow, wicked smile spread across your face. “You could not scare me if you tried,” you murmured, goading him.

In a flash Aemond had pulled you to him by grabbing your wrists. He wrapped his long, slender fingers around those dainty things, and pulled them behind himself, till you crashed into his lips.

With your body held captive like this you felt as if this was the prince taking his war prize in advance of the actual battle. His lips left no room for you, gave you no quarter. You weren’t protesting much about the abduction though. The prince may conduct himself as an aloof noble, a dragonrider who was above mere mortals in public, but when alone like this, you’d realised he showed a hunger of a poor man, a man denied, who was searching for his redemption.

He only released your hands to lift you up, your legs wrapping around his thin torso for dear life as he swiftly carried you to the bed, your lips refusing to leave his even as your arms hung around his shoulders for anchor. It was only when he threw your back to the mattress that he broke the kiss. You realised the prince was already hurrying with untying the strings which held his breeches, an impatience within him.

He used his knee to pry open your legs, making room for himself between them as he took his cock out in his hands and helped himself, looking down on the site of you sprawled all out for him, in just a sheer nightgown. Hair all over the place, legs open and ready to receive him. He mused with the hint of a smirk, how the mighty, commanding lady Baratheon had been reduced to this state.

You could feel his gaze upon you as if dragonfire itself, but you refused to turn away. You looked into his face, the expression of fervour in his eyes. He had you under him, in every way possible, and you knew he was relishing in that feeling. He had his army, and he had the woman.

You, on the other hand, were far more discreet in your sense of achievement. After the day of discussions you had had, the terms you and your bannermen had drawn up, you knew that the crown would not get the Stag for cheap. But you were happy to let them enjoy in this victory before you presented your full terms, after all a content prince was probably easier to haggle with than an irked dragonrider.

Yet still, the thought popped in your head as the prince leaned forward to enter you, pressing you beneath his weight, you didn’t have to give up all your sense of control. Your legs hooked around him, and your palms pushed at his shoulders to flip you both.

“You are our guest under this roof. Allow me, my prince.” Your voice sounded more as if you were taking charge, than acting the welcoming host. Last night he had been the one to make you feel helpless, and as much as you had enjoyed the feeling, you weren’t one to take what came at you lying down either.

You were the one looking down at him now, his silver hair covering the white sheets till the colours melted under the moonlight, his expression remained distrustful, still reluctant to allow himself to be beneath you, give you the reins this once. You didn’t want to allow him to dwell on that feeling and change your positions. You wasted no time in lifting yourself up and gathering your nightgown till it pooled around your stomach, taking his length in your hand and positing it with your cunt.

If the prince was going to protest, those words left him as soon as your warmth sunk down on him. He grunted as his head titled back in pleasure, your eyes unable to leave the sight of him as you yourself bit down on your lower lip at the feeling of the initial insertion.

“Sīr ȳrda” so tight, he let out through gritted teeth as his hands found your hips, though you were unable to understand his ancient tongue you took it as encouragement. You placed your palms on his chest for support as you rolled yourself on his cock, feeling him hit your spot with every move. You hadn’t been this bold with your late husband, who would visit you every second day to pump himself in you with a few thrusts and leave once he was satisfied. You would have never had the liberty to take him on like this, riding atop him, chasing your pleasure impaling yourself on such a cock.

You kept your movements slow, with little experience in such a position you didn’t think you could take faster snaps before becoming overcome. The prince had already displayed his aversion for patience though.

His hands moved to snake themselves around your waist fully as he sat up, “allow me, my lady” he almost mockingly threw your words back at you, with an almost sadistic half-smile. He lifted you slightly before thrusting himself upwards at you, quicker each time. You drew in a sharp breath at the feeling of becoming filled so fast, again and again and again. You refused to give him the satisfaction of telling him to slow down this time though, simply bracing yourself to take him.

Still subconsciously looking for some semblance of control, your fingers found his hair. you couldn’t help yourself from clutching at his long locks, jerking his face to jut out his chin. He grunted lowly in response, his hand coming down on your buttocks suddenly with a loud smack as punishment. You whimpered at the sensation; in pleasure or pain, you weren’t sure. Your eyes wandered to the pale skin of his neck, how it glistened with sweat under the moon. You pressed a kiss to it, tender, trailing up to his lips as you felt your thighs becoming feeble with his every movement. You moaned as you kissed him fully, your tongue slipping inside his mouth.

You felt his fingertips slip under your nightgown and trail up and down your back almost affectionately, but his cock hit your walls so mercilessly you could feel a throbbing ache. He was a storm of contradictions, Prince Aemond. Just when you thought you could understand him, he would turn everything upside down.

He gave you agony and satisfaction in such an equal measure, your body had become mush, acting only on his unsaid whims. He broke the kiss to gaze upon your serene face, twisted from the bombardment of sensations. “Do you swear–” he thrusted into you, “—fealty–” another thrust, “–to your prince?”

You were so close now, you could feel it, your nails were digging themselves in his skin, breaking it. You couldn’t answer him in your haze, which caused him to slap your bare buttocks once more, “yes” you immediately replied with a gasp.

“My prince I’m close… Aemond…” Aemond’s hand reached to hold your face in his hand as you could feel that wave of pleasure about to crash, “come undone for me, y/n” he whispered in your ear, which broke the dam for you.

You chanted his name as you came, feeling him reach his peak in your walls soon after. Somewhere far in your mind you had the thought to obtain some moontea the next day, seeing as you had allowed the Targaryen inside you twice now, but in that moment, you pushed such things aside. You sat together, you stradling his lap, him still inside you, his face pressed to the crook of your neck as he panted lightly with exertion. Your hand reached to brush the hair falling down his back as you sat there, with only the moon to witness your moment of solace.

He finally broke the silence with a hum, pulling you both down to place you next to him in bed, not bothering to pull out of you. “Stay.” His words had the force of an order, but his eyes pleaded a request. You smiled at the fondness he couldn’t bring his tongue to convey but that his expression betrayed. “As you wish.” You felt no hurry to leave his side either, you realised.

The soft light of dawn filtered into the room, casting a pale glow across the stone walls. Aemond stirred, the warmth of the bed a stark contrast to the chill in the air. His hand stretched out to find you missing from his side. He looked around the room, and didn’t allow his face to disclose the relief he felt when he saw you were still with him. You stood in your nightgown, staring out the window in silent contemplation.

Aemond sat up, as you turned to face him, realising that your expression was at ease, but there was a trace of calculation behind your eyes, as though the events of the night before were already giving way to something more pragmatic.

“We need to work out the details of the treaty,” you stated as a morning greeting, stepping away from the window and crossing the room toward him. “Before the official declaration of Storm’s End for King Aegon, we must solidify the alliance, the exact conditions.” Gone was the sultry Lady Baratheon of the night. In the morning it would be the reigning lady of the house who was meeting him. “And you need to decide which of my stepdaughters it will be.” You matter-of-factly added.

Aemond studied you for a moment. There was no playfulness in your tone now, no teasing—only the cold reality of the marriage alliance that had brought him to your doorstep in the first place.

You were no longer the naïve girl who had held hopes of falling in love with your husband when you had first married. Borros had made sure of disabusing you of that notion. All that stood in place of that girl now was a hardened woman, one who knew fiction from reality. And a prince falling for her was certainly the former. You would get what you needed, security for your son, and Aemond would achieve his objective and marry one of your husband’s pliant girls. You held no grudge against him, you were just interested in moving along with what needed to be done.

He did not share your straightforward view though, because as he considered your words, something else occurred to him, something that made his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

“It occurs to me now,” he began, almost thoughtful, “that my specific instructions were to secure House Baratheon through a marriage alliance. It was never specified that it must be one of Borros’ daughters that I marry.”

Surprise overtook you so fast your face couldn’t hide it under its usual, crafted mask. You watched him in silence for a moment, your brow arching ever so slightly. Did he jest? Or did he mean what you believed he did?

“And what exactly are you suggesting, my prince?” you did not want to bring your hopes up, you had trained yourself not to, yet your measured voice carried an unmistakable edge. A glimmer of hope.

Aemond rose from the bed, his gaze never leaving you. He’d met all four of your daughters and not one of them held his interest for a moment. You though, were intelligent and knew how to hold yourself against him. You wouldn’t be a pretty liability he would have on his arm, but an intelligent counsellor to be at his side through the upcoming war. He recognised the value that would have. In addition to that, even he couldn’t deny the attraction he had for you, how your magnetism pulled him in. He couldn’t resist you if he tried.

So then why try? A voice in his head had dared. Why try, when marrying you would secure the Baratheon’s just as much as marrying any of those silly girls would.

He walked to you, his smirk deepening as he spoke. “I’m suggesting that there may be a more suitable match within House Baratheon than your stepdaughters.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, attempting to suppress a full grin. “An intriguing offer. I would love to see Otto Hightower’s expression when he’s apprised of that.” From what you knew of the Hand, he wasn’t a man who took to surprises warmly. “Leave my grandsire to me.” He assured you as he stretched to place his hands on your arms as a pledge. “All you need to worry about is preparing for your arrival at King’s landing.” He would tell Otto Hightower what he knew to be the truth: having you by his side would bring all of them closer to victory, than the alternative.

A slow smile broke across your face, you stood on your toes to press a quick kiss to him. “As my Prince commands.” You finally answered, your words on their face were an open attempt at fawning at him, but he could sense the oblique pride and challenge that hid behind them. You hadn’t even known how you’d managed it, but even as he stood as the one who had achieved all his aims, you felt like the victor in this arrangement.

[onika-t-maraj]

…

[fastandcarlos]

The Perfect Ride : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: you can't help but wonder what you were thinking putting heels on, but as the pain nags away at you, luckily you've got lando there to offer his services

Lando struggled to hold back his laughter as he glanced back again, watching as you tentatively walked, holding onto anything around you for support. In theory, wearing heels to dinner at his parents was a great idea, but now you were suffering and walking each step full of regret. 

“Please tell me we’ve not got that much longer to go,” you sighed as Lando walked towards you and closed the distance between you both. “I can’t believe you let me leave the house in heels.” 

Finally a chuckle escaped from Lando, having asked you several times before you left the house whether you were sure you wanted to wear them. You were confident that things would be fine, brushing Lando aside despite how vocal he was with his concerns for you. 

“I told you so,” he shrugged, allowing you to rest your hand against his shoulder to steady yourself. “I was serious when I said you should’ve left the house in your crocs.” 

“Sure, I’m your parents would’ve loved me showing up in my crocs, are you actually insane Lan?” 

With Lando holding onto you, you started walking again, wincing every single time your foot hit the floor. You were keen to make a good impression, having only met Lando’s parents a handful of times, but now you knew that impressing them was not as important as being comfortable. 

Lando’s arm snaked around your waist as he walked at your pace, encouraging you to keep moving, trying his best to distract you from the pain in your feet. 

“Sorry that I’m taking so long,” you told Lando, glancing across and meeting his eyes. “We probably could’ve been home by now if I wasn’t wearing these stupid things. This is ridiculous.” 

Lando offered you a sympathetic smile, “it’s pretty nice weather tonight, I’m quite happy being out here and admiring the beautiful sunset, I don’t mind.” 

“Nice try trying to make me feel a little less guilty.” 

“I’m being serious,” Lando tried his best to assure you, “when was the last time we got to take a slow walk and just soak in our surroundings for a little while?” 

You stopped again, letting go of a deep breath. “It would be nice to be able to do that without feeling like I want to get a saw and chop both of my feet off.” 

Your confession had Lando giggling, as much as he sympathised with how you were feeling, he was struggling to keep himself composed and supportive amongst all of your dramatics.  

Despite how nice you wanted to look, Lando never wanted you to make the effort at a cost. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to suffer just for him, to look good for him, he wouldn’t have cared if you showed up in your pyjamas, just having you there with his family was more than enough for him.  

“We might still be here to see the sunrise too if we carry on like this,” Lando smiled, trying his best to bring a smile back to your face. 

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re starting to enjoy this?” You challenged, narrowing your eyes in Lando’s direction. “I might just bin them and walk bare foot for the rest of the way home instead.” 

Lando’s head shook, picking you up as soon as you bent down to undo the buckle of your shoe. “You can’t do that, it’s not safe baby. I’ve got a different idea that might be able to solve your problem though?” 

You watched as Lando stood in front of you, tapping against his back, inviting you to jump up. “Are you being serious?” You laughed, watching as he looked over his shoulder at you, nodding his head. “You think you can piggyback me home?” 

“I do actually want to get home at some point tonight.” 

Lando tapped his back again, feeling your hands hold onto his shoulders. You counted down before jumping up, wrapping your legs around his waist, feeling his hands go underneath your knees to lift you up and keep you secure as your arms draped in front of Lando’s chest. 

“See,” he smiled, immediately starting to walk with you comfortably resting against him. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m carrying anything on my back you’re so light.” 

“You are such a liar Lando Norris.” 

“I’m serious,” he chuckled, walking at a much quicker pace than he had done whilst you were on your feet too. “All you need to do is relax and enjoy the ride and let me worry about making sure you get home in one piece tonight.” 

Your head nodded as you took a look around the street, figuring out whereabouts you were. “Have I ever told you how much of a hero you are? Always saving the day for me.” 

“That’s just what boyfriends are for, right?” Lando laughed in response. 

Sure, in a relationship you were supposed to be looked after, but Lando always seemed to find a way to go above and beyond. If you were ever stuck, he was always there to help you with the right answer to fix things.  

Your smile was wide as Lando continued walking, it was surprisingly comfortable up on his back, making the most of not having to worry about the ache in your feet for a little while. 

“I hope you know how important you are to receive treatment like this, I don’t offer a piggyback to anyone you know,” Lando smirked, breaking the silence between you both. 

You hummed back at him, finding yourself beginning to get sleepy. Lando could feel your head beginning to weigh down on top of his own, hearing your breaths get a little heavier as you struggled to keep your eyes open. A smile crept onto Lando’s face, relieved to feel and hear how comfortable you were. 

“Don’t be falling asleep on me up there,” he teased, “I can’t walk the rest of the way home talking to myself, people will think I’m weird if they hear that.” 

“I’m awake, I promise,” you assured him, fighting the urge to close your eyes, trying your best to focus on something to stay awake. 

Lando glanced up questionably back at you, knowing it was only a matter of time before he would hear you falling asleep, knowing when he got home it would be his job to get you tucked into bed and try not to wake you up.  

“Are we almost home?” You asked Lando, not quite sure how much longer you could hold on for, feeling sleep getting closer with every second that passed. 

“Don’t worry about that, close your eyes if you want to love,” Lando smiled, “I don’t mind if you do, I’ll just sing to myself for the rest of the way home. 

You nodded in reply to Lando, “thank you for always being there for me and helping me, I really do appreciate it Lando.” 

“I know you do,” Lando whispered, “but you never have to thank me, I love being the one that gets to take care of you.” 

“And you do such a good job of it too.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and Mice and Tea Parties 20

Masterpost

AN: B really was trying his best to protect Danny last time, he just was missing too much information. Poor Danny...

No reading over. We suffer and post at 2am.

-

It had been two weeks since the last rogue Wayne visit.

Danny hadn’t intended to keep track. There was no reason to. One visit from Cass and one from Tim did not a pattern make.

He tried to dismiss the observation. He had plenty to do; it wasn’t like he didn’t have friends. The bi-weekly trivia group would start meeting again soon. He also had a TTRGP session that did its best to meet around all that life threw at them. Tucker and him played online games when they could make schedules match and he and Sam talked when she was stateside. He even had regular lunches with coworkers!

Still, there had been something different about spending time with the family.

So no, Danny hadn’t meant to keep track, but he still knew it had been two weeks and a day. But of course he wouldn’t see the Waynes that often. Bruce was a very busy man and most of the children would have no reason to come to W.E. They had their own lives with work and school and being kids or young adults. The other visits had simply been flukes, as nice as the visits had been.

The subtle feeling of melancholy that had settled over him was ridiculous and he wasn’t having it. His mood was simply off because of the whole Ancient thing. The way it was affecting his health didn’t make feeling better any easier either.

Danny leaned against the wall of the elevator as he tried to catch his breath. He really shouldn’t be walking right then to get lunch, not with the way that he felt, but he hadn’t had anything at his place to make lunch with. He hadn’t had the energy to go shopping. He’d just go somewhere close instead of walking to anything on the other side of the park.

The natural reverb of the lobby assaulted Danny as he stepped out of the elevator.

He just had to get through the lobby, the street, the restaurant, back through the street, and through the lobby again. Then he could hide in his office and eat. Or he could hide in there and eat as long as Lucius didn’t find him. Maybe even Lucius would give him a break today though.

“Dr. Fenton…?”

Danny looked up from rubbing his neck.

It was Tim. Damian was at Tim’s side, flanking him like a little guard dog and scowling. Tim was frowning too. Danny immediately wanted to fix whatever was wrong.

“Look at that, a pair of Waynes. How are you two?”

“That is unimportant,” Damian said with a little sniff. “You are clearly unwell. I assume you are returning to your apartment to rest?”

“Oh, no, I’m just going to go grab lunch. I’m alright, really,” Danny said and put on the best smile he could muster.

Tim and Damian looked at each other in some sort of silence conversation. Danny started to edge away from them, thinking he could escape before they came to some sort of end. He really needed out of the lobby and its echoing sounds.

A startled shriek from the entry way cut off that plan.

Danny twisted to face the sound as he stepped in front of the kids.

Of course it was a rogue, what else would it be in Gotham? It was a rogue, but at least it was the Mad Hatter and his squad of likely mind controlled goons. He usually wasn’t prone to death and destruction like some of the others were. But still, Danny felt his metaphorical hackles rising. The kids were here.

The kids were here and sure to draw the Mad Hatter’s attention if he saw them. Danny stepped slowly backwards, herding the kids away from the scene. At least they weren’t far into the lobby.

“Back up to the stairwell,” Danny said lowly, trying to cast his voice behind him.

“Tch. We can—”

“The elevator, the back left one,” Tim said quietly but firmly over his brother’s protest. “I have a code to take it to a safe room in the basement.”

“If he kills the power,” Danny started.

“The elevators have emergency back up.”

“That’s not very good behavior for a tea party, is it?” the Matter Hatter shouted at someone.

Danny bit back a rising noise of anger in his throat. His fingers twitched to act. But he couldn’t. The best plan was to get the kids out of there away from any action.

“Yes I see, Damian,” Tim hissed. “We’re almost to the elevator.”

“Call it as soon as you can,” Danny said. Was there a reverb to his voice? It felt like there was a reverb to his voice. No, no, he couldn’t, he had to…

“That’s better! See? This is how you behave when someone invites you to a tea party! Now where is that little dormouse?” the Mad Hatter called. “I know I saw him come in here! With an even littler one too.”

He wanted Tim.

“Calling the elevator.”

“Another mouse? A rat? A cat?"

The Mad Hatter wanted Tim and Damian.

“Here mousy mouse mice… where are you?"

Danny would not let that happen.

“Oh there you are! Hiding back by the doors, of course he is!” The Mad Hatter said. The crowed parted in fear. His wide, manic eyes looked right past Danny and he grinned. “Get them. We have a tea party we’re late for.”

“Over my dead body,” Danny growled.

The Mad Hatter blinked at Danny like he just noticed him for the first time. His goons rushed past him and through the crowd. “Oh, who are you? Never mind, if death is what you want, we can make that happen.”

Danny couldn’t hold back the chortling laughter. “See, that’s where you have a problem you don’t even know you could have.”

“And what is that?”

“You couldn’t handle my dead body,” Danny said just as the first goon reached them.

Danny stepped forward. He ducked under the swing of the punch and used the momentum to spin the goon around. With a push of his ghostly power, he sent the attacking goon careening into the next one and they both went tumbling.

“Danny, it’s here!” Tim shouted.

Not turning his back to the attackers, Danny stepped backwards into the elevator. Tim slammed a button and the doors basically snapped closed, much faster than they should. Danny was left staring at the polished metal surface of the elevator. Luminous green stared back at him. Soft black feathers dotted his temples. His fingers ended in talons. And he could feel it.

He could feel the skin on his back started to split.

Wings.

[rottenaero]

They were gonna put Eddie down like a damn dog.

The group had insisted that Steve visit the hospital today, one year and two months after the incident. It was a random day, and he thought, ‘ why the hell not?’

Family Video had been closed for months, doing ‘ repairs’, so he really didn’t have much else to do.

He thought it was weird, the way the group was as far away from the bed as possible, and how when he entered the room, Hopper almost blocked the exit.

He doesn’t question it though, sidling up to the open chair beside Eddie, who was still asleep after all this time, and punching his shoulder lightly.

“ Hey, Hero.”

He’d taken to calling it sleeping instead of what it was, a coma. Sleeping sounded more peaceful, because with sleeping came dreams and relaxation.

Eddie doesn’t respond, doesn’t react. Steve didn’t expect him to.

He turns his head to Dustin, the one who’d called him in the first place. “ So, why’re we gathered here today? Any updates?” He asks, addressing the whole room.

The boy swallows, and something tells him something’s wrong. Really wrong.

“ Yeah, actually. Uhm, since it’s been so long, we were thinking-“ He cuts himself off, crosses his arms and starts tapping his foot. Thinking, probably.

Hopper glances to him, and sighs, deciding to lead. “ We’re gonna have to let Munson go.” He states.

Steve takes a sharp breath.

“ What?”

‘ Let him go’ like this is a job. Like this isn’t him losing his life. He wonders when they decided to do this, in the hospital room for the ten minutes they were waiting.

Eddie doesn’t give any indication he hears what’s being said, the beeps from the heart monitor still steady and even as ever. A constant metronome of the exact same sound on the exact say beat, all the time, always.

Except maybe not always.

Dustin takes over again, arms placating. “ It’s been a really long time, Steve. We’ve come to terms that he probably won’t wake up, and it’s doesn’t have to be sad-“

“ You’re killing him.” He hisses, “ You’re killing him and it’s not meant to be sad?”

Nancy steps forward, seeing it as her time to speak. “ Steve. You barely knew the guy, and you spend all your time here, it’s not good for you.”

“ There’s been no good signs, no nothing, not even when El looks into his brain.” Dustin nods at the girl across the room, who’s fiddling with her fingers.

Steve furrows his brow, “ Oh, so I guess you’re gonna pull the plug on Max too?”

Lucas’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open, and Nancy glares. “ That is not fair, Steve.”

“ This whole situations pretty fucking unfair, so I guess you’re gonna have to explain to me how this is different from Max.” He stands, stance wide as he points to the man in the hospital bed.

“ Max is making progress.” Lucas says weakly, and El sets a hand on his shoulder. The boy deflates.

He turns toward Hopper and Joyce, the latter still not having spoken. The Byers family had moved back to Indiana for God knows what reason, and Steve knows that if he had the money, that he could’ve moved somewhere else long ago.

“ Does Wayne know you’re killing his kid?” He asks.

He’d met the man while visiting, and they’d usually sit in silence and watch baseball or whatever was on. He never questioned why Steve was there, or why he was holding a limp body’s hand and taking off it’s rings and putting them back on.

When they did speak, it was stories he had from Eddie’s childhood, about how he buzzed his head because a spider crawled on him and he was convinced it was hidden in his hair, making babies.

Hopper pinched his nose, like he was being a pest. “ Stop using words like killing, and yes. He said he didn’t want Eddie to have to suffer, and his bills are getting expensive.”

And he blinks, realization dawning.

This hadn’t just been decided, had it? This wasn’t a ten minute decision while Steve was getting ready to come here.

He speaks, his voice low and keeping even through each word, “ You guys had a meeting.” The ‘ without me’ goes unsaid, but still echoes throughout the room like if would’ve if he shouted it.

They’d decided this whole thing beforehand, somehow knowing that Steve would hang on. And he would, will. He can’t let him die, he can’t lose.

Will nods, and next to him Mike and Dustin look ashamed. He would’ve thought they’d hold out more.

He racks his brain for any reason they should keep alive, can’t find one. Somehow, even without one for them, he has a million for himself.

“ If the bills are the reason, I’ll pay the damn bills. He’s fucking alive.” He tries.

“ You don’t have a job, Family Video is closed. Just let it be, Steve. Please.” Robin had been eerily quiet during this entire conversation, and it brings him chills him when she speaks.

His best friend had been in on it.

He crosses his arms, “ I’ll get a job. Listen, I’ve been having dreams,-“ He lies. He lies because there’s nothing true to prove Eddie is getting better. “-dreams that he’s alive in like a dark space, I don’t know- his mind maybe? I just- I really think he’s in there.”

The hope Dustin gets on his face hurts, but he doesn’t care. The guy will wake up and it won’t matter that the ‘ dreams’ never existed.

Maybe it’s because he’s an optimist, and that’s why he’s trying so hard, as pessimistic as he can be sometimes.

“ Why didn’t you tell us?” Dustin asks and Steve licks his lips.

Why didn’t he tell them? “ Despite all this crazy shit, me having dreams that he’s alive still sounds crazy.” He doesn’t look at the boy as he says this, eyes roaming over Eddie’s face.

He looks serene, the bat bite on his face as healed as it can get. The doctors had mentioned swelling on his back shoulder blades, but Steve thinks his would be swollen too if he sat on them for a year.

‘ A year and two months.’ He corrects himself.

He stares at the hair that, occasionally when it got matted, Steve would go through and brush it, not wanting him to wake up to being bald because a doctor seemed it necessary.

Wayne mentioned how much he hated the shaved head, and he wouldn’t put him through that again.

As he looks at him, he thinks ‘ I’m doing this for you, so you better wake up, asshole.’

Dustin’s eyes are wide, staring at the members of Hellfire. Steve could only describe the look as ecstatic.

“ Holy shit, I mean, holy shit!” He laughs, and Mike breaks into his own grin.

Jonathan chimes in, disbelief sketched into the lines all over his face. “ Sorry, but doesn’t that seem too convenient? I’m not saying you’re lying Steve, just… If El didn’t find anything, that’s pretty much it.”

His lips form into a line, determined. “ I told you, I’ll be paying for whatever. It’s no skin off your back, or money out of Wayne’s pockets.”

Joyce nudges Hopper when he goes to speak, and nods at Steve. “ If you wanna try, sweetheart, you can. But I don’t want you visiting too much, it’s doing you more harm than good.” She wraps him in a hug, before leading the ex-chief of police out of the room.

Slowly, everyone vacates, until it’s just Steve, Eddie, and El.

She doesn’t make a move toward the door, eyes locked onto his face.

“ You’re lying.” She whispers like a secret.

He nods.

She looks toward Eddie, nervous, and she messes with the hem of her shirt when she starts to speak again. “ I lied too.”

She doesn’t elaborate, walking out of the room without anymore information, and Steve blinks.

The hospital has to call Wayne to confirm the transfer, that's how he learns of the circumstances. He doesn't say much of anything, aside from a promise of a visit on Tuesday before he hangs up.

That night, that same fucking night, he gets a call.

It's the front desk lady, voice distressed rushing through an explanation.

" Eddies gone...Only blood in his bed...We don't know where he is."

Steve stares at the wall, the rest of the words falling upon deaf ears.

Someone had probably found out where he was being held, murdered him a year later for his crimes, and stashed the body away.

He sets the phone back in its holster without saying anything to the other line. Not even a goodbye, or a thanks.

He thinks, it only for a second, that he should've let them just pull the plug, it would've been far less painful.

A creaking brings him out of it, and his eyes dart to his door.

It's dark, too dark, and Steve's aware the Upside Down fucked him up in incomprehensible ways, and now every shadow looks like something,

But there was definitely someone in his house.

He keeps slumped on his bed, the same position as when he'd answered the call. He doesn't flinch when the door pushes open enough for a body to slip in.

There's the sound of something dragging along the carpet as they come closer, probably a shotgun, or maybe they're gonna beat him with his own nail-bat.

He doesn't care to decipher the shape, instead shutting his eyes.

A hand grabs his, sets it on dry skin. His thumb touches a rough patch, a scar like feeling.

One his hands had roamed over while patching up his stomach, refusing to get looked at. That concave patch of scratchy skin that they tell you eventually will just be soft, scarred, but normal.

The skin stretches, and he feels a cheek.

Somehow, he thinks if he keeps his eyes shut, he doesn't have to face the thing in front of him, that it somehow isn't real.

A scratchy, disused, and croaky voice sounds out.

" ' Hey, Hero.' "

[fairene]

one of your girls / ln4, part two

lando norrisxfem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

part one

a/n ⋯ I LIED IT'S COMING OUT NOW!!! i sat down for 'bout four hours after work and a family dinner to knock this the fuck OUTTTT. it's shorter than i expected, but this was the best way i could wrap up this supposed 'oneshot'. i hope you all enjoy it. and remember, it is up to YOU for what you are wearing, clothes are intentionally vaguely described for your own viewing pleasure. and tbh, i did not proof read this...don't sue me!!! I JUST WAnted it out asap for everyone@!!! pls don't let it flop!!!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drunk hookup, choking (slight), p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, overstimulation, feral lando. sickeningly in love lando, possession, jealousy.

wc ⋯ 13.7k (unedited!)

he hadn’t heard from you in weeks. weeks. it was driving him fucking insane. he didn’t know that the girl would come back, he didn’t know she would be a bitch, and he certainly didn’t know you would react that way. to his ultimate surprise, it was a comfort knowing that you did care. however sick and twisted it was, it told him without using your words, that you wanted something. 

things had been left unsaid between the pair of you for a long time. too long. he was never in the business of guessing your feelings, assuming that you felt one way or another about him. and neither were you. both of you were too fucking stubborn for your own good. neither of you could see what was right in front of you–

each other. 

and that was the worst part for lando. it had him pushing himself harder. faster. to be better to perhaps catch your attention. to win you back through his ability to race. but you didn’t care about that. you didn’t care about how fast he drove his car, didn’t care about the number of podiums he got. you cared about him. but you never let the words fall upon his ears, and that was your first mistake. 

it was the weekend in spain. warm, but not too humid, you traveled with alexandra and the rest of the ferrari hospitality team. you had gotten close to carlos’ girlfriend, rebecca, as well. they were both great company and more times than not, lando had slipped from your mind completely. 

but not for him. 

he was a mess. a wreck without you. guilt consumed him night and day, and he would feel eternally wrought with what could have been. he’s called you, texted you, even had oscar reach out to you, but there was nothing but radio silence and the bolded words ‘read’ beneath his sent messages. it hurt more knowing that you saw him suffering and did nothing about it. 

but he deserved it. he deserved this treatment. he wasn’t going to fight you. he would roll over, belly up like a good boy for you. pay attention to me, his actions would scream. look in my direction. but you didn’t even view his stories on social media anymore. didn’t even like his posts. 

the british driver would be found pacing back and forth, staring hunchback at his phone. oscar would watch him from across the room, legs dangling from the papaya barstool. he hated to see lando this way, but he knew what he did. lando was honest with oscar, hoping to maybe seek advice in his own girlfriend. but lily simply shrugged her shoulders and her expression said enough. 

you did this to yourself. 

but little did you know is that he threw that girl out the moment you left. okay, not literally, but in ever metaphoric way possible. he never contacted her again. he hadn’t contacted any girl, in fact, these past few weeks. he would be isolated with his PR team at every occasion, refusing to even entertain the thought of hitting up a new girl. 

his loyalty to you was suddenly unwavering, but it was too late. 

“mate,” oscar said from where he sat. lando didn’t look up, just hummed, staring at your last text to him. 

‘you’re too sweet,’ 

too sweet. what would you say now? you had replied to a set of merchandise he saved for you, special edition for miami’s grand prix, and that had been it. from you. he had to scroll down through the text chain to reach the bottom. his endless apologies, desperate words, and more apologies. he felt nauseous. sick that he ever treated you that way.

his favorite girl. his girl. 

“she’s here.” 

what? 

lando’s head snapped up, looking frantically around. but there was no sign of you. 

“with alexandra. ferrari paddock.” oscar gestured his phone towards lando. he snatched it from him, letting his eyes fly across the photo. it was a picture of you, rebecca, and alexandra. posted on alexandra’s instagram story. 

you looked…

happy. 

he…

he didn’t know why he was upset by that. he wanted you to feel the same level of anger, sadness, distress, even. but here you were– looking absolutely beautiful with your bright smile. so fucking beautiful. he remembers he was there when you picked out that top. and god, he was right, it’s meant for you. 

lando threw oscar’s phone back at him, and knew this would be a long fucking weekend. 

barcelona’s air had been clean. much cleaner than miami, new york. the decor of the paddock, too, had you thinking and trailing your fingers over the textures. you had done that more– feeling the things around you. you used to do that with lando. but now he was gone, and you had to suffice to other obscurities to lay your fingers upon. 

gone. the word echoed in the chasm of your mind. gone. you didn’t realize the depth of lando’s absence would impact you this much, but that had been a mistake on your part. clearly. an oversight of your intimate relationship. that, eventually, it would end. it would end in flames, crash and burn, and ultimately never recover. as much as you thought, anyways. 

you heard your name being called from the other side of the couch. you glanced up. 

rebecca stared at you expectedly. 

“sorry,” you breathed. “what did you say?” 

rebecca huffed, but repeated herself regardless. “i said that i have a friend with me i want you to meet.” you raised your brows quizzically. “i think you’ll like him.” 

him? him? oh, fuck, here we go. 

as much as you wanted  to breeze past what happened in lando’s monaco apartment, you couldn’t. your feelings, as heavy as they were, weighed you down into the abyss of lando norris’ wellbeing. 

you didn’t sleep with anyone since him. you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. it didn’t feel right, and your own attempt at an orgasm was ultimately futile. 

but you said nothing when rebecca turned, pulling a man from conversation with carlos. he looked confused, but let his eyes settle on you. he relaxed. 

he was a handsome chap. dark hair, dark eyes. tanned skin. fit. he had a grecian nose, one that was slim and curved. not like lando’s, you thought, but brought yourself down to earth and stood. you greeted him with two kisses on the cheek, and his name was raphael. 

“so you are…” his spanish accent was thick and attractive. you couldn’t deny that. “friends with rebecca?”

“that’s right.” you nodded, bringing a bottle of water to your lips to cool down. “you, as well?” 

he shrugged, giving you a ‘so-so’ hand gesture. “carlos, really,” you let out a soft ‘ahh’ and soon realized, too, that this would be a long fucking weekend. 

the day of free practices came and went. so did your time with raphael. he wasn’t a bad conversationalist whatsoever, you were simply not interested. but you made a promise to rebecca this weekend that you would try. try and branch out instead of looking insatiably bored on live television. she was right. you needed to get over this and move on, because lando must’ve, right? he must’ve slept with that girl, given the fact that he didn’t go after you. 

did you expect him to? 

you weren’t sure. you weren’t fucking sure of anything. you weren’t a mindreader for fucks sake. but you saw his text messages. all of them. you made yourself sick with despair every night, rereading them to yourself like the fucking bible. what did you expect him to do for you? crucify himself? maybe. just maybe. 

as you were walking down the pit lane with alexandra at your side, you felt the wafting air of an oncoming storm of people. you glanced around, but alexandra was the one to point it out. 

“uh oh.” 

the papaya suits could be seen from anywhere. it’s not like they were subtle. 

you bristled and stood up straight. fuck, okay. this was happening. he’s walking this way. was he coming toward you? no, don’t be so foolish. but you hoped that he would. 

lando was approaching you, but his eyes were set forward. but when you weren’t bothering to look, he had been staring at you the entire way here. he could spot you from miles away with your countenance, your undying beauty. 

but he didn’t stop to look at you. 

you didn’t either. 

but your hands–

god your hands

they brushed past one another when he swept past your shoulder. his pinky desperately latching to yours before you let him go. you gasped lowly and he heard it, his ears twitching with the sound. but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t. 

if he stopped to turn, he would kiss you out in the open. 

you dared him to.

but you both kept on your way, and the interaction had you fuming. why can’t he care to show up? texts, calls, whatever, didn’t compare to the ability to show up. you knew he was in monaco. you knew exactly when he was there. it wasn’t a fucking secret. 

fuck him.

you didn’t care if you were being a brat. you knew what you put at stake, but you opened your heart to him. and you believed that maybe, just maybe, if that girl hadn’t interrupted, the two of you would be in a very different situation. maybe. but you didn’t let that thought linger. you couldn’t. 

“what was that?” alexandra whispered to you as you both kept walking. 

“nothing.” 

and that’s what you promised yourself it to be. nothing. when in reality, it had been everything. lando had seen you, spotted you from what felt like a mile away with a man lingering at your side. fuck. reality set in for him that you were looking. you were looking elsewhere from him for companionship. it made him fucking sick to his stomach, and he knew that had to change. he was a man on a mission now, a conqueror ready to pillage. 

it was the evening when you found yourself locked away in your hotel room. it was well past ten o’clock, and you were exhausted form today. alexandra had invited you out, but you just couldn’t bring yourself. rebecca prodded away at you, too, insisting that you and raphael hit it off today. he said that he wanted to see you again.

you had thought about it. you really did. 

but you couldn’t. 

you’d been sucked into a tv melodrama in your hotel room when you felt your phone vibrate. someone was calling you. 

you checked the time and raised a brow, lifting your phone to see the all-too-familiar contact card lighting up your face in the ambient lighting of the room. 

lando

you hesitated. 

suddenly your heart was racing, beating rapidly against the cage of your chest, and you felt like a prisoner to your anxiety. you felt it drop to your stomach, feeling queasy, but hit ‘answer call’ anyways. you lifted your phone to your ear, and let out a soft breath. 

“what?” 

your words were bitter, but quiet in the solitude of your room.

“didn’t think you’d answer,” came his raspy voice from the other end. he was breathless, as if he had been running. or fucking some girl. fuck you, you wanted to bite out, but held your tongue. 

“neither did i.” 

that earned you a cheeky laugh from him. he hesitated, too, before breathing. “are you at your hotel?”

you were confused by the question. “yes.” 

“can i see you?” 

his words hit you hard. you fell back against the pillows of your bed, hand coming to rest over your forehead. you sighed with a grumble. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

you could practically feel him wince through the phone. 

“please.”

fuck him and his soft words. his desperate tone, the pity that you felt for him grew. the fact of the matter flew from your head, disappearing with a singular plead from his cracked vocals. he sounded honest. that he truly wanted to see you, and a small part of you wished to reconcile whatever was happening between the two of you. you were not a woman of small touches– you wanted it all, or nothing. 

“okay.”

lando cleared his throat, choking on his breath, exhibiting his initial shock. “i– okay, okay, what room are you in?” 

“610.”

he hung up before you could let out a breath. your phone fell onto your nightwear– a simple baggy shirt and spandex. they were what kept you most comfortable at night. 

your hands raked over your face, pulling your eyelids with it. what were you doing? engaging with him, talking with him over the phone. the long text chains of read messages you had banished him to sat idly on your screen, staring you down with an ambivalence that you quivered before. was this a mistake? should you just pretend you’re–

there was a knock at your door seconds into your thoughts. 

you jumped from your bed, hands raking through your hair. how did he get here so fucking quick? you scrambled around your room, checking yourself in any reflection you could find. fuck, why were you so nervous? how could he possibly make you so riddled with anxiety in a matter of seconds? your heart was in overdrive once again, and you wondered just how much you could take. 

he said your name through the door. weak, pining. you dropped the brush you grabbed in the bathroom instantly, feet soaring over the hardwood floor to open it. when you did, you were face to face with the british driver. 

he wasn’t drunk. that’s a first. the thought crossed your mind only briefly, thinking that you were just a booty call in the late hours of the night. it wouldn’t be the first time. 

lando was disheveled, messy, and the white shirt he wore was ruffled. upon his head was a mclaren hat, concealing his identity from the outside. most importantly, though, that you noticed was how his face was glazed in a sheath of sweat. you cocked a brow at him. 

“did you run here?”

lando shrugged. it felt, in that moment, that things were normal between you two. that all of this…shit washed over for just a second. you felt at home. comfortable. but you cleared your throat and let him walk in, shutting the door behind you. 

you didn’t want to speak to him here. not where he could see your laundry everywhere, pairs of underwear sprawled around so he’d get distracted. not that you expected to fuck him here, though the thought didn’t upset you. fuck, you were in deep. 

you brushed past him, leading him to the small terrace just outside your bedroom. you slid the door open and leaned your back against the railing. he slid the door shut behind the two of you, and he took a seat in one of the wooden picnic chairs. he gawked at you, openly, letting his eyes run over your bare legs beneath the oversized shirt. 

“don’t do that.” you said, breaking the silence between you two. you seemed to rip him out of his dreamscape with a clearing of his throat. 

“do what?” he feigned innocence. though he knew what he was doing. he missed you, lest he verbalize that. 

“look at me,” you breathed, “like that.” 

his brow lifted, still playing dumb. dumb, as if he didn’t want to take you over this railing, ask you to be his. 

“like what?”

you scoffed. 

“like you’re in love with me.” 

ouch. your words bit harder than he thought they would, blood gushing from an open wound in his heart. he let your words settle before he leaned back in the chair, legs spreading as he fiddled with the skin of his thumbs. 

“i wanted to see you.” 

“i know,” you answered. “you saw me. now what?” 

lando shook his head. “don’t do that.” please don’t do that he wanted to say. 

“do what?” it was your turn to play dumb. your turn to pretend that you weren’t doing the same thing. pushing him away was the easiest way to deal with all of your problems. 

“act so cold.” he turned his head away from you, glancing over towards the lights of the city. “giving me frostbite.” 

“lando, what–”

“i’m sorry.” 

huh? you froze, eyes widening as you straightened upright. did you hear him correctly? it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard an apology. but this was a first to hear it in person, not in begging text messages half way across the world. 

“what–?”

“for everything. i’m sorry.” his head fell to his hands as he leaned over, gripping at the curls atop his head. you felt the same urge creeping up your spine, your hands feeling empty. you shifted on your feet, stepping a foot closer. 

“why now?”

he perked up, wondering what you meant. 

“why, now, are you sorry?” 

he was speechless. unable to form the words that could answer such a  vague question. but you had an idea, so you thought you’d share. 

“because i was with someone?” raphael. you know that he saw the two of you talking. chatting. maybe an occasional giggle so you could keep him quiet for the rest of the free practices. 

lando began to shake his head. “no, no–” 

“really?”

you stepped into his space, wedging yourself between his thighs. he stared up at you, lost in the reflection of your eyes beneath the starlit sky. his hands found your hips and you let him keep them there, at least for the moment. 

“really.” he promised you. head leaning forward to rest on your stomach. you felt the perch of his nose dig into your skin. your head leaned back, taking a large breath, feeling tears begin to well. 

“what do you want, then?” you said with a shaky breath. 

you felt his hands tense against your hips. 

“i don’t know.” his words were muffled, but you could make them out. it shattered you to hear the creak in his voice, but it hurt even more knowing that he didn’t know. you wanted something with him. a relationship. but he didn’t feel the same.

your fingers cupped his face, bringing him to look at you. “that’s it, then, huh?” your voice was dangerously soft. 

he was confused. again. 

“that’s all i’ll be?” he still didn’t catch on, too busy staring at your flushed face, reddened eyes. he wanted to fix it– take back his words. he’d do anything to reverse time. would do anything to revoke the words that spilled from your pretty lips. 

“one of your girls.”

you pushed him away, walking back to the railing with your back turned. he said your name over and over. you ignored him.

“i think,” you said, sucking in a tight breath to calm the storm of emotions that were threatening to raise hell. “that you should go.” 

“no, no–” lando stood, coming to wrap his arms around you, but you turned, holding up your hand to stop your advances. 

“we knew this would happen one day, didn’t we?” you reaffirmed, steadying your breaths the best that you could. but it was difficult. nothing about this was easy. but it had to be done. you were done waiting. done pining for someone that did not feel the same. did not burn the same. 

lando breathed your name again. you shook your head. “no. no. we can’t–” you choked on your tears. it felt hard to breathe. “i can’t keep waiting for you.” 

lando’s own eyes filled with tears. it felt like a breakup, when you two were clearly never together. you made that clear enough, and he obeyed, just wishing to feel your skin beneath his fingers, fall asleep to your heart beat. so why did he say he didn’t know? fuck, he’s such an asshole. he couldn’t take back his words now, could he? 

he tried to explain. words stumbled from his lips, nervous and riling with anxiety, but you would hear none of it. you simply brushed past him and into your room, opening the door from your hotel room for him. you said nothing else, tears sliding down your cheeks, lip caught between your teeth. 

“please,” he begged one last time. he had succumbed to his tears, too, cheeks flushed and lip wet. his hands trembled as he made one last attempt to cup your face. you let him. 

your foreheads met in both desperation and exhaustion. here, it felt like time stopped. the two of you in sync with your racing hearts, trembling hands, voracious blood churning through your veins. you looked up at him through your wet lashes and he met your gaze. it only had you sobbing harder. 

he wiped the tears from your cheeks. 

“please,” he said your name on his trembling tongue. the sound had your knees trembling, but you resisted. you had to. you couldn’t keep doing this anymore. there was a life out there, waiting for you to take hold of. “don’t make me go.” 

you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. 

“you have to.” 

lando hiccuped. his fingers were still shaking, and he finally accepted your rejection. though he supposed he signified it first. that was his first mistake. he couldn’t take back his words without sounding like a dick, so he was trapped. trapped utterly in this pit of mayhem. 

he exited your hotel room with his tail between his legs. defeated. 

you shut the door behind him and slumped against it, your back sliding down until you hit the floor. your head fell into your hands as you attempted to stifle your sobs. 

little did you know, that he had done the same thing, fallen limp against your hotel room door. your sobs were in unison as you began to unravel, whilst he coiled into knots. forever entwined amidst your inability to be vulnerable with one another. toilsome, but ultimately true. 

you didn’t know how long you stayed there. he didn’t know how long he stayed there. the two of you stayed in parallel behind a closed door, mimicking each other’s beating heart, for you knew that they would never be one. 

when you woke, you were still slumped against the door. you stood, stretching out your painfully aching muscles, arched your back, twisted your neck. your eyes were swollen raw with your epidemic of tears the night prior, and you rubbed the crust away. the memories flooded through you. lando was here. he was here, and you had to haul his ass out.

you thought he was going to kiss you. 

but he didn’t. your lips would remain untouched by his own. 

your fingers ghosted over your mouth, shivering at the memory of him so close to you. you could feel his breath fanning over your face– the heaving, desperate puffs of air– and he felt yours, too, with the same amount of anxiety. you were a wreck before him, and he was too. 

in no time you found your phone, grimacing at your battery, and the plethora of texts from rebecca and alexandra. it was still early in the morning so you had time to pull yourself together, but you had a big day with them today. qualifying was happening, and rebecca had set you up.

she set you up with raphael for the day. you knew she meant the best. and maybe it was. this was your opportunity to uphold your promise– to move on. you had to, or else you would be strung dry for the remainder of your life, with dreary hopes and aimless romantics. you would not drown in the ocean of lando norris, despite how cumbersome he gripped on your ankles. 

you fixed yourself for the day. showering quickly, styling your hair to your liking. you threw on a formal chic outfit, perhaps trying a bit hard today to catch raphael’s eye– or someone else’s, by chance. but you left the unattainable at the back of your mind today, heart far too raw to be ripped open again.

you would stick with something safe. someone safe. raphael was your answer in the short term. you were sick of playing the long game, bested to your knees in the face of whatever conspired between you and the british driver. you were convinced it was for the best. it had to be. these emotions couldn’t be for nothing. 

it couldn’t be for nothing. 

when you arrived to the track that morning, alexandra was quick to meet your side. she had an impenetrable amount of questions for you, yearning for your answers, but you only gave her a brief overview. 

“we’re done,” you said as you walked through the pit lane. “he doesn’t want me like that.” 

she was clearly taken back. her hand flew over her heart, obviously distressed for you. you admired her care for you. you would do the same for her. “really?” 

you nodded, gulping down the lump in your throat that was tempting to choke you. 

“it’s okay.” you reaffirmed her. she made a move to speak over you, console you to the highest degree, but you stopped her. “i’m fine. swear. let’s have a good day, shall we?” you plastered on a fake smile towards her, but you knew she saw through you. but she would accept this for now when you were approached by carlos, rebecca, and raphael. 

you smiled brighter when raphael came to kiss both your cheeks. you gripped his bicep. engaging in conversation with him felt easier today, and you weren’t begging for an out. you’d catch rebecca’s eye here and there, and she glowed with happiness. if you weren’t doing this for yourself, you could at least say that you were doing it for her. 

raphael was not a bad man whatsoever. he smelled good, had good hygiene, and had a glowing smile. but he didn’t smell the same. didn’t have the same musk. didn’t have the harsh pricks of a stubble that burned into the skin of your neck. 

fuck. you missed the feeling of that stubble. 

you clung to raphael’s side for the rest of the day, a burning itch between your thighs undoing the morals of your mind. if you wanted to get over lando, you’d have to truly get over him. 

it was never a ‘string’s attached’ relationship, was it? you were free to fuck whoever you want, when you want. so why would it be so bad if you wished to see raphael bend down for you? 

or you wanted someone else, but raphael was the closest you’d get. 

the rest of the day went by smoothly. for you, at least, but not for lando.

he had come into the mclaren paddock looking absolutely awry. his hair messy, eyes dreary with sleep and emotion, whereas you…you looked beautiful. untouched by your emotions from the night before. so much so that you were cuddled against that same fucking dude, which had lando’s blood bursting to life. 

you were across in the pitlane observing the car, arms folded over your chest. that fucking guy’s hand rested on the upper part of your back, rolling soft circles with the pads of his fingers. he clenched the rim of his helmet in his hands. his teeth grinded inside his mouth, sawing down the enamel. for you, he’d have no teeth. for you were the only world he wished to bite, and even then you starved him of it. 

“y’alright, mate?” oscar’s voice interrupted his thoughts. lando broke his stare from the pair of you, ripping his eyes away. 

but you had turned, then, and let your eyes linger on his back.

“fine.” 

that evening was no different than any other. for lando, at least, he succumbed to his hotel room for the night. he had no interest in going out. if he saw you with that spanish prick, he’d only lose himself even more. the guilt of losing you had been overturning, divulging into what a psychologist would declare as madness. 

but you were the opposite. you were out on the town, clubbing with rebecca and raphael. carlos was there, too, but was saving his energy for the race tomorrow. he held no drink in his hand, but you did. you were downing shot after shot. 

you were swaying your hips, grinding against raphael with a steady pace. he was into it. his dick was aggressively hard against the back side of your dress, but you weren’t scared by it. it enticed you further, in fact, and had you drawing new sensations of pleasure through you.

finally, you thought, a break from him. from lando. but the voices echoed inside the back of your mind. it bounced off the walls; he couldn’t compare. 

lando would have his hands drawing up the sides of your body. fingertips scathing the fabric of your dress, teasing touches that would have you writhing in his hold, desperate for him to fuck you in the back. 

lando would have his face nuzzled into your neck whispering bittersweet praises into your ear. he’d squeeze your hips with anticipation as the both of you would move in sync. always in sync. the two of you were one on the dance floor, one when you fucked one another senseless in your less than private moments. when he was particularly desperate for your touch, he’d go as far as taking you in the bathrooms at any club. he had no shame; not when it came to you. 

but raphael was tame. and maybe you appreciated tame. maybe this was a new start for you. fresh and free of any unknowns. 

“you’re beautiful, hermosa.” he would whisper to you, body trying its best to keep up with you. he did, for the most part, but you moved to your own beat. lando would know. he knew every inch of you. were you really prepared to be strangers? 

you spun around in raphael’s arms, wrapping yours around his neck. you offered him a cheeky smile. this wasn’t you. “and you’re handsome!” it was alcohol talking. you would never be seen so exuberant. not like this. 

it had raphael laughing, though, and it was enough for him to take you back to his place. 

the entire way back to his place you were giggling, latching onto his tanned skin. his hair was soft, sheen, and luscious. your hands never got lost in the strands of his hair– it was too combed, not curly enough. nothing was curly enough. 

and then he had you against the wall of his flat. your hands pinned against your head, and he met your lips with his. fuck, you couldn’t remember the last time you’ve been kissed. but the worst part about all of it was–

you hated it. 

you tugged his head down to your neck, letting him work the sensitive skin with his tongue. your lips felt hot. blistering with a heat you haven’t felt in a long time. it felt…it felt…

raphael’s tongue found the meeting part of your underwear and skin, “can i?” he asked with a timid voice. you let out a soft moan and nodded. he tugged the fabric down, your dress still hanging off your body. you didn’t even remember if he left kisses along your neck, your breasts, you guessed his lips weren’t that memorable. 

and then his tongue was against your slit. you weren’t wet enough. clearly. you could feel the chapped parts of your cunt, disappointed in your body that you couldn’t ‘get it up’ for him. whereas he was practically jacking off in his pants, you were left like a desert. it wouldn’t be like this with lando. 

he explored your cunt with his tongue, narrowly dodging your clit ever so slightly. he thought your noises of pleasure were noises of distress, so he avoided touching your clit as much as possible. so he tongued you through and through, until you began to become irritated. 

you couldn’t even feel tight in your stomach. the feeling couldn’t be outmatched. maybe your sexdrive had died. maybe you could never cum ever again. this was to be your fate– dry and lonely. fuck. you let your head fall back against the wall, which he took as a good sign, and kept going. instead, you threaded your hands through his hair, rolling your eyes. 

you let out a few soft, faked moans. you felt guilty– of course you did– but apparently it was an olympic sport to make you cum. he certainly wouldn’t make the playoffs. 

after another minute of this, you were fed up. 

you tightened your cunt on command, which took a lot of fucking work, thank you, and began to heighten the sound of your moans. the award for best fake orgasm goes to: you!!! you surged forward to grip onto his shoulders, even pretending to be shaking. 

you deserved an oscar. 

“didn’t think i was that good.” 

an egot, maybe. 

you let out a soft sigh, a faked chuckle, and let him lead you to his bedroom. he fell atop of you on your back, holding himself up with the strength of his forearms. he dipped his hand down, scathing over your irritated cunt. you gasped at his hand finding your slit once again, drenched in only his spit, and without warning slipped a finger inside of you. 

your mouth hung open, lurching at the sudden contact. you felt sinched beneath his weight, taught with tension. he even curled his finger inside of you. he grazed your bundle of nerves that had your squirming. squirming for more pressure. he kept hitting your spot until he pulled away. you looked confused at first, wondering where exactly he was going. 

and…then he was pulling his cock out. fuck. you really weren’t going to win here, tonight, were you? not in the slightest, it seemed. he looked down at you with a knowing smirk. the same one where he thought you came beneath his tongue. 

he thought you came. 

fuck!

“are you ready?” he asked when his cock pushed against the skin of your lower belly. he was a good size, you admit, but you had a inkling that you weren’t going to find a sweet release with his hands. you nodded, forgetting your manners, but raphael said nothing. 

he pushed into you with a discerning pace. you scrunched your nose out of his eyesight. he was too busy fucking himself into your pussy. he couldn’t even open his eyes to look at you. and, for the record, he didn’t use a condom. dick. at least you had a form of a contraceptive. you’d make sure not to let him finish inside you. that’s for fucking sure. 

he slid in and out of you with the lubrication of his spit and his own precum. you didn’t move. you laid there, bored, faking a moan and gasp here and there. 

the whole time you thought about someone else. and you didn’t feel guilty about it. you were able to find yourself comforted by the dreaming thought of lando’s voice in your ear. the phantom touch of his stubble. the amount of moles that you could count on his face. 

with a grunt, you felt raphael push off of you, cumming onto his own sheets. he laid there, panting, and you…”did the same.” 

he turned to face you, smile on his face. “did you finish?”

you nodded with an itching smile. he seemed triumphant. though you couldn’t be drier than a haystack. 

your exit from his flat quickly. it’s not like he even took your dress off. he insisted that you stayed, but you retorted that you had an early morning with alexandra. whether or not that's true, you didn’t seem to care. he didn’t fight your statement and seamlessly let you go, clearly too exhausted from his evening to even see you out the door.

you hailed a cab from your hotel shamefully. you felt icky. your lip sneered when you caught a cab and tipped the driver once you arrived back. the elevator ride never seemed so tantalizingly long. 

when you swiped into your room, you threw your belongings on your bed and turned on a hot shower. while you waited for the water to heat, you opened your phone. 

no messages from lando. 

did you expect any?

maybe. 

you decided to call him. you didn’t fucking care. it was the alcohol talking. 

ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…

no answer. 

you left a voicemail.

“heeyyy…!!” you surged into the phone as you began to untangle your dress from your body. “i–uh, i dunno i just…wanted to call you… because i…” you swore under your breath as you couldn’t get a strap off. “sorry i…” you stuttered, laughing to yourself. “i think i miss you, lan.” 

and then you hung up, singing yourself into the shower. the hot water panned over your body, fingers trailing over the mounds of your breasts. the soft skin of your abdomen. 

but with your whimsy, came a price.

lando was there. he just didn’t answer your call. he had been awake, wondering what you were doing, since you were absent on almost all forms of social media. so when he got your call, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. 

then the voicemail came.

he must’ve played it over a dozen times. hearing your soft voice, amicable and kind. you had been drinking, clearly, and he could hear the sound of the shower running in the background. he held his phone against his head, other hand running through his hair. he was a wreck over you, and you were as well. drunk dialing was never a thing between the two of you. 

especially an ‘i miss you.’ 

and how ‘lan’ slipped past your lip with such ease. the name was meant for you to use. only you. 

he found himself stroking his cock to your words, the temptress in your voice. he knew she was there, baiting him, and he was no better than a fish to bite. he fisted his cock with your name on his lips, and a reminder that yours was on his.

with a pounding heartbeat and ringing in his ears, all he could think about was you. and more or less, you the same.

your fingers trailed down your navel in the shower, coming to nib at the lips of your clit. how swollen it was, angered and annoyed, that such a man could ignore it. by association, you. 

a hand rolled over one of your breasts, twisting your nipple in hand. you gasped at the sensation you provided, flicking your clit between your fingers. you truly needed no more to make yourself cum, except the thought of lando’s voice in your ears. 

‘come on, baby,’ he would say to you, fingers gliding along your drenched slit with ease. you clenched around nothing, whimpering to yourself in the hum of the hot shower. ‘little more for me, yeah?’ he would always talk you through it. never once would you be alone when you came. he was always there, lingering, a shadow against the walls. 

you slipped a single finger inside of yourself, curling it expertly as lando taught you to. ‘just like that, sweet thing.’ he’d mutter against your shoulder as he’d fuck you on a chair facing a mirror. you could never make yourself cum before his “lessons.” 

your back arched against the marble of the shower walls. your thumb and forefinger worked just like his would against your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves until a coil inside of you snapped, and you came all over yourself with his name on your lips.

and he could feel it. amongst the cosmic plane. he had been grudgingly fisting his cock, grunting your name over his lips. it was sinful, the way that his cock was spewing cum in only a matter of minutes at the thought of your voice. ‘lan, lan,’ you would say to him, ‘need it. need you inside,’ you’d whimper against him, begging for his cum to seep out of you. 

he’d never deny you a pleasure. so he shouldn’t deny himself. he came in a matter of seconds over the palm of his hand, your name flustering his tongue. and he’d lay there, soaking in his milky cum, eyes blown wide at just how much of an effect you had on him; mind, body, and soul. 

you stood there in the shower, flustered from heat, the slick running down your thighs. your hearts beat in unison at that moment, miles apart, on the same wavelength. 

the shower wasn’t the same after that. you felt dirty, but so good. the namesake of lando’s voice in your ear was enough to have you cumming on your own fingers, but the touch of another man made you ill. what a shock that was to you. or maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all. 

clean to the best of your ability, you slept easy that night. the best sleep you’ve had this weekend, in fact, with lando frolicking through your dreams. and you in his, whispering soft ‘i love you’s’ which had him writhing with pleasure. you infested every part of him, and he did the same to you. you’d never be free of lando norris, and the thought began to settle. it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but you couldn’t forget his words. 

‘i don’t know,’ he spoke into your stomach. his nose pinched you. the words sliced clean. your stomach coiled not with pleasure, but anxiety. why didn’t he want you that way? why did he hesitate? 

you weren’t taking his rejection well. that was clear. 

but he wasn’t taking this any better. he was going through his own emotional turmoil of trying to make this up to you. it would be the last thing that he did. 

when you woke that morning with a groggy headache and a sore ache between your thighs, you couldn’t help but groan. what the fuck were you doing last night? you perhaps had the most disappointing sex of your entire life, and now, as you looked in the mirror you were nothing more than mortified. 

littered on your chest, above your breasts, were a few specks of bruises. hickey’s. fuck. fuck. that was one thing that was always far too intimate. kisses and hickeys. what did this mean, then, that you belonged to raphael? your fingers trailed up the bruises on your chest, the flesh tender beneath your soft touch. you winced at the memory of his cocky face, thinking that he had you finishing more than once. if at all. you leaned over the sink, washing your face off with cold water. 

your hands rested at the base of your neck. your reflection stared back at you, pitiful, the bruises beneath your eyes reflected a tiredness that the word ‘exhaustion’ could not begin to fathom. you were disappointed in yourself. that much was clear. 

a sigh escaped you when you finally mustered the courage to leave the bathroom. for the race today, you decided on a long dress. one that covered your chest, but hung on your shoulders. it was a beautiful piece. you’d been saving it for this weekend, and you were more than thankful that the universe seemed to be looking out for you. 

you tidied up your appearance the best you could and slid on a pair of heels, grimacing at the sore ache from the night before. raphael didn’t have a valet, so you had to walk across four blocks with his hands wandering down your sides, desperate to fuck you in an alleyway. ew. you shivered at the memory, but continued on from your hotel room.

though, you took one last glance before leaving, and let your eyes rest on the balcony. it felt like a dream to see lando sitting there, his face resting against the tender flesh of your stomach. his stubble itched through the cotton of your shirt, but it rather tickled. and then he said he didn’t know what he wanted with you, and your whole life slipped right through your fingers. 

he slipped through your fingers. 

you shut the door. 

lando’s morning, on the other hand, started off stellar in comparison to yours. he had stayed up a while longer, wondering if you would call him back, but you never did. there was a faint pang of disappointment, but much more guilt that he let you slip away so easily. he should’ve refused to leave your hotel room that night. refused by any force you attempted on him. 

but he’s just that much of a fucking idiot, wasn’t he? when he left for the paddock early that morning, he glanced at his phone one last time. one missed call, and it was from you last night. and then suddenly, his heart was warm, and there was a smile on his face.

all this told him was that there was a chance. you called him. you called him whether or not you were shitfaced. blackout drunk. in your vulnerable moments you thought of him. reached out for him. fuck, he was in love with you.

in love

he paused when he shut the door behind him, frozen in place. what? is that what this was? love? 

anxiety churned in his stomach. this feeling had been there for a while. a long time. and only now he was just realizing it. shit. 

he fiddled with his phone in his hands. thumb hovering over your contact card, he let it fall. 

it rang twice before he heard the line connect. 

“yeah?” you said, demure and quiet. he knew you were exhausted. he’s heard this tone before. the tone you had when you were viciously hungover. it had him chuckling. “what?” 

“good morning to you, too.” the words rolled easy from him. he suddenly felt calmer with you on the other end, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in the pit of his stomach. 

“good morning.” you said, like you were shocked that he was calling you to say good morning. 

“fun night?” he asked, stepping into the elevator and hitting the ‘lobby’ button. a few members of his team were already waiting for him. 

 but you had froze up in the car ride to the paddock. what? how could he know? did he know that you were with raphael? you cleared your throat. “what– what do you mean?” 

“you called me.” 

shit. 

if you weren’t fucked already, you were royally now. your hand dragged over your forehead as your head swarmed with anxious thoughts, completely forgetting about calling him and then…touching yourself in the shower to the thought of him. yikes! what a little freak you were. but lando would enjoy it. 

“i–” you stuttered, voice caught in your throat. “i’m sorry…i was just…” 

your voice trailed and you could hear his childish laugh from the other end. “no, no. it was cute.” you heard the elevator ding from his end, but it hard to focus on when there was a deep blush flustering your cheeks. 

“i didn’t mean to bother you,” you quickly said, finding the need to apologize over and over again for disrupting his night. it was embarrassing enough as is that you had the worst sex of your life, but you called the one man that didn’t want you for consolidation. what a conundrum that was, wasn’t it? 

“you didn’t.” his words were firm this time, no traces of playfulness. you perked up at this, finding yourself laughing. 

“must’ve said something dumb, didn’t i?” 

there was a pause. 

“yeah. yeah. something dumb.” 

there was another beat of silence. you shifted in the uber, the pass around your neck.

“i’ll see you there?” 

you heard him suck in a tight breath, then release it. 

“yeah. yeah, ‘course you will.” 

you smiled. he could feel it. 

“okay. bye, then.” 

he said your name softly on the other end with a salutation, and the line went flat. you slammed your back against the leather seats of the car, hands rolling over your face. you rubbed your eyes, wondering if you were still dreaming. 

it wasn’t fair that he could make you this way. that he had you in tears just a few nights before, and now your fingers shook with excitement. fuck him. fuck him for making you feel this way, and yet, there was no trace of annoyance on your face. 

just a bright smile. 

your name was called when you swiped into the paddock. it had you whipping your head up to see who it could be, but you already knew that it was alexandra. she wasn’t trailed by anyone else, thank god, and she flung her arms around you for a hug. 

you sang a soft greeting towards her, and she looked up at you expectantly. you raised a brow. 

“so…!?” 

you narrowed your eyes. 

“your night with…!” her voice dropped to a whisper. “raphael.” 

you shushed her, looking around, before you held one of her hands in yours. “you want the truth?” her facial expression dropped, but she nodded anyways. 

“awful.” 

she groaned, head rolling back in disappointment. “i told rebecca it wasn’t a good idea.” 

“the sex was…horrible. just…i mean, what the fuck?” alexandra burst out into a laugh as the both of you joined side by side towards the ferrari hospitality. you dreaded going, given the unanswered texts for him, you didn’t want to be confronted with…anything. 

“most importantly…” alexandra stopped the two of you before you entered. “are you over him?” 

him. the inevitable. 

you swallowed. 

and nodded your head.

alexandra was only slightly pleased and gave you a reassuring smile. boy, this would be a long day. 

before the race started you were wandering around the pitlane with your miniature crew of ferrari girlfriends and their friends. raphael had found you, eagerly, with a prideful smile on his face. out of kindness, you returned the gesture, and let him linger around you for the day.

ferrari’s pit was next to mclaren’s. you couldn’t help but stare. 

lando was there. in his papaya race suit. he was speaking to his engineers, and never glanced your way. look at me, you wanted to shout. please, your mind begged. but you stayed firm at raphael’s side.

he dared to stretch out his hand to let it loiter on your waist, but you shimmied out of the contact with an awkward smile. he noticed, but didn’t say anything. 

lando did too. 

but not what you wanted him to see. he saw you with raphael’s arm around your waist. you were smiling, laughing, in their presence. whereas he couldn’t even bear a night out without the cumbersome thoughts of you constricting his mind. he thought of nothing but you. and here you were, haphazardly dangling this spanish prick in front of his face. fucker. 

you turned to look at lando again, free of raphael’s touch. he was staring.

your heart beat faster, eyes widened. your palms were sweating– why were they sweating? he looked pissed, frustrated, but you didn’t know why. your brows upturned with a soft expression that he yearned for, and his envy flushed away. 

it was that easy. your gentle features. the concern ridden in your face. 

you even gave him a small wave, twiddling your fingers. he was bashful in response, and returned it with a small twist of his own fingers. 

but his eyes carried down. towards your chest. you blinked, realizing that part of your dress had slipped further. there was an obvious bruise making an appearance, and you felt guilty. guilty as if you had cheated on him, but you were never in a relationship to begin with.

you saw his jaw tightened and his hands flex before he turned, leaving you speechless. 

and then you were dragged away, just like that, into the viewing panel for the race. they were about to start their formation lap, yet you could barely focus with your racing heart. 

it past with ease. raphael tried to get closer to you, but you found excuses to stay huddled at alexandra’s side. she noticed, and even wrapped her own arm around your waist. the two of you were a picturesque vision of divine femininity. you felt untouchable at her side, incomparable to any girlfriend you’ve ever had. 

lando was fighting hard. he was aggressive on the straits, pushing past the limits of his drs. your hand traced over your chin as you watched the tv intensely, frightened when you saw him make contact with one of the mercedes drivers. 

“what is he doing…” you muttered under your breath. your nailbeds were being hacked on by your teeth, chewing them down to the stump. parts of your thumbs streamed with blood. 

little to your knowledge, your reaction had been broadcasted. alexandra’s face unfurled with a cheeky look, realizing that she had been played by your deception from earlier. you were not over him. in fact, you were entirely worse than before. your concern was ebbed through the power of media, and that wouldn’t be forgotten. 

“are you okay?” came raphael’s voice. you didn’t even look at him.

“fine.” 

he took your cold tone in earnest, realizing that there was something more at stake here. 

you couldn’t be more grateful when lando passed the checkered flag. your hand found the column of your throat, finding comfort. you let your face be consumed by a smile, one similar to raphael’s when he thought he made you came. stupid man, you thought, glancing towards the spaniard. you had a new priority now.

you had to prove that you wanted lando. but how? everything felt like it was becoming too complicated. your fates were intertwined via an invisible string. 

and you didn’t even go to his podium.

he looked for you, sweat dripping down his forehead, but didn’t see you. it had him grow weary, agitated. he raced this hard so he could prove himself to you. prove that he was better than some lowlife. 

but he fears he lost you. 

the hickey’s on your neck spoke volumes. you fucked him. fucked that stranger. his fists curled around the trophy, break-necking the medal display. 

did you come? 

no. stop that. it’s none of his business to ask–

she didn’t. you couldn’t. 

the pieces began to fall in place in his head. the phone call. you called him…when you needed him most. 

it suddenly made holding this trophy all the more worthwhile, and he even donned a smile on his face when he raised it high above his head. this, he thought, was victory. 

the night came as swiftly as the day went. you were getting ready to go out, alexandra reminding you to schedule your uber. you did. the dress you wore this evening was short. one of your favorite colors, and had a high neckline. for obvious reasons. you were entirely mortified that raphael felt the primal need to mark you like some bitch. it had your stomach twisting with anger, fingers pulsing with a punch. 

but your violent urges stayed dormant when you met up with alexandra, charles, rebecca, carlos, and…raphael. jeez, what a lot you’ve surrounded yourself with. raphael was at your side in an instant when you climbed out of the uber, refusing to give you a morsel of space. it had your lip curling, grimacing down the vomit that curdled in your throat. 

you barely spoke a word to him tonight. there was nothing more to say to him. if you were to say anything, it would be a rotten lie. 

alexandra tugged you along through the doors, charles at her flank, which you gladly let her do. anything to get away from raphael would be best for you, given how much you didn’t want to confront him. it was just for the weekend, right? no strings attached. 

no strings attached, echoed through your mind. flashes of lando’s hands on your hips, the phantom embrace that tensed around your flesh, seeped into your head. your heart plummeted against your will, looking around futilely for his bright smile amongst the sea of oncomers. 

it didn’t take you long.

but you wish that it did. 

he had his arm slung around some girl, hat backwards, first few buttons undone on his white dress shirt. hands clamming up, you tightened them together over your front, letting your eyes gawk at such a beautiful pairing. it was a different girl than the one you had rudely met in monaco. 

another one of his girls. 

your mind begged you to let it go. but your heart chained itself to lando, refusing to let go this…infatuation that had you sick to your stomach. what did she have that you didn’t? was she nonchalant? was she a cool girl? 

your staring lasted too long. lando saw you. he felt your eyes– your heated stare, beckoning his attention. he answered your call, glancing directly at you. but he did not wave. 

neither did you. 

the urge thwarted you to look anywhere else but him, tugged your attention elsewhere, but you stayed firm on his freckled face, sharp cheekbones, his daunting stare. you felt the beat of his heart from across the room, the bass boosted rap, his irritability when raphael came to rest a hand on your hip. but you did not turn away from this fight. your arsenal was loaded, and so was his. 

lando glanced at raphael, first to break eye contact, and swug the rest of his cocktail in hand. he let the glass slide across the counter of the bar before tugging the girl at his side to his front, the pair of them dancing with one another. 

fine, if he wants to play, then you’ll play. 

you were handed a cocktail by raphael. you thanked him sincerely before you downed your own in one gulp. raphael gaped at you with a slack jaw. you wiped the loose drops from your jaw, and offered him your hand. 

“dance with me?” 

raphael didn’t need to be asked twice when he took your hand. you led him deeper into the club, the led lights brightening both your faces. in this light, you supposed that he was irrecoverably handsome. and the thought slipped through your mind that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve had a good life with him. that in some universe that you could get over this feud with a man who doesn’t want you, you’d have a well-earned chance at happiness. 

but the thought left just as quickly as it came. 

your hips were against his. ass against his crotch, grinding in a rough series of movements. he began growing accustomed to how you moved, and that much you could be thankful for. no longer would the two of you be awkward on the dance floor, fragile hands trembling against your body. he felt more confident, but you could tell there was something brewing behind those big brown eyes of his. but you honestly couldn’t care less, not when you were distracted. 

not when your eyes were entranced on a man who treated you like garbage. who cried in your arms, begged for your presence. then, left your hotel room with tears streaming down your face. 

his hands were tightly wound around the girls abdomen, cocky expression glazing his face. he spoke to a few of his buddies here, too, amply looking like a douche. one that who knew exactly what he was doing to girls. fuck. 

you were just one of his girls. 

this enraged you. but it shouldn’t. but it did. there was no excuse for your fray of emotions. they simply existed, and you were going to deal with them. not in a responsible way. no, you were far too gone for that. alcohol warmed your throat, your palms, your chest. 

you let your head lean back onto raphael’s shoulder, your mouth coming to his ear. “you can touch me.” you encouraged him. he seemed to lighten at this, becoming bold enough to let his hands trail up your body. he’d indulge in your shape, letting his fingers imprint against the globes of your breasts, the lining of your panties beneath your dress. 

a light giggle left you when you let your head rise from his blades, and were met with an aggressive, terrifying, stare from across the room. 

your lips puckered. 

lando’s head was resting on the girl’s shoulder, his hips swaying with hers, but his eyes were trained on you. you, you, and more you. he was glaring at the man behind you, his gaze so bitter that it soured even your own tongue. it was the miniscule amount of guilt that flustered your head, but you shoved it down. 

lando retaliated, beginning to kiss on the girls neck. she leaned against him, a gorgeous smile lighting up the room. 

you grumbled, turning your head to meet raphael’s eyes. your eyes pleaded with a language of seduction, one that any man could understand. 

raphael took the bait. 

his lips trailed down your ear, down the column of your neck. all whilst your back was pressed against his front, you felt the outline of his dick. your palm tightened at the memory of how he attempted to fuck you, but you had to remain composed. you couldn’t fail now. 

your lip caught between your teeth for dramatics. like you were holding back a moan. 

lando was watching. in fact, he never stopped. he was drunk on the addiction of watching you. watching you grind your hips on that fuckin’ guy, not even wince when his lips were glossing over the sensitive flesh of your neck. could he make you wet with just his mouth? 

the british driver could feel his end nearing. if this progressed any further, he’d drag your ass to the bathroom and fuck you like you’d deserve. he didn’t give a fuck. not anymore. not when your lip was bitten by your top row of teeth, an illusive point to how that guy was pleasuring you. he felt fucking sick. though he was starving to the same degree. 

his chest was aflame at your teasing touches on your own body. he could see the outline of your panties, the lack of a bra. your nipples were pinching against the fabric that confined them, and he had to stop himself from drooling. you were so fucking sexy. 

the girl at his front was growing bored of her lack of attention. he, honestly, didn’t even remember her name. but he’d suffice it with a swirl of his tongue around the skin of her jaw. it was a critical move, since he knew that you’d never let yourself be kissed. you wouldn’t risk such intimacy with a man you’ve only known for a few days–

except you would. 

this was war, wasn’t it? 

watching lando suck and slurp on that girl’s neck had you desperate to come up with an alternate idea. an approach that would crown you victorious without a second thought. it was cruel, you knew this, but you were out of options. you had something to prove. prove that you were over him. though, you knew that this would end in one of two ways;

him, fucking you.

or, him leaving. 

you much preferred the latter. 

with enough fury boiling in your bones, you lifted your head to meet raphael’s eyes. with your pointer finger, you let it roll over his chin, connecting with your thumb. you glanced at his lips, your tongue wetting your own, and pulled him to meet you. 

raphael said your name into your mouth, nervous to even let his tongue explore yours. you sucked in a tight breath, lip curling to reference a snarl at how much you despised the sensation. it was messy, wet, and you felt instantly disgusted with yourself for even letting him touch your lips. you felt like you jumped too far into a relationship with raphael, even though you were certain that you didn’t want one. 

“be my girlfriend,” raphael breathed into your mouth. you hummed a laugh, thinking that he was joking. but he moved to separate you too, staring at you with a brazen thoroughness that you never wished to see again. 

“i’m serious. i want–” 

“‘scuse me, mate,” you knew that voice. you knew that voice too well. your head spun around to see lando leering dangerously close to raphael’s face, the heat of his body emanating onto your own. he stood only a few inches from you.

you felt his hand ghost over the small of your back, and you suddenly felt desperate to feel it. with your lips raw from that kiss, your fingertip glazed over the flesh, your eyes lost in lando’s tense expression. his jaw was tightened, chest doing it’s best to keep his heated expression under control. however, that control was slipping with every passing moment that you were in raphael’s arms. 

raphael turned his attention to lando, suddenly pissed. “need something?” 

lando gave him a hoarse chuckle. “yeah. can i borrow your lady for a second?”

raphael made a move to shake his head. “no, we were just—”

“thanks, mate.” lando gripped your back with his fingertips, digging into the skin without mercy. you felt his anger rolling off of him in tense waves, the urge to consolidate him overwhelming. he led you through the crowds of people with an insurmountable force, jaw tightly clenched the entire way. you could practically hear his teeth grinding against one another. 

he said nothing until he opened– no, broke the door– to the bathroom. it was a single stall– no one was in there. he allowed you to enter first, stretching out his arm as a much needed signal. you waited a moment, arms crossing over your chest. 

his eyes didn’t relent. he would wait here all fucking day before you decided to go in. and you did. he locked the door behind the two of you in an instant. 

“what the fuck are you–” you began to scold, back turned to him as you approached the mirror and the sink. you were interrupted when he spun you around, hand place firmly on your hip. the contact had you gasping, glancing down at his hand. 

“so, what?” he said, looking down at you through hooded eyes, blown pupils. his heart was electrified, hidden behind his cage of ribs, and one hand flexed as it gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. he hummed, “hm? he your boyfriend now?”you gaped at him. “you’re serious?” you stifled a laugh, unbelieving of his attitude. “what’s it to you, lando? hm?”

his shoulders tensed. “you shouldn’t be with him.” 

you rolled your eyes. lando gripped your chin, demanding your attention. “why not, then? ‘m i supposed to be your whore forever?” 

his thumb rolled over your bottom lip. “you never were,” he tsked. you were bewildered. brow raising, however difficult to focus when his hand around your hip began to swirl circles on your skin. 

“what the fuck are you saying, then, lando? you need to–”

“you let him kiss you.” 

you froze. 

“never me. why?” his restraint was slipping. his forehead edged closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath fanning across your face. 

“why?” he asked again, his nose brushing against your own. you shook your head ‘no,’ lip beginning to quiver beneath his body. his chest pressed against your own as he got closer. he needed to be closer. “he fuck you better? hm? that it?” 

you shuddered when you felt his fingers lower from your hip, trailing circles towards your navel, the slit of your dress that met your upper thigh. 

“go on,” he urged, his voice tense from gritting his teeth. “tell me. tell me, and i’ll stop.” 

you stayed quiet except for the whimper that left your throat when his fingers curled against your panties, a dampened spot ruining the fabric. there was a deep chuckle against your face, lando’s forehead still against your own. you tightened your lips together, not daring a word to spill. 

“tell me, and i’ll let you go party with your new boy.” 

“fuck you,” you bit out, seething with your desire, angered with his jealous antics. 

“yeah? yeah? you want ‘ta fuck me?” there was no way of hiding his cocky grin. it could be seen from miles away, even when his face was millimeters from yours. 

“you’re an asshole,” you heaved, your hips bucking when he began to slide your underwear to the side. your breaths were harsh against his cheeks. 

“must like ‘em mean, then,” he cooed, followed by a deep chuckle. “‘cause you’re drippin’ for me.” you felt your slick seep around his fingers as h grazed the puffy lips of your cunt. your head was thrown back against the concrete wall, smacking against the surface. lando was quick to adjust your head, his fingers tugging into your hair. 

“fuck,” you sighed, finding his pleasures undeniable. he was so on edge from seeing you kissing raphael, that he was lost in his madness. this pent up lust was bursting from its locked away jar, pouring its fury onto you. “touch me, lando. please–” 

with a swift motion he perched you onto the porcelain sink, your head lolling against the mirror, supported by his palm. he tugged you forward so your glossy cunt stained the front of his black pants. the wet spot was pertinent, your face flushing with embarrassment. you were supposed to hate this. why did you love it? 

“‘am touchin’ you, baby.” his middle finger teased you, blessing you with a split moment of euphoria of grazing your clit. you moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “look at me,” his hand tightened in your hair. your eyes flashed open, face to face with his crooked, loving smile. “look at me when i make you cum.”

you nodded, whimpering rapidly. he grinned harder at your desperate, pleading tone. though you spoke no words, he could tell just how badly you needed him. 

“inside,” your begging didn’t cease, especially when he was still refusing to slide a finger inside of you. “please, please—”

your words were cut off when his middle finger curled sweetly inside of you, eliciting the sweetest pleasure you have felt in weeks. the moan you delivered was guttural, deep, and most of all, primal. lando’s dick pulsated in his pants, his fingers twitching at your lewd voice. 

a hand reached out to grip onto his bicep, your head falling into the crook of his neck. you felt undeniably at ease in his hold, despite the hurt that he’s caused you. 

his finger began to slide in and out of you, scissoring you to high hell and back, and you were putty in his hands. moments like these is what he favored most with you, but he would take anything to be in your presence. he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he swooped you up from that asshole’s arms, leaving him shocked and disrespected. lando was keen enough to twist his head over his shoulder when he led you away, watching as raphael’s face contorted with disappointment. it had his jaw tensing, resisting the urge to smirk. 

“come on, baby,” lando’s voice cut through your high, your naval tightening with a hot pressure. “know you’re close. can feel it.” 

he added a second finger, using his thumb to roll over your sensitive bundle of nerves. the stimulation was overwhelming, your throat raw with the carnal moans he drew from your depths. he’d be the only one to hear any of these ever again. he promised himself that much. 

your orgasm was imminent, the coil in your belly snapping with a hopeless yearning you’ve been deprived of for what feels like an eternity. slick covered the palm of his hand, and your eyes had locked onto his. he watched as you trembled with desire, legs twitched around his waist. with one quick move he brought his two fingers to your lips.

you knew what he wanted. 

you’ve never tasted yourself before. but your lips parted, and he lathered your slick over your tongue. you sucked in earnest over his calloused digits, lips puckering, cheeks hollowing. you swallowed, letting your tongue linger over his fingertips.

“now you know,” he whispered, clutching you tight. “why i can’t stay away.” for a brief moment, you thought he was mentioning because of the taste of your cunt. but with the deep look in his eyes, you knew it meant more. you were made for him. both in spirit and sensuality. 

lando spun you around from your seat atop the sink, having you flipped, staring at your reflection in the mirror. you look disheveled, and downright fucked. your feet met the ground, the palm of his hand spreading over the expanse of your back, flattening you to a ninety degree angle. 

“lift your hips for me, love,” you obeyed without second thoughts, rising to your tip toes as he ran his fingers along the underside of your thighs, pulling down the fabric of your panties. they hit the floor, and your cunt went rigid with the cold air. but you heard lando making fast work with his belt, his jeans, and you sifted back and forth. you even turned to look at him over your shoulder, lashes batting unintentionally at the spring of his cock against his lower belly. 

“missed this,” he breathed, saddling his hand at the base of your neck. you pushed into his hold, deepening the connection. 

your exhaustion didn’t impede your ability to get fucked. that was for sure. lando wasn’t going to spare a single effort on your behalf. he was riled, pent up, and now he wanted to see tears in your eyes as you were split open on his cock. it was a promise. 

“missed you.” you mumbled. lando’s hand tightened around the frontal base of your throat. 

“what was that?” 

you whimpered. “missed you!”

“atta girl.” he was pleased with your higher volume, and awarded you by edging the tip of his cock through your folds. you lurched forward, gripping onto the dish of the sink. a deep groan left you, and he gave you a grace period to adjust. but it took too long. you wanted him deep. bottomed out. until there was nothing else for you to give. 

“show me,” you grit your teeth. “show me he’s not good enough.” 

your words seemed to ignite a flame inside of lando that couldn’t be ignored. you felt him huff air, the sensation tickling your spine, and he thrust himself inside of you. forget a grace period, you were going straight to heaven. 

you moaned, his cock stimulating a perverse area inside your cunt that no man could ever reach. lando was out for blood to prove that he was the only man that could truly fuck you. and fuck you he would. 

the sound of skin slapping echoed through the bathroom. your moans intertwined with his mewls, creating an atmosphere derived from both of your pleasures alone. nothing would ever compare to this feeling. how he curved deliciously inside of you, how you tightened so mercilessly around his cock. he’d let himself run dry so he could feel your tight walls each night. 

the pressure of his hand around your throat didn’t relent. with his index and thumb squeezing at every point he bottomed out, you swore you were seeing stars. you were an irrecoverable mess in lando’s arms, and that’s just the way he wanted you. in the reflection of the mirror stared the fading marks that fucker left on your skin. but he was determined to make his own. and it was different that you’d let him. without a doubt, he could bite through your skin, make you bleed for all you fucking cared. 

“who’s fucking you this good?” lando asked, hand tightening briefly for your response. you were lost in your haze, unable to truly focus on his words. your brows furrowed. 

“you,” you said, breathless, clenching onto the sink with all your prospective might. 

“who?” he prodded further, opposite hand coming to rub at your clit. you seethed, breath tightening in your throat. tears burned at your retinas, the skillful work of his fingers bringing you to an oncoming orgasm. lando felt it, and paused his fingers. 

you whimpered, then looked at him in the mirror. he loomed like no man you’ve ever seen. darkened eyes, sweaty hair. fuck, he’s so hot. “you!” 

his fingers returned their assault on your clit, and you could feel the burning heat once more. you grinded hopelessly against the palm of his hand, which he responded as to pinching the bundle of nerves atop your cunt to with more pressure. 

it didn’t take long before you were keeling over the sink, his hand around your neck forcing you to arch before him. with your unbearably tight cunt, he came with you, filling you with hot ropes of cum. the feeling of him warm, vested in your walls brought you a comfort like nothing else. 

lando’s head fell forward with his heaving chest onto the base of your neck. his heart was beating so fast, you could feel it. you lifted yourself from the downward angle of the sink, his hands coming to steady you despite his exhaustion. 

“i lied to you before,” he spoke into the skin of your neck. too fucked out to really process what he was saying, you turned slightly to catch one of his eyes. “you aren’t a favorite.”

you frowned, still confused, heart feeling ripped open once more. 

“you’re the only girl.” 

you turned fully this time to face him. 

“what?”

“you heard me.” you did. that was true. but what you didn’t believe was true, was his words. 

“don’t…” you begged. “don’t play with me anymore, lan…” the nickname rolled off your tongue with ease. “i can’t…i can’t wait for someone who doesn’t…” love, “want me the same.”

lando brushed a stray hair from your forehead. he let himself lean into you. your bodies fit together perfectly. 

“what do you want, then?” 

your voice was caught in your throat. there was a million things you wanted, but there was only one thing you needed. 

“i need you.” 

need cut through his body like wild flower to barley. need was the mending his heart needed. need was the remedy of his uncertainties about you. 

his face upturned into a smile. 

“i can’t do this,” he said, taking a breath. “any of this, without you. need you here, with me,” with his forehead touching yours, you could feel his lashes against your browline. 

“lando…”

he shook his head. your name was soft on his tongue. “please, please, stay with me. i should’ve never left that hotel room. never.” 

your cheeks were wet. but they weren’t from your tears. his. his lip was quivering when you opened your eyes, his own shut as if he were too afraid to face you. 

and instead of answering him with words, you tilted your head up, and let your lips collide with his. torn into shock, lando’s eyes flew open, unbelieving of what was happening. you were kissing him. your lips on his, intimate. you wanted to be intimate with him, not just fuck him. 

his eyes fluttered shut, and his hand came to wrap around the back of your neck. he returned your kiss, tongue eager to explore the cavern of your mouth, and you let him. you had been afraid to let him kiss you, fearful that you would become addicted to this pleasure. 

you were right in your fear. there was never a universe where you wouldn’t be drunk on his tongue, craving his teeth clashing with your own. it was an ensued battle with your mouths, one you weren’t going to relent easily. but he remained victorious and let his tongue run over yours. the two of you were inseparable, body and spirit. 

there was finally a blasted knock on the bathroom door, which had you jumping. lando turned his head over his shoulder, and was quick to drop to his knees to roll your panties back up. 

“like you down there,” you commented from him on his knees. he turned to look at you with a knowing smirk, and kissed the skin of your thighs. when he stood at his full height, he adjusted his own pants, looking presentable enough. 

“beautiful.” he complimented, leaning in for a plethora of kisses. he kissed all around your mouth, your nose, your jaw, before he landed on your mouth.

“i love you,” he blurted out against your lips. you gaped at him and he was worried you wouldn’t feel the same. but the two of you knew this answer for a long, long time. 

your brows upturned. “i love you too.” 

his hand fell on your lower back, guiding you out of the bathroom. “guess you’re my girl now, yeah?” 

you slapped his bicep. “we have a lot to talk about, but for tonight…” you nodded. 

he was happy enough with that answer. 

“gotta let raphael down easy…” you mumbled as lando held the door open for you. 

“oh…!” he said in an exaggerated tone. “that’s what his name is.” 

taglist

@sofs16 @strengthandstay @mybluesoul1 @f1fantasys @cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[marvelwitchergilmore]

First Kick

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> Both you and Aaron have been in a secret relationship for three years, except when you go into labour, the rest of the team can't help but speculate.

Disclaimer: Just pure fluff. Small descriptions of labour. BAU being a family. Jack and Haley don't exist in this fic. Not Proof Read.

You would have thought working with a bunch of FBI profilers, they would have figured out the truth by now. 

But they hadn’t. 

Instead, both yourself and Aaron had lived in wedded bliss for the last three years and were now expecting your first child. 

Of course, that couldn’t be hidden from the team. The constant morning sickness. The aversions to certain smells. The swollen ankles, the overwhelming emotions and the growing belly. 

Which, as you were sitting at the dim light of your desk filling in the last of the paperwork for your latest case, began to move. 

The others had stepped out for a while, grabbing some food. They had invited you except the thought of walking a block and a half already made you want to fall asleep. So, kissing the top of your head, Morgan took your order and promised to bring you back extra guac. 

The hum from the headphones you placed around your belly filled the small silence, a tune of Motzart rather than a constant drum of a nearby printer. 

However, from under the headphones, you felt a movement. 

It wasn’t big. Barely noticeable. But it was there. 

Or was it? 

Maybe it was nothing. 

Except, twenty seconds later, you knew for certain. 

Pulling the headphones from you, you stood up immediately and rushed towards Hotch’s office. 

And you continued with your normal routine. Knocking on his door, calling his name and stepping inside. 

“Is everything okay?”

Trying not to raise any alarm, you closed his office door behind you before shutting the blinds. 

“Is everything okay?”

Aaron scanned your face. “Honey?”

Within seconds he was by your side. “What is it?”

But then you smiled. And he became confused. 

“What-”

“Feel.”

Taking his hand, you guided it to cover part of your growing belly. “What am I-”

Kick.

You watched every emotion possible pass over Aaron’s face as he took in the feeling of your child kicking his palm. 

“Is that-”

Kick.

Then he laughed. 

Aaron Hotchner laughed. 

It wasn’t often that you got to see this side of your husband when at work. So it was a nice surprise when you did. 

Within seconds, he had stepped a little closer and had carefully removed his hand from the top of your stomach and slipped it under the hem of your shirt, allowing his warm palm to rest against your skin. 

Then your baby kicked harder. 

You both laughed that time. 

“Hey, ow.” You said, looking at your stomach. 

Aaron chuckled lightly before resting his forehead against yours as his other hand rested against your face, brushing the fallen hair from your face and cupping your cheek. 

“She’s moving.” 

You smiled. “You’re still convinced it’s a girl?”

“Of course I am. I’m a profiler. I should know.” 

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “I’m a profiler, too, you know.”

“I know.”

“And it’s mother.”

“And you disagree?” He asked, still with a light smile gracing his lips. 

You hummed. “I’m uncertain.”

“Well, how about I give you my profile and see how you feel?”

You laughed. “It really is second nature to you.”

Aaron hummed before moving his hand, still under your shirt, to the top of your belly. 

“You’re carrying high, for one.” His thumb traced back and forth on your stomach. “You’ve suffered with morning sickness before twelve weeks, your main craving so far has been fruit. You sleep on your right side.”

“I always sleep on my right side.”

Aaron smiled. “And your skin,” He stroked his thumb against your cheekbone. “It’s soft.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Except, they are just old wives tales.”

“I’d like to think there is still some justice in them. Are you sure you want to wait until they’re born?”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t be persuaded?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron smirked a little before leaning in and kissing you. 

Pulling his hand from your stomach, he brought it up to the other side of your face and it wasn’t long before he felt your body melt into his. 

“The others are going to be back soon.”

Aaron groaned a little but not before kissing you a last few times before pulling away. 

“You’d think they would have figured it out by now.” 

You nodded. “But it is kinda fun. And I can’t wait until they see our baby. I have a feeling they’ll look like you.”

“I should hope so.”

You laughed. “You know what I mean. And, if it is a girl, don’t they usually look like they’re dad?”

“Are you saying you agree with my profile?”

You hummed. “Maybe. Just a little. You are the Unit Chief of the BAU, so I suppose you have some credibility.”

“Even if they’re just old wives tales?” He asked, raising his eyebrow a little. 

You nodded, with a slight smile. “Even if they’re just old wives tales.”

You finally left his office just before the team got back, but not before stealing a few more kisses. 

Over the following months, the team grew more protective of you. With your pregnancy coming to an end, and still not knowing who the father was, they began to step up. 

It was sweet to watch. 

Penelope had planned your baby shower with JJ’s help. Reid had read up on everything a doctor and midwife knew about giving birth, just in case you went into early labour. Emily had helped you pack your spare hospital bag for the office in case you were rushed into labour whilst at the office or away on a case, being too far from home to drive to get your hospital bag. 

And when Hotch couldn’t be by your side, he made sure either Rossi and Morgan were there to help you. 

“You okay there, Momma?”

You looked to Morgan who had appeared from around the corner. You were leaning against the counter, your hand holding onto the bottom of your belly. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” You breathed out. “Just a little- ow. Okay. Hey-”

“Whoa, hey, okay, take it easy.”

Morgan placed his coffee mug down, coming right back to your side and holding your hand. “What do you need?”

Your grip tightened around his hand. “Ow. Hospital.”

“Okay, okay. Where’s your hospital bag?”

“By my desk. Emily-” You grunted in pain. “Emily knows.”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay. Emily!”

Turning around, it took Emily less than ten seconds to realise what was going on. 

“Okay, Garcia. Hey! Penelope, call Hotch. Let him know what’s going on.”

“Why, what’s-O…oh my god. Okay, Okay. Calling him now.”

By the time Morgan got you to the parking lot, Hotch was pulling in. 

“Get in, I can drive her straight there.”

“Have you got everything you need?”

You nodded. 

“Call us if you need anything?” Emily asked, shutting your door. 

You could only hum, holding onto Emily’s hand. 

She leaned in for a moment, kissing your cheek. 

“See you when you get back, Momma.”

Hotch pulled away a few moments later, rushing you directly to the hospital. 

And for the next twenty hours, Hotch stayed by your side. And the rest of the team started to think. 

“I mean, think about it. When she got braxton hicks. Who was the first one at her side?”

“Hotch.” Penelope answered. 

“Yeah, and the way he looked. I don’t know about you but I have never seen Hotch that nervous.”

“That is true.” Rossi agreed. 

“But they can’t be…together, can they?” JJ asked. “You all had it sussed about me and Will. They couldn’t go this long and not have us at least find out.”

“Maybe they didn’t want us to.”

“Or maybe they’re not together at all.”

“When have you ever known either of them to be that close with each other as they are with us? Rossi, have you ever seen the inside of Hotch’s house?”

“Not for a while, no. Why, have you ever seen hers?”

Emily shook her head. 

“Penelope, can you find out anything?” Morgan asked, turning to his best girl. 

“I can but it would completely wreck my moral standing.”

“You’ve never run a background check on us?” JJ asked. 

“No! That would be an invasion of your privacy. And theirs! If they are a..them, I suppose. Or maybe not. Maybe she is just a single mother and Hotch has decided to help her. He was the first to find out.”

“See, another thing!” Emily pointed out. 

“But Hotch is the first to know everything about us. He’s the main person we have to tell when it comes to personal things that could affect our work.” Morgan explained. 

“But why not come to one of us?” Rossi asked. “JJ, what do you think? Out of us, who would you have come to?”

JJ thought for a moment. “Out of you boys? Probably…Hotch.”

“Really?” Rossi asked. 

“Why not me?” Morgan asked. 

“Or me?” Reid finished. 

JJ smiled. “You know I love you all equally, but out of Three Divorces, Pretty Boy and Chocolate Thunder, I’d want to tell someone I know to be calm. That could remain level headed.”

“And we’re not level headed?” Morgan asked, causing JJ to look up above her shoulder. 

“What did you do when I told you I was pregnant?”

Morgan paused for a second. “You may have a point.”

“Either way, we can’t know for certain that they’re having a baby together.” Reid pointed out. 

“Well, she’s married. Or engaged, at least.”

They all turned to Emily. 

“How do you know that?”

“Her wedding finger. Last time she came back from AL she had a tan line. It was faint, but it was there.”

“Maybe he ran off? They got pregnant but he didn’t want to be in the picture?”

Penelope scoffed. “What a jerk.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate us speculating like this.”

“JJ’s right. Maybe they’re just friends and Hotch is helping her out. Garcia, have you heard from them yet?”

“Not yet, Sir.”

Meanwhile, at the hospital, the midwife was instructing Aaron to get behind you, holding you up and holding your hands and you continued to push. 

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Yes, you can. Yes, you can. Come on, honey. I know you can.”

“Can’t you do it for me?”

Aaron chuckled. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Just a couple more pushes, Mrs Hotchner.”

Another wave of contractions hit and you continued to push for another fifteen minutes before finally everyone in the room heard the cries of your baby. 

“You did it, honey. I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

“Is she okay? What-Where is she?”

Aaron smiled, tears in his eyes, pushing the hair out of your own. “She’s-She’s okay. Look, the midwife is just wrapping them up.”

A few moments later, the midwife handed you your baby. 

Two days later they discharged you from the hospital and the first stop made was at the office considering the last of your things had been left there when you went into labour. 

And it also meant the team could finally greet your baby. 

“Ooh, ooh, they’re here. They’re here.”

Penelope was the first to spot you and Hotch standing in his office and it wasn’t long before they were all standing outside. 

However, as the congratulations and praise was made, Penelope’s voice dropped an octave after she got a clear look of the baby. 

“Oh my god.”

“What is it, Garcia?”

“Ohh, ohh, ohh my goodness.”

But you could only smile. 

“You!” Penelope pointed before turning to look at Hotch. “And you! Oh my god! You are!”

You looked behind you, finding your husband standing closer to you than when the team had first walked inside. 

“Are what? Baby girl, what’s-”

And then it clicked. 

With all of them. 

And for a moment they were all stunned into complete silence. 

“Aaron…why didn’t you…”

“Tell you?” Hotch asked, finishing Rossi’s question.

“Truthfully, we kinda maybe wanted to see how long it would take you all to figure out.” You explained. 

“But…how?!” JJ asked. 

You just shrugged. 

“Hints were there if you looked for them.” Aaron said. 

“Hints were- Oh, so, now he tells us. How long?”

“Four years.” You both answered. 

“Four years?!” They all half shouted, quickly remembering there was an infant present. 

“Wait.” Penelope said, holding up her hands. “Oh my god, it’s all coming together. This must be how Sherlock Holmes feels when he cracks a case.”

Both yourself and Aaron smiled before looking down at the sleeping baby in your arms. 

“The weekends away, the lunch orders, the arrive at work together. Oh my god! The touching.” Penelope hit Emily and Derek’s arm. 

“Ow!” They both called. 

“How could you two not have noticed this?!”

“You didn’t notice either!” Emily replied, rubbing her arm. 

“Baby girl, they kept this from us for four years. Why aren’t you hitting them?”

“Because,” Penelope explained. “She had just had a beautiful baby girl. And Hotch is my boss.”

“Can you ever find a way to forgive us?”

They all looked at each other before seemingly coming to the same conclusion. “Fine. But, only if you tell us how it happened and when. And, if you have a wedding re-do so that we all get to attend.”

Both you and Aaron looked at each other. 

“That could work.”

“Great! Now, let me see this beautiful baby girl.” Penelope said, her voice once again chipper, as she came to your side. 

“My goodness, she’s beautiful. Hotch, she looks just like you.”

Aaron smiled at the compliment, but shook his head. “No, that’s all her mom.”

“Oh-ho,” Rossi laughed a little. “She is going to be running rings around us all soon enough.”

Four weeks later, each member of the team turned up together on different days, listening to the story of your relationship. First were the girls and Reid before JJ showed up with Morgan and Rossi. JJ was there to drop some items off that both yourself and Hotch would find useful with the nursery but she didn’t mind hearing the story a second time. 

Eight weeks after you had given birth, your doorbell rang and just as Aaron opened up the front door, Penelope and Rossi walked inside carrying boxes of items before directing the rest of the team through your home into the garden. 

“Dave, what’s going on?”

“You, my dear friend, are getting married.”

“We’re already married.” You said with a small laugh, walking to stand beside your husband. 

Dave nodded. “That you are, but today, you are both getting remarried. You did promise us.”

“We did promise them.” Aaron said, turning to look at you. 

“We did, didn’t we?”

Dave smiled. “So, Uncle Reid is going to be looking after this little one.”

You carefully handed your baby girl to Spencer as Dave continued to explain. 

“Whilst the girls help you get ready and I enlist your help,” Rossi turned to look at Hotch. “To help finish the set up.”

Penelope appeared from down the hallway. “Come on, Emily is finishing setting everything up.”

“I guess I’ll see you at the wedding?”

“I’ll be the one in white.”

Aaron smiled before kissing you quickly as barely a second later Penelope was dragging you upstairs. 

That night was filled with joy, laughter and happiness. Yourself and Aaron shared another set of marriage vows in front of the team. You shared a second first dance, a second first kiss and a first family dance. 

It was a quiet moment on the corner of the dance floor. You were swaying with your baby, softly, in your arms when you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind and a familiar pair of lips kiss your shoulder. 

Turning around you, Aaron held both of you close. Your forehead against his and your eyes closed, his fingers traced patterns against your arms back and forth before down your side and to your hips where he pulled you in a little closer. 

Neither of you knew it until a week later, but Morgan had, with Emily’s help, caught everything on camera. And with help from Penelope, a second wedding video had been made. 

Capturing the full length of your first family dance together.