#gods help me I'd be here all day if it were | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

angelremnants · 2 days ago

Note

Thank you for answering my ask, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable before i sent the request.

I'd like to request a Loki x reader where the reader is a shield agent with magic powers (however not the best with them due to lack of training.) Where she's at the base where loki first arrives on earth and she tires to sneak up on him (using her magic) but he uses the scepter on the reader to put her under his control and he sees her potential and helps her with her magic maybe there could be some romantic tension thrown in if you want.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your day :)

In the Gravity of You l L. Laufeyson

summary : You never expected to cross paths with a god, let alone have your destiny tangle with his. Tasked with retrieving the Tesseract for S.H.I.E.L.D., you quickly learn you're in over your head after getting extraordinary powers in an unfortunate occurrence. Your fate is no longer in your hands, and the stone, the source of your connection, seem to have sinister abilities. Its power will either bond you together... or tear you apart.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+) angsty angsty angst, Loki being the villain we all know and love, themes of manipulation, mind control, emotional turmoil, psychological distress, intense character conflicts, power dynamics, toxic relationship (overall platonic-ish but could be translated as a romantic one), referenced minor character death, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 20.7k

author's notes : I sincerely apologize for the lateness of the publication, the resumption of my uni classes really grabbed me by the neck. Surprisingly enough, your request aligned perfectly with my initial idea when I read the rough version of it—I guess great minds really do think alike. I know this would technically suffice to answer your ask, but I do have the rest of the storyline thought of, so let me know if you'd like me to pursue and make a second part.

Thank you for trusting me with your concept, I hope what follows meets your expectations and that you enjoy it. <3

(ao3 version)

⠀⠀

The Tesseract was never just a relic, never a mere stone. It was the embodiment of infinite potential—a boundless power encased in crystalline geometry, a paradox of beauty and destruction. For centuries, it had altered the course of supernaturals and men alike, its light shaping destinies and shattering them in equal measure. And yet, here it sat, deceptively inert, its radiance subdued by the sterile walls of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, a tiger caged by human ingenuity.

Its glow was hypnotic, a rhythmic pulse that promised something beyond comprehension—something vast, something catastrophic. The energy emanating from its cerulean heart whispered of stars born and civilizations lost, of power so immense it demanded reverence, yet made no overt claims to it. Instead, the Tesseract simply waited, patient and silent, for the inevitable moment when it would unmake everything that dared to wield it.

To you, however, it was not a cosmic artifact or an object of worship.

It was both a beginning and an end—a harbinger of ruin masquerading as opportunity. It loomed over you like the sword of Damocles, its promise of untapped power balanced precariously against the reality of your fragile humanity. And yet, duty, curiosity, and an innate selflessness had brought you here into its presence, as if you could tame the infinite. What you did not realize was that the Tesseract was no tool for mortal hands; it was entropy given form, the instrument of its wielder’s undoing.

And it was also the reason you crossed paths with him.

The reason you were irrevocably bound to the accursed dark prince—the fulcrum upon which your fates had pivoted, weaving a cruel tapestry that ensured your destinies were bound in a way that neither of you could foresee or escape. A cosmic entanglement, propelled by the very force that would ultimately undo you both.

The mission itself had been deceptively simple. Retrieve the Tesseract. Transport it safely to Dr. Selvig at the P.E.G.A.S.U.S. research facility. No surprises, no complications. For S.H.I.E.L.D., it was a routine operation—yet as you entered the chamber where it was to be housed, an almost imperceptible shiver coursed through you, charged with an energy that gnawed at the edges of your composure. Something was wrong.

You had been entrusted with this mission personally by Director Fury, a rare responsibility that spoke volumes about your standing within the organization. Though officially labeled a field agent, your consistent track record of competence and leadership had earned you an unspoken authority among your peers. When missions called for precision, discipline, and sound judgment, you were the agent to lead the charge.

The cube rested at the center of the room, ensconced in a sleek containment unit. Its glow was softer here, less urgent, like the calm surface of a tranquil sea. But the tranquility was a facade. Beneath its placid exterior, the cube pulsed with an untamed vitality, its light rippling in hypnotic waves that seemed to draw the eye and ensnare the soul. The air itself seemed to tremble in its presence, warped by its gravitational pull, as if reality itself were bending to accommodate its vast power. It seemed to distort reality as it pleased, bending the space around it in subtle, unnerving ways.

“Stay sharp,” you ordered, your voice steady despite the growing unease gnawing at your gut. Your eyes remained fixed on the vestige, even as the agents around you fanned out in a choreography born of years of training and with military precision. It was magnetic in its presence—a quiet siren’s call that whispered promises you could not fully understand.

The youngest of your team, Harris, shifted uneasily near a console. His nervousness radiated outward, every hesitant movement and squeak of his boots against the polished floor betraying a lack of confidence that had no place in a room like this. You saw his fidgeting in your peripheral vision, but there was no time for reassurances. Not here.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the Tesseract’s energy and the occasional scrape of boots against the polished floor. Its light painted the room in shades of blue, casting restless shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Something about it felt alive, as if the artifact itself were watching, waiting. A resonant hum grew louder, its vibrations crawling through the steel floor and up into your bones in a low, ominous thrum that threatened to drown out the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. It demanded your attention, pulling at your senses as though daring you to confront the mysteries it held.

And then it happened.

A sudden metallic clang shattered the silence. Harris had stumbled, his elbow striking the console with a sharp impact. His face drained of color as he stammered an apology, but the damage was done. The Tesseract’s pulse shifted, its rhythm escalating into a frenzied crescendo. The soft glow erupted into bursts of light, chaotic and brilliant, like the heart of a star going supernova.

An invisible shockwave rippled outward. It struck you with the force of a hurricane, sending you staggering backward. Harris was thrown off his feet entirely, his body skidding across the floor until it collided with the wall. “Harris!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos, but the Tesseract was not finished.

Its light flared brighter, blindingly so, as a guttural hum resonated through the room. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a vibration, crawling up through the floor and into your bones, sinking into the very marrow of your being. Then you felt it: a pull.

It was subtle at first, a faint tug deep in your core. But it grew with terrifying speed, an insidious force that bypassed muscle and bone to grip at something deeper—your essence, your very soul. Your boots screeched against the floor as you fought against it, but resistance was futile. This was not a battle of strength. It was inevitability, as natural and unstoppable as gravity.

“Agent, fall back!” Agent Barton’s voice cut through the hubbub, urgent and commanding. But even as his words reached you, your body betrayed you. Your hand shot forward, drawn toward the cube by an unseen force. The world around you seemed to collapse, sound and light narrowing to a singular point as your fingertips grazed the Tesseract’s surface.

In an instant, the world dissolved. It felt like the universe shattered in one single motion.

Pain erupted through you—a raw, searing force that clawed at every corner of your existence. It wasn’t a mere sensation; it was an annihilation. It tore through muscle and bone, shredding you from the inside out, molecule by molecule, as if the very fabric of your being were coming undone. The agony was boundless, an unrelenting tempest that blurred the edges of reality. Each wave struck with merciless precision, splintering your consciousness into shards of unbearable light and dissonant sound.

Your scream ripped through the chaos but was swallowed whole by the deafening roar of the Tesseract. It loomed before you, pulsating with untamed energy, a singularity of infinite power that consumed everything it touched. Your body was no longer yours—it vibrated violently, oscillating between solidity and dissolution, between being and nothingness. One moment you were whole, anchored to the world; the next, you were scattered like ash in a storm, lost in a kaleidoscope of light that knew no boundaries.

The air around you rippled and bent, folding in on itself as the Tesseract defied the laws of creation. Space and time became indistinguishable, a swirling vortex of cerulean light that twisted the chamber into an incomprehensible nightmare. Reality itself seemed to fracture, each shard cutting deeper into the fragile thread tethering you to existence.

You tried to fight, to pull back, to resist, but your body refused. Your limbs were paralyzed, locked in the cube’s grasp. The pull was inexorable, a force beyond comprehension, as though the Tesseract was unraveling not just your body but your very soul. Your hand clung to it involuntarily, the skin fused to the cube’s impossible energy. It surged through you, a flood of raw power that stripped away every defense, every sense of control, until you were nothing but an echo caught in its current.

Through the haze of light and torment, you saw Harris’s face—a pale mask of horror etched in wide, guilt-ridden eyes. He stood frozen, helpless, as the storm swallowed everything. His lips moved, shaping words you couldn’t hear, his panic mingling with the chaos until he became just another fragment in the maelstrom.

Then came the sharp sting. A sudden intrusion, a dart piercing through the madness. Warmth spread like a balm, slow and creeping, as the sedative flooded your veins. The jagged edges of pain dulled, softening into something bearable, and the Tesseract’s roar receded into the background. Your vision blurred, the blinding light melting into formless shapes and indistinct colors. Darkness encroached, a welcome reprieve, as your body succumbed to the numbing tide of unconsciousness.

When awareness returned, it was fractured and incomplete. The world was muted, sluggish, and distant, as if you were watching it from beneath a deep, impenetrable surface. Every muscle ached with the ghost of the Tesseract’s fury, trembling uncontrollably as if the energy still reverberated within you. Overhead, the sterile glow of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility flickered, casting harsh, shifting shadows as figures moved around you. Their voices were muffled, urgent, like whispers carried on a breeze you couldn’t quite grasp.

“Keep her stabilized.” Fury’s voice cut through the haze—sharp, unrelenting, and commanding. “I don’t want to lose her—or that damn thing. Move her to incubation, now.”

Hands lifted you, careful yet hurried, the weight of urgency palpable in every touch. The cold, clinical surface of the incubation pod greeted your trembling form as they lowered you into its confines. Tubes and wires snaked over your body, connecting you to machines that hummed with purpose, their efforts focused on quelling the storm raging inside you. The glass walls of the chamber sealed with a faint hiss, encasing you in a cocoon of light and machinery.

The sedatives pulled you deeper into oblivion, their cold embrace silencing the tremors and dulling the edges of reality. Your vision faded, the faint shimmer of the stone’s glow being the last thing you saw before darkness claimed you entirely. In the void, there was no pain, no light, no sound—only silence, immutable and consuming. For now, at least, the battle was over. But the Tesseract’s presence lingered, a shadow at the edge of your consciousness, promising that this was only the beginning.

The entire universe collapsed into stillness, leaving you adrift in an abyss where even the echoes of pain could no longer reach.

⠀⠀

Your first encounter with him occurred before your mind could comprehend its gravity, before the threads of reality around you could form a coherent picture of the calamity descending.

When Loki arrived, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. His presence was magnetic, regal, and laced with a menace that spoke of a king returning to a throne wrenched away from him too soon. The atmosphere shifted in a subtle tremor that most wouldn’t notice, but to those attuned to power, it was unmistakable—a quiet warning of the storm in his wake. The faint glow of the Tesseract intensified as though it recognized him, its pulse syncing with his own like a heartbeat answering its master’s call.

His sharp azure eyes swept the lab, calculating and cold, taking in every detail—the sterile containment machinery, the panicked agents scrambling like insects, the futile attempts of those who had already failed to protect what was his. And then his gaze faltered, caught by something unexpected. Amid the wreckage and chaos, his attention was drawn to a peculiar structure: an incubator.

It stood at the center of the room like a relic in a temple, its cylindrical glass walls shimmering with an ethereal glow that softened the surrounding chaos. Tendrils of mist swirled inside, diffusing the cerulean light emanating from the unconscious figure within.

You.

Suspended in fragile stasis, your chest rose and fell with faint, labored breaths, as though the incubator were cradling a dying flame. Wires and tubes snaked outward, connecting your fragile form to a pulsating core that emitted a low, rhythmic hum, keeping you tethered to life.

Loki's countenance changed, his typical sneer replaced by something more subtle—a flash of intrigue. It lacked sympathy and concern. It was deeper, sharper, the kind of curiosity reserved for something unusual and frightening, something worth investigating. His stare lingered on you, scrutinizing every feature, his mind trying to figure out what the Tesseract's energy had done to you. You weren't just a bystander caught in its aftermath. No, you were tied to it in ways he couldn't understand.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his voice smooth and low, a velvet thread winding through the chaos. His fingers brushed the cool glass, trailing over its surface as though he could feel the energy pulsing within you. “So this is the vessel,” he mused, tilting his head. “How fragile.”

Emerald magic flashed to life at his fingertips, flickering briefly before coiling around his palm. Without hesitation, he raised his staff, the shiny metal reflecting the lab's dim light. The stroke was rapid and purposeful, breaking the chamber with a single, thunderous crack that rang throughout the room. Shards of glass shower down in jagged, sparkling arcs, spreading across the floor like frozen tears. The stabilizing field faded and flickered before failing completely, leaving your still body crushed in the wreckage.

Loki stood there, unmoving, watching. Waiting. Surely, if you were truly tied to the Tesseract, something would happen—a surge of energy, a glimmer of defiance, some spark of recognition. But there was nothing. You lay motionless, unnervingly quiet, the faint glow that had surrounded you now extinguished.

“Disappointing,” the god scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. The intrigue that had sparked within him faded, a flame snuffed out by the absence of resistance. To him, you were no more than an experiment gone awry, a failed attempt at wielding something far beyond your reach. With a dismissive glance, he stepped over the shattered remnants of your chamber.

His focus shifted, and with a graceful turn, he redirected his attention to the true prize—the Tesseract.

The stone rested obediently within its container, its brilliance a beacon of sheer, unbridled power. Loki approached with steady steps and careful movements. Around him, turmoil continued to unfold—agents yelling commands, alarms ringing, lights flashing—but none of it affected him. He was untouchable, a power unto himself. Dr. Selvig and Hawkeye stood nearby, their blank eyes reflecting the same cerulean light, their bodies rigid and immovable under his command.

Fury stood apart, weapon drawn, his posture rigid in defiance. But even he couldn't shake Loki's unwavering confidence. The god's grin deepened, and a gleam of enjoyment appeared in his eyes as he grabbed the Tesseract in his palm.

“I believe this belongs to me,” the raven-haired man purred, his voice rich with arrogance. The director’s shot rang out, a sharp crack cutting through the din, but with an effortless flick of his wrist, Loki deflected it. The bullet clattered uselessly to the ground, and his expression darkened with wicked amusement. “How quaint,” he sneered.

The alarms screamed louder, the lab descending further into chaos as agents scrambled to intercept him. But Loki moved through the turmoil as though it weren’t there, his steps smooth and unhurried, his smirk unwavering. The pandemonium bent around him, powerless to halt the god who strode through it like a tempest, claiming all in his path.

⠀⠀

The world snapped into excruciating focus with a violent spasm, yanking you from the suffocating void of unconsciousness and thrusting you into agony. Your body convulsed, a ragged marionette caught in the grip of an unrelenting force. Energy tore through you, merciless, igniting every nerve as if your very molecules rebelled against their own cohesion. Pain burned through your veins, liquid fire coursing with wild abandon. Each breath was a desperate, jagged gulp of air that scorched your lungs, a brutal reminder that you were alive.

Fragments of memory swirled in chaotic fragments—flashes of the Tesseract’s blinding, celestial light, the shattering of the containment chamber, and the surge of overwhelming power that had consumed you. It wasn’t just recollection; it was an echo carved into the fabric of your being, a visceral reminder of what had been unleashed within you.

And beneath all, a deeper sensation pulled at your core. Something was missing. Something vital.

The Tesseract!

The realization struck like a blow to the chest, hollowing you from the inside. Its absence was an unfathomable ache, gnawing at the space it had once filled, leaving behind an emptiness that resonated in your very soul. The energy still thrummed within you, faint yet alive, but it was incomplete—like a melody with its center note stripped away. The absence wasn’t just noticeable; it was consuming.

Before your mind could process the void, your body responded on its own, instinct overriding all reason.

Tendrils of shimmering blue light coiled around you, alive with a life force too vast to comprehend. They twisted and pulsed, spiraling outward as your very essence flickered and fractured, teetering at the edges of reality itself. The sensation wasn’t conscious or deliberate—it was a visceral reaction to the loss. Desperation surged through you, bending the world around you and reshaping space to your will.

In one moment, you lay broken on the cold, fractured floor of the lab; in the next, you were somewhere else entirely.

A violent snap tore through the air as you reappeared near the facility’s exit. The displaced energy rippled outward, hurling agents back with wide-eyed disbelief. The world was a blur of sharp, blinding intensity—colors too vivid, sounds too loud, and sensations too overwhelming. Your gaze darted to the helicopter in the distance, its rhythmic blades carving through the air.

There it was. That faint, unmistakable blue glow pulsing from within.

The pull within you sharpened, more insistent now—a furious call that demanded action. It wasn’t merely anger, though rage burned beneath the surface. It wasn’t just desperation, though your chest felt tight with the weight of it. It was a connection, undeniable and unbreakable, as though the Tesseract was a part of you, an extension of your very existence.

The thought vanished as quickly as it appeared, buried beneath instinct. The energy spiraling around you intensified, wrapping you in a cocoon of light as the world dissolved again. You phased out of existence with a crackling burst of blue light, the chaotic din of the facility vanishing into silence.

When you surged back into reality, the helicopter was closer, its frame growing larger with each flicker of your form. You didn’t care about its occupants. You didn’t care about the destruction left in your wake. None of it mattered—not the chaos, not the consequences, not the searing pain coursing through you. All that mattered was the Tesseract.

It wasn’t a weapon. It wasn’t a relic. It was yours.

Another burst of power enveloped you, and you phased into existence midair. The helicopter’s rhythmic hum became a deafening roar, its descent jarring, unstable. But the chaos of its movement was nothing compared to the storm you brought. As you reappeared, the very fabric of reality trembled under the weight of your presence. The air shimmered, rippled, and bent—distorting around you as if the world itself could not reconcile your existence.

A radiant, otherworldly trail of energy marked your path, shimmering in your wake like the tail of a falling star. The ground below came into sharp focus as you landed, the grass beneath your feet trembling as though bowing under the force of your power.

The Tesseract’s faint glow taunted you from the helicopter’s interior, and your grip on the world tightened. Space itself warped and quivered, a prelude to the storm that would come next. You would reclaim it. No force on Earth—or beyond—could stop you now.

The car’s pilot, already riding the razor’s edge to evade relentless pursuit, had no chance to react when you materialized before them, a sudden ripple in the fabric of reality. Hawkeye, perched tensely in the driver’s seat, spotted you a heartbeat too late. His reflexes took over, and the vehicle lurched violently as he jerked the wheel to avoid a collision. The sharp swerve shattered their tenuous balance, throwing the team inside into disarray. For a moment, the vehicle bucked and wavered, momentum faltering as the pilot fought for control.

Your sudden arrival had fractured their escape, shredding the precision of their retreat like glass underfoot.

Without hesitation, you leveled your hand toward the fugitives, your outstretched finger heavy with intent, as sharp as any blade. “You have something of mine.”

The words were not a plea, nor even a demand. They rang with the weight of an irrefutable truth, a force that demanded acknowledgment.

From his perch atop the roof of the pickup, Loki tilted his head, his smirk as sharp and cutting as the edge of a dagger. “Is that so?” he drawled, the disdain in his tone curling like smoke in the air. “How curious—I don’t recall seeing your name etched upon it.”

The sarcasm dripped from his lips, designed to cut, to mock. Yet as he spoke, his gaze lingered on you, and the smirk faltered. His sharp blue eyes narrowed, the playful veneer slipping to reveal something colder.

The air around you shimmered, bending unnaturally as though space itself revolted in your presence. Each flutter of your form was a ripple in reality’s fabric, twisting the world in subtle, incomprehensible ways. This was no ordinary threat standing before him. This was something far more volatile. Far more intriguing.

The shift in Loki’s expression was subtle but unmistakable. His curiosity sharpened, dangerous and calculating. Whatever you were, you had caught his attention. He straightened, his scepter rising in one fluid motion, its dark magic coalescing at the tip, pulsing with power. “You are in my grasp,” he declared, his voice smooth as silk, laced with dark promise. The scepter’s energy thickened at the announcement, crackling with intent as the spell hurtled toward your mind.

But you were not so easily bound.

The pulse of magic surged toward you, but the instant it touched the space where you stood, your form dissolved in a burst of blue light. One moment, you were there; the next, you were gone. You reappeared several yards away in a swirl of ethereal smoke, the fabric of reality bending and twisting around you. The world itself seemed to shudder, as though struggling to reconcile your presence. What was left behind in your wake was not emptiness but a distorted imprint—an abstract chaos that flickered briefly before fading, leaving the air trembling as though it had witnessed something it could not comprehend.

Loki’s gaze snapped to you, frustration simmering beneath his cool facade, though his interest only deepened. He had faced many adversaries, but none quite like this.

Hawkeye reacted with instinct, spinning the vehicle on a screeching axis and charging toward you like a steel predator unleashed. The tires shrieked, the metal groaned, and the car hurtled forward—a weapon aimed to destroy.

You didn’t flinch.

With another flicker of gleam, you vanished, the car barreling harmlessly through the space you had occupied a moment before. Its path left nothing but rippling air, bending and twisting in your absence. When you reappeared, you were behind them, your body trembling as a sharp, icy cold gripped you. It wasn’t merely the chill of the air but something deeper—an invasive frost that gnawed at your very being, a cruel side effect of the power surging through you.

Your form wavered as you landed lightly on the warped ground, reality itself struggling to stabilize under the chaotic force that clung to you. Every movement left faint traces of distortion in the air, like a wound to the natural order that refused to heal.

Loki leaped down from the truck with predatory grace, each step carefully considered. His piercing gaze locked onto you, and the corner of his mouth twitched with something that wasn’t quite a smile. It was the expression of someone who had found a puzzle worth solving, a weapon worth wielding.

“Impressive,” he remarked, his voice velvet-smooth but laced with danger, like a shadow sliding over the edge of a blade. His words carried the kind of weight that chilled the air between you. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes—the hunger of a man who had glimpsed something extraordinary, something he intended to make his own.

Before you could draw a breath to react, he lunged, a blur of predatory precision, his every movement a testament to his otherworldly prowess. Yet you were faster. You flickered again, your form dissolving into a cascade of blue light, his grasp cutting through empty air as though the lack of corporeality mocked him. The space between you rippled and trembled, charged with a tension so thick it seemed to vibrate against the senses.

A flicker of frustration flashed across his face, a crack in the marble calm of his composure. He stepped back, his sharp gaze narrowing, tracking the elusive distortions in space that betrayed your movements. “What are you?” His voice was sharp and demanding, laced with a ravenous curiosity. It wasn’t a question; it was a challenge.

Confusion churned within you, tangled with a fear so visceral it clawed at your chest. The force inside you surged again, a tidal wave that pushed and pulled, relentless in its intensity. Each breath you drew felt like a battle, the air itself foreign and heavy. The cold that coursed through your veins gnawed at you from the inside, an unrelenting frost that left your body trembling and your teeth clenched against the shuddering.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you gasped, the words barely more than a whisper, each syllable filled with helplessness. “It’s... happening to me.”

His lips curled into a slow, serpentine smile, a smile that carried no comfort. It was the kind of smile that promised danger, that whispered of schemes yet to unfold. “Fascinating,” he commented, his voice low and velvet-smooth, thick with an unsettling intrigue. “You are far more than you appear.”

He tilted his head, the glint in his eyes cutting through you like a blade. The weight of his gaze sent another shiver racing down your spine, its intensity a silent declaration of ownership, of intent. “I’ll be back for you.”

His words lingered, suspended in the charged air like the final note of a symphony, both a promise and a threat. Without a second glance, he turned, retreating with his team and the Tesseract, the space around him crackling with residual tension, as if reality itself bristled at his departure.

You exhaled sharply, your chest heaving as you struggled to steady your breath. The power within you thrummed wildly, a chaotic rhythm that echoed through your very core. It was untamed and overwhelming, but it was yours. No longer were you a victim of its force; you were beginning to feel it bend, however slightly, to your will.

Loki disappeared into the distance toward his newly acquired posse, and your gaze snapped to the truck where the Tesseract gleamed, tantalizingly close. Its light pulsed with an otherworldly rhythm that seemed to resonate with your own, beckoning you. Desperation drove you forward, your hand outstretched, trembling with effort. You could feel the Tesseract’s pull, its energy singing through the air.

But as your fingers brushed the cold metal of the truck, your body betrayed you. The familiar flicker of energy surged too late, and in an instant, you phased out again, vanishing into the blue haze of your power. The Tesseract slipped from your grasp, its light receding into the distance, impossibly far yet seared into your mind like an unfulfilled promise.

Frustration burned in your chest, but you didn’t falter. You willed the flicker to return, your body instinctively bending to the chaotic current within. With a sharp burst of energy, you reappeared, the familiar, sterile walls of the P.E.G.A.S.U.S. base snapping into focus around you.

The battlefield's disarray—the warping space, the crackling tension, and the suffocating presence of Loki—faded into the periphery. For the moment, you stood anchored in the only place that still felt real, the only tether you had to a world rapidly slipping beyond comprehension. Here, amid the sterile calm, you could breathe. For now.

⠀⠀

The second time you awoke wasn’t to the haunting quiet of a shattered lab. Instead, the low, steady buzzing of engines surrounded you, accompanied by the slight, rhythmic sensations of an airplane in flight. It crushed on your senses, a bewildering bubble of noise and movement. The lighting around you was dark and flickering, producing shifting shadows on an array of medical monitors and gadgets crowded into the cramped area of a mobile lab.

Your body first recognized the restrictions laid upon you. Straps held your wrists and ankles to what seemed to be a hospital bed—not cruelly, but tight enough to send shivers down your spine. Anxiety zipped in your veins, making you acutely aware of your imprisonment.

Fragmented memories resurfaced: Loki's frigid, triumphant smirk; the Tesseract sliding from your hands; the painful warping of space as you faded away. Now you were fastened down like a laboratory specimen. Fantastic. Simply wonderful.

You shifted, testing the restraints. The faint creak of the straps broke the sterile silence, blending with muffled voices that drifted through the thin walls of your enclosure. Their tone was disturbingly casual, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing within you.

“She phased through a car? I’ve seen some weird things, but that’s a first,” a smooth, sarcastic voice quipped.

“Don’t forget the spatial distortions she caused,” another voice countered, sharper, more clinical. “She’s unstable. That’s the real issue here.”

“Unstable doesn’t necessarily mean dangerous,” came a calmer, measured response.

“Right,” the first voice shot back. “And unstable doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous, either.”

You strained against the restraints, your heart pounding as the conversation grew clearer. The door creaked open, and a group filed in, their presence commanding the room.

At the forefront was the infamous Tony Stark, clad in partial armor, his sharp eyes scanning you with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Behind him came Steve Rogers, his steady stride exuding quiet authority, and a man you hadn’t quite met yet. His dark hair was tousled, and his expression looked like someone who had seen more than his fair share of exhaustion. Agent Romanoff’s sharp gaze swept the room with cool precision, while the mighty Thor loomed behind them, his formidable presence unmistakable. And finally, Director Fury entered, his singular eye cutting through the room’s tension with practiced ease.

All eyes landed on you, and under their collective scrutiny, you felt like a rare, caged specimen being examined.

“So, this is her,” Stark drawled, his voice light but his gaze piercing. “She’s... smaller than I expected.”

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Natasha tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “She doesn’t look like a threat.”

“That’s what they said about the Hulk the first time,” Stark retorted, gesturing toward the quiet mant. “And we all know how that turned out.”

“Can we please not compare people to me?” The presumable Hulk guy sighed, raising a hand as though to defuse the brewing tension.

Steve stepped closer, his voice steady but firm. “She’s been through enough. Let’s treat her like a person, not a problem.”

Your patience snapped. “Hello? I’m right here!” You cut in, your voice sharp as glass. “Maybe stop talking about me like I’m a science experiment and explain what’s going on?”

Stark smirked, unfazed. “Hey, Jumper? Let the big men talk while we figure out what to do with you.”

Your brows furrowed. “Jumper? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Stark replied with a shrug. “Like that movie. David Rice, teleporting, stealing—ring any bells?”

“Haven’t seen it,” you said flatly.

“You should. It’s a classic,” he answered, unbothered.

Their debate about your powers, your instability, and whether or not you were dangerous carried on, as though you weren’t even there. Each word stoked the fire of your frustration until it burned white-hot.

Finally, you’d had enough. “Shut up!” You shouted, the anger in your voice reverberating through the air.

The energy within you surged, wild and uncontrollable. A pulse burst outward, rippling through the space around you. The walls groaned under the strain, lights flickered violently, and the medical equipment rattled as though caught in the eye of a storm.

“Stand down!” Fury barked, his tone cutting through the chaos.

You clenched your fists, trembling as you fought to contain the volatile force. The chill of your power seeped into your skin, biting and relentless, but you wrestled it back, forcing the storm to subside. Slowly, the distortions eased, and the aircraft steadied. Every pair of eyes bore into you, equal parts awe and caution.

Stark raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s cranky.”

Fury stepped forward, his expression unreadable but his voice firm. “Let her up.”

The medical bay was cloaked in an eery silence, broken only by the low hum of machinery and the faint shuffle of boots in the corridor beyond. You flexed your fingers, the ache in your joints a cruel reminder of how long you’d been bound. The restraints clicked open, and you pushed yourself upright, the cold press of the metal bed frame biting into your back as you adjusted to freedom.

Meeting Fury’s gaze, you kept your voice as even as possible despite the tremor in your hands. “Alright,” you said, steel in your tone. “What’s going on? Why was I strapped down like some lab rat?”

The one-eyed man didn’t flinch. His gaze was unwavering, his words carrying the weight of something far greater than yourself. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, weighted with unspoken tension. "We found you unconscious in the lab. Loki had made his escape, taken Barton and Selvig. When I came back, the incubation chamber that was stabilizing you was shattered. Loki smashed it, thinking it was part of the Tesseract’s containment."

You blinked, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of that chaotic moment. "Come again?"

"After you touched the Tesseract, your body went into a molecular spectacle," Fury explained, his words clipped. "That chamber was keeping the energy from ripping you apart. Without it..." He gestured vaguely at you, his meaning clear.

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words settled on your chest. "So Loki didn’t just free me—he left me like this?"

Fury nodded grimly. "And now we’re cleaning up the mess."

The unknown man stepped out of the shadows, his gaze analytical, though tempered by a quiet compassion. "It’s not just a mess," he started to explain, his voice softer than Fury’s but no less serious. "The Tesseract’s energy didn’t just destabilize you—it altered you on a fundamental level. Your molecular structure has been rewritten to... well, interact with dimensions in ways we don’t fully understand yet."

Your head throbbed as he continued, spilling out terms that blurred together in a haze of scientific jargon. Dimensional instability. Fourth-dimensional access. Something about space-time manipulation.

"English," you interrupted, rubbing your temples. "Please."

Steve, standing near the door, raised a hand in solidarity. "Seconded."

Tony stepped forward, letting out a dramatic sigh. "What he means is that the Tesseract got cozy with your DNA. Now you’ve got some nifty tricks: teleportation, spatial distortion, maybe more. Think of it like a surprise party—except the surprise is you’re the cake, and the Tesseract’s the one doing the slicing."

You glared at him. "Thanks for the metaphor. Really clears things up."

He smirked but didn’t respond.

Your thoughts churned, piecing together the implications. "That explains how I caught up to Loki after he escaped," you mulled. "He tried to hit me with his scepter, but I... phased out before it reached me. He looked... entertained, to say the least. Told me he’d be back for me."

The room went still, the atmosphere shifting from analytical to deeply uneasy. Natasha straightened, her gaze sharpening as she exchanged a glance with Fury.

"If that guy said that," she said, her voice steady but edged with steel, "it means he sees you as valuable. With those abilities, you’re exactly the kind of weapon he’d want to control."

A chill travelled down your spine. "So what, now I’m just some prize to be claimed?"

Fury’s voice cut through the room, cold and decisive. "We’re not letting that happen. Until we get to Stark Tower, you’re staying on this jet. No exceptions."

Before you could speak, Thor’s booming voice rang out from the doorframe. "A prize?" he repeated, stepping forward with his usual, thunderous stride. His golden hair caught the light as his eyes softened with an almost protective intensity. "You are no prize for Loki to claim. He may be cunning, but he will not have his way with you—not while I am here."

You raised an eyebrow, slightly thrown off by his earnestness. "Thanks, but I’m sure he’s got plenty of other ways to torment me."

The god of thunder's brow furrowed, as if the idea of Loki tormenting you was an affront to his very being. "You have my word, Lady... you will not be his puppet," he swore, his voice carrying the weight of Asgard's nobility.

Fury’s face remained unreadable, but his voice was firm as he turned back to you. "We're still not taking any chances. You’re staying here, safe for now. And if Loki comes back, we’ll deal with it. We need to get to Stark Tower as quickly as possible, it's the only place available with the resources to stabilize your condition. If we don’t, these dimensional instabilities could tear apart more than just this jet."

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Fighting them wouldn’t change the facts. "Fine," you acquiesced, resigned that you had no other option available. "But I’m going to need food. And something to keep me from losing my mind in here."

Tony’s smirk returned, lightening the tension just slightly. "Snacks and movies, coming right up."

Despite his jab, the weight of the moment lingered. As the team drifted into hushed conversation, their words a low hum in the background, you sat quietly, your thoughts spinning.

The Tesseract had changed you and marked you in ways you couldn’t yet understand. And Loki—Loki had noticed. Whatever game he was playing, you weren’t just a spectator anymore. You were a piece on the board, and the stakes were only getting higher.

⠀⠀

How exquisitely bitter the irony: one prison traded for another. If you had a nickel for every time you had been detained in the past forty-eight hours—whether conscious or not—you’d have three. A meager sum, yet one that, in the context of your current plight, was profoundly unsettling.

The monotony of your confinement gnawed at your nerves with a relentlessness that seemed to seep into your very bones, its suffocating grip tightening with every passing moment. Time itself in this sterile, airless void became an elusive specter, slipping away like sand through trembling fingers. It felt as though you had been locked in this white-washed tomb for an eternity, the walls too pristine, the air too cold, the silence too profound—a crushing weight pressing against your chest, as if the very space around you sought to drown you in its emptiness.

Your once sharp, purposeful thoughts had shattered into disjointed fragments, fragments that drifted aimlessly in a haze of mounting frustration, their clarity dissolved like mist in a rising storm. Boredom, slow and insidious, bled into paranoia, each second stretching interminably, as though the very passage of time had turned traitor, conspiring to magnify your suffering. The silence was no refuge; it felt like a blanket too heavy and suffocating, threatening to smother the very thoughts it once cradled, to extinguish the last flickers of your sense of self.

You were on the verge of testing the limits of your power, of daring to see what lay beyond the fragile boundary of your current abilities. Maybe the Tesseract had granted you more than the simple gift of phasing in and out of reality. What if you could tear the walls apart? Warp time itself and bend space into your will? The temptation surged within you, a primal urge almost impossible to deny.

Yet the room—engineered with cold precision to temper anomalies like yours—stood as an unyielding barrier. There was something about its design, a constant, subsonic hum in the air, a pressure against the edges of your consciousness, that suppressed your abilities, keeping them tethered like an animal on a leash. It was a constant reminder of your limitations, a cage disguised as a sanctuary.

With a scowl, you turned inward, focusing on the wound that throbbed at the center of your being: the anomaly. The term stung like salt on an open wound, grating against your very essence.

Anomaly. As if you were some broken thing, some glitch in the machinery of the universe. You were no glitch. No, you were now pure power. Raw, untamed, and beyond their—and most of all, your comprehension. The more you thought about it, the more the resentment swelled inside you, bitter and untamed. Loki. The Tesseract. S.H.I.E.L.D. All of it—how it twisted and manipulated you, how it branded you, how it reduced you to something less than human, something to be controlled, to be feared. You had never asked for this. Never sought to be a pawn in some cosmic game, dragged into a struggle far too vast to understand. And yet, here you were—trapped in this sterile cage, reduced to an "anomaly," herded into a prison of white walls and cold silence.

Everything was a lie. The world, the system, and the very purpose they had forced upon you. And finally, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind the layers of fear and confusion, found its voice—a guttural growl of pure, seething bitterness lodged in your chest.

Without warning, the air itself seemed to splinter. The jet convulsed violently, as if some unseen hand had seized it, and wrenched it from its course with reckless abandon. The shockwave slammed you against the cold, unyielding metal of the wall, a violent jolt that left your limbs momentarily stunned, your body trembling in its wake. The delicate web of electric circuits, already on the edge of failure, surrendered with a crackling roar. The hiss of shorted wires split the air, and sparks erupted in wild, erratic bursts, casting a flickering, spectral glow that pulsed with a life of its own, as if the foundation of the ship was fighting to escape its confines.

In the aftermath of the disturbance, the door to your lockup—once sealed tight—groaned in protest under the weight of the disturbance. Its mechanisms, unprepared for such a violent upheaval, faltered, stuttering before finally giving way. It creaked open, the sound faint but unmistakable, its defiance ringing through the stillness like an illicit promise. For a heartbeat, you wondered if the sound was a mirage, a trick of the senses, born from the exhaustion of confinement. But no, it was real.

You weren’t meant to leave. The door wasn’t meant to open. You had been told to stay put. The order had been clear, simple, and unambiguous. Yet, here you stood, poised at the threshold, caught between obedience and instinct, as if something—some invisible force—was drawing you forward. A whisper, deep within, gnawed at your resolve, an instinct honed by years of dangerous work.

You couldn’t stay. You had to move. You had to leave.

A strange, insistent pull surged through the air—a sickening, familiar energy that brushed against your skin, tugging with a force that seemed to seep into your very bones. It was unsettling, unlike anything you had ever felt, as though the atmosphere itself was charged with anticipation, electric and restless. You could not resist. Your feet moved, step after step, as if some invisible hand guided you forward. The hallways of the jet stretched before you like a twisting labyrinth, their shadows thick and oppressive. Each movement felt deliberate, yet as if the world around you held its breath, suspended in some unknowable pause.

Adrenaline surged, flooding your veins with a jolt that quickened your pulse and set your limbs into frantic motion. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but the warning was unclear—run from what? From whom? The urgency of it felt like a call you could not answer, a compulsion you could not escape.

In the distance, the muffled shouts of agents reverberated down the corridor, their hurried steps echoing against the steel walls. Yet no one noticed. No one saw your door swing open; no one cared.

The lack of attention only made the panic rise in your chest. Why was no one reacting? Why was it as though the world had forgotten you when you were supposed to be under the scrutiny of the highest surveillance possible?

The jet itself seemed to tremble under the weight of unseen forces, jolting violently as if it were struggling against some invisible pressure. But you couldn’t focus on that, not now. You had to keep moving. You had to follow that strange, magnetic pull.

The sensation of that energy, that invisible tether, grew stronger, a force pulling you deeper into the heart of the ship. Each step felt heavier, as though the walls themselves were pressing in on you, narrowing your path. Your body was on high alert now, your every sense heightened, your mind a whirl of caution and confusion. And then—there he was.

Loki.

His silhouette loomed at the end of the hallway, tall and imposing, barely illuminated by the flickering lights above. His presence was unmistakable—like a black hole of power, consuming the very air around him, draining the light and warmth from the space. The energy surrounding him was palpable, cold, and twisted, making your stomach lurch.

That power. It was him. You knew it without question, yet even now, something urged you forward like a moth would to a flame. A force beyond reason, beyond understanding, that would undoubtedly leave you with burning wings should you not be careful enough.

At the far end of the corridor, Loki stood with his back turned, a dark figure framed by the erratic flickers of overhead light. The space around him rippled with alarming vigor, warping the air itself, as if the atmosphere recognized and bowed to him for who he truly was. Your pulse quickened in response, and the beat of your heart thunderous in your ears. You couldn’t stop yourself. You had to move closer.

Step by cautious step, you advanced, adrenaline coursing hot and sharp through your veins. The corridor stretched endlessly before you, dimly illuminated by flickering lights that cast jagged, restless shadows on the cold, metallic walls. It felt as though the jet itself was alive, its unseen breath mirroring the erratic rhythm of your own.

Every step you took reverberated in the oppressive stillness, each shuffle of your boots against the floor magnified into a drumbeat that echoed through the narrow passage. You moved as silently as you could, but the sound felt deafening, a betrayer of your presence, heralding your approach. The air grew heavier with every step, thick and suffocating, pressing down on you like unseen hands. You weren’t sure if it was the atmosphere—or him.

At the far end of the corridor, Loki stood like a statue carved from shadow and light, framed by the weak, flickering glow. He was still, unnervingly so, but the air around him was charged with a menace that set every nerve in your body on edge. His presence was a gravitational force all its own, exuding power so palpable it prickled across your skin like static. Your breath hitched, but something inexplicable pulled you closer, even as dread whispered at the edge of your mind.

Your steps faltered for an instant, instinct screaming for you to turn back, but the pull was merciless, driving you forward. Loki didn’t move. He remained motionless, his presence a coiled tension, a predator biding its time.

A single movement—so slight it might have been imperceptible—broke the stillness. His head tilted, just enough to send a jolt of alarm surging through you. The subtle shift in his posture was deliberate, a tightening of his shoulders that radiated the kind of precision only predators possessed. The air seemed to ripple, trembling under the weight of his awareness, as if the space itself recoiled from him.

Your body locked in place, breath frozen in your lungs. He hadn’t turned; his face remained hidden in shadow. Yet somehow, you knew. He knew. He had felt you, heard you, sensed you in a way that transcended understanding.

Time suspended. The corridor stretched infinitely in that moment, an expanse too vast to cross and yet suffocatingly narrow, leaving no room to retreat. The silence pressed down, interrupted only by the faint hum of the jet’s machinery, a sound that seemed almost mocking in its calm. Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, a frantic drumbeat that surely he could hear, though he gave no sign.

And then he moved.

The motion was almost inhuman, fluid as ink spilled into water, his form melting into the shadows with a grace so seamless it was unnerving. He didn’t glance back, didn’t speak, didn’t offer any acknowledgment of your presence. One moment he was there, his figure a looming threat at the end of the corridor—and the next, he was gone. Swallowed whole by the darkness, leaving nothing but the echo of his absence and the electric charge of a predator who had simply chosen to bide his time.

You froze, panic clawing its way up your throat.

He was fast. Too fast.

But the irresistible temptation of the thrill remained. You had to follow.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a drum of desperation as you ran, your feet slapping against the cold metal of the jet's floor. You turned the corner, breath ragged, but when your eyes swept the hallway—nothing. It stretched on endlessly, an empty, hollow void. No sign of him. No trace.

The jet lurched beneath you, as though responding to the shift in the air, but you didn’t stop. You pushed on, driven by a force you couldn’t comprehend, only to be met with silence—unnerving, profound silence.

Loki was gone.

And yet, the feeling lingered, crawling under your skin like the echo of a distant storm. He was out there somewhere, you were sure of it—watching. Waiting.

Your feet struck the cold metal floor with a rhythm that mirrored the frantic pulse of your heart. The jet lurched again, the walls groaning as if they too shuddered at his absence. You ran, each breath a jagged gasp, every step weighted with the gnawing certainty that you were chasing something—no, someone—into danger, right into the sharp claws of a prowler who coveted the sponsor of your essence.

Keep going. You’re almost there.

But as you reached the next turn, the hallway stretched before you, empty. An oppressive, suffocating void of quietude awaited you, curling around you like a thick fog. There was no sound, not even those of the scattered units working on the disturbances going on—no hint of movement, no trace of him.

No Loki. Only the cold, hollow echo of your own footsteps.

A sharp, crawling panic gripped your chest, spreading out like wildfire as you spun, searching frantically—any sign, any trace of him, anything to pierce the silence. The quiet pressed in, as heavy as a weight in your ears, suffocating, making the world spin around you, dizzy and unsteady.

It was subtle at first—barely a whisper—but then the temperature dropped and the chill seeped into your bones, a cold so deep it felt almost unnatural. You thought your mind was tricking you as you saw puffs of your breath fog before you, but you definitely trusted your nerves at sensing the inevitable approach of something—someone.

The jet jolted again, harder this time, as if it too had felt the shift. The floor tilted beneath you, and the walls groaned, their strength buckling under an unseen pressure. They seemed to bend, their shape distorting unnaturally, the very corridors twisting around you. Reality stretched and warped at the edges of your vision, blurring the world into a disorienting swirl. The ground shifted, and the panels seemed to close in on you,as though space itself was contracting.

And then—there he was.

He emerged from the shadows like an omen wrapped in its cloak of darkness, all towering and sinister. He presented himself as a monolith of malice, his very being an affront to the fragile world around him. A cruel smile twisted on his lips, laced with venomous amusement that grated through the silence like the harsh screech of a violin's strings, cutting through the quietness with a sharp, discordant note. His eyes—cold as the deepest winter—shone with a sharp hunger, the glint of a predator toying with its helpless prey.

You lurched back, your pulse racing in your chest, but your legs felt heavy—as if they had switched muscles for sludge. Fear clutched at your throat, but a resolute murmur in the back of your mind propelled you forward.

Desperation seized you. You reached for it—the power that had always been your tether to survival, the force that had kept you one step ahead. You tried to summon it, tried to feel the familiar hum of energy coursing through your veins, to rip open the rift and vanish into the unknown.

But it was gone.

Panic slammed into you like a tide. You reached again, your fingers trembling, but the power slipped away, evading you like smoke, elusive and intangible. The rift shimmered on the cusp of existence—so close, so near—but something had severed the connection, leaving you stranded in a world that had turned against you.

Loki’s laugh rang out, a low, mocking sound that reverberated off the warping walls of reality. His voice, thick with dark amusement, slithered through the air, each word dripping with a promise of doom.

“Do you truly believe you can outrun me?” He mused, his eyes never leaving yours. His eyes twinkled with wicked glee as he approached, hands militaristically behind his back. “I know you’re trying to escape, but you’re trapped, agent.”

You twisted, struggling to break free, to flee, but your limbs felt frozen—rooted in place, shackled by an invisible force. His hand shot out, catching your wrist with an ironclad grip. Cold spread through your veins like ice, locking you in place and the world seemed to tilt, your body buckling under the sheer force of his touch.

“So desperate,” he tutted, his small pout dripping with mockery. The words slithered over you, as smooth as silk, as venomous as a serpent’s bite.

Before you could react, he effortlessly pulled you close, his gaze fixed on yours. The fear within you burst, suffocating your breath as his power smashed down on you, infusing you with a blackness that threatened to engulf you completely. His gaze, blank and vast, as deep as the void, pierced your very soul. The minute his stare met yours, a searing, suffocating cold swept through your chest, as if the very light within you had been sucked. His gaze seemed like a weight crushing down on you, with each second stretching into eternity and drowning your will. You could feel the tendrils of his power burrowing deep into you, twisting and corrupting, like poison coursing through your veins and chilling you from the inside out. It was as though his eyes alone were rewriting your very essence, turning you into something hollow, something lost.

“You’re mine now,” he sauntered with finality, each word laden with inevitability.

Every fiber of your existence cried out for freedom—each heartbeat a drum of urgent desire, each thought a keen, frantic claw digging at the bars of his hands. Your muscles burned with the effort of defiance; the power that had once flowed through you with effortless grace was now a raging fire under your skin, waiting to be released. You pushed with the last of your power, pushing against the iron of his grip and straining for the rift—the barrier between you and freedom.

But no matter how hard you fought, it was as if his very existence had become interwoven with yours, a smothering cloud that cut off your connection to the energy you had previously commanded. It was as if the entire area surrounding you bent to his will, denying you any outlet or opportunity of escape.

You fought for control as you saw him approach with his mind controlling weapon, whipping your arm around to summon a burst of energy. A tempest of force crackling through the space—and with a cruel twist, Loki shoved you backward, sending you crashing into the walls.

"Well done," he applauded as your lungs heaved for oxygen at the abrupt impact. "But it will take more than that."

You could feel your strength slipping away. Every respiration was a battle, each movement a desperate attempt to resist the crushing weight of his presence. The rift began to widen, the very fabric of reality humming with your power, vibrating with an intensity you had yet to fully understand. Using it this way—on the jet, with no true grasp of how to control it—had been reckless. But for a fleeting moment, freedom had seemed within reach, one step away from redemption.

Unfortunately, Loki was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he was upon you, his hand wrapping around your throat with a grip that threatened to crush bone. He shoved you violently against the partition of the jet, his body pressing hard into yours. Dazed, panting, you fought him with renewed fury, your will surging back to life. But his hold on reality tightened, suffocating, relentless. Every possible escape was sealed, every path to liberty shut down by the sheer force of his control.

You refused to yield.

Summoning what little force remained, you raised your free hand, unleashing a blinding burst of energy. The flash surged toward him, but rather than faltering, Loki seemed to draw strength from it, his eyes gleaming with a dark delight. The energy you unleashed only seemed to fuel the fire within him, causing ripples of chaos that sent you reeling. A dizzying wave of power knocked you off balance, your head colliding with the wall, and you struggled to stay conscious.

"You fool," Loki hissed, his voice thick with cruel disdain. He swung his scepter, striking it against the floor with an ground-shattering crack. The foundations of the jet groaned under the impact. With a flick of his wrist, the back of the scepter struck you, sending you crashing to the ground, your body jolting violently. Pain exploded through you, a shockwave of agony that seemed to reverberate in every part of you.

Gasping for air, disoriented, you looked up at him through a blur. Loki’s eyes—those merciless, fathomless eyes—were locked on you, glinting with cold amusement. A twisted smile curled at the corners of his lips, and his gaze never wavered, fixed on you with a knowing, cruel intensity.

"You cannot escape," he asserted, his voice heavy with the finality of doom. The words landed like a death sentence, woven with both victory and irrevocable defeat.

As his grip tightened once more around your throat, pulling you deeper into the inevitable, a chilling realization settled in your chest. He was right.

The world spun around you, every inch of your body screaming for freedom. But the harder you fought, the more futile it became. Loki’s power had already woven itself around you, binding you in ways you could not escape. It pulled tighter, drawing you deeper into his grasp, unraveling every thread of resistance beneath the weight of his will.

And when he smiled, it wasn’t with kindness.

It was with victory.

⠀⠀

The third time you regained consciousness, you were bound to a cold, unforgiving metal chair. Your hands were shackled on the armrests as your ankles were on the joints, the skin around your wrists raw from the futile struggle. At first, everything was a blur—shapes and colors twisted together, indistinct and shifting like a dream on the edge of clarity. You blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the haze, your senses sluggish as you registered the cold, hard surface against your back, the rigid splats pressing up beneath you. A faint scent of iron mingled with something sterile, almost clinical, as though the very air itself sought to keep you at a distance from comfort.

Gradually, reality sharpened, crashing into you like a cold wave. Your heart thudded erratically in your chest, a rapid pulse that betrayed the disarray in your mind. You could feel the chains digging into your flesh, their cruel bite not nearly as unbearable as the gnawing sense of dread tightening around your chest. You were in an unfamiliar place, vulnerable, helpless—at the mercy of a god who thrived on chaos.

The scrape of boots against the floor echoed from the shadows, and instinct flared within you. You tried to move, tried to scramble toward the door, desperate to flee, but the sensation of his presence loomed heavy in the space, suffocating. Loki, that elusive god, was somewhere in the dark, and you could feel him drawing nearer.

"You disappoint me," came his voice—silky, smooth, and laced with venom. He appeared in the doorway, standing tall, his imposing figure casual yet drenched in superiority. His arms were crossed, the epitome of arrogance, but there was something more in his gaze—something darker, colder, that made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

Your stomach twisted, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. There he was, standing in the doorway like an ominous figure straight out of a nightmare, his presence as unnerving as the storm behind his eyes.

“I thought better of you,” he continued, the words dripping with disdain. “You could have been something greater. And yet here you are—shackled and easily subdued.”

You clenched your teeth, fighting the instinct to show any sign of fear. No. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Despite the steel in your resolve, you felt a sliver of unease crawl beneath your skin. His calmness, his composure, was like a storm on the horizon—a quiet before a cataclysm.

“I’d suggest you fuck off with your unwanted opinions, serpent,” you spat, your voice hard despite the tremor beneath.

Loki raised an eyebrow, amused by your feeble resistance. He took slow steps toward you, his boots clicking against the floor with each movement. “How crude. You know, I can see it in your eyes. The fear, the doubt. You feel it, don’t you? That chaos inside of you. The power you don’t understand.” His voice dropped lower, a thread of venom coating his words. “How does it feel, to know that something so powerful is inside you, but you can’t control it? To know that it could tear you apart at any moment?”

You inhaled sharply, your breath ragged. “I’m not afraid of you.” You wished it were true. You wished you could push the fear down, but it gnawed at the edges of your mind.

“You should be.” He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curl of his lips. “But it doesn’t have to be like this.” His voice softened, growing more persuasive, coaxing. “I’m feeling rather lenient. I can help you, if you let me. I can show you how to control it, all this power inside you. You could be free—free from this constant battle, from the chaos. All you have to do is let me take it. Let me take you.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost convincing. For a split second, you found yourself lowering your guard, your eyes tinkling at the thought of release. Of peace. Of finally understanding this frightening power was wreaking havoc on your body and mind and that only a superior being—as much as you hated to admit it—could master it. A wave of temptation surged through you—his words sounded so safe, so soothing, like balm to your aching mind. It would be so easy to let him take control, to let him guide you.

But no. You clenched your fists and forced yourself to stay grounded. “I will never let you get me.”

Loki’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of anger. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of serenity. He tilted his head slightly, as though he were studying you, eyes narrowing as if he was peeling back the layers of your being and see into the very depths of your soul. “You’re stubborn,” he observed, almost to himself. “I understand. I know you. I know what you’ve been through, what you’ve lost. Clint Barton told me all about you, after all.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a cold shiver running down your spine. “What did he tell you?”

Loki’s lips twisted into a sly, satisfied smirk, his voice low and laced with venom. “Oh, everything. Your life, your pain, your endless losses. The way you've been forced to fight—alone—without a single soul to trust. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? How you, of all people, found yourself at the helm of such a 'noble' unit in your precious secret services? How utterly pathetic. Righteousness... What a farce. All of you, so-called patriots, parading around like saints, when in reality, you’re nothing more than fools. Jesters, wearing masks of morality while you destroy each other in ever more barbaric, senseless ways.”

He leaned in closer, his shadow looming over you as did the light over his head, making him appear even more menacing than he already was. “But not you, of course. You think you’re the only one who’s ever suffered, don’t you? The only one who’s ever been left to fend for themselves?”

You shook your head, but the words hit harder than you expected. “I see you, the real you.” he pursued. “You don’t have to fight it. I could be the one to guide you. I could show you how to wield that power, how to become what you were always meant to be.”

He moved then, just a step closer, and it was like the world shifted on its axis. Loki paused in front of you, his face softening just for a moment. “We’re more alike than you think.” He crouched down, bringing himself to your eye level, his gaze intense but strangely understanding. “I know what it’s like to have something inside of you—something uncontrollable, something powerful.” His eyes darkened. “I know what it’s like to be consumed by it. To feel like it could tear you apart if you don’t keep it chained.”

You blinked at him, confusion mingling with your frustration. Was this… empathy?

“I’ve been there,” he continued in a hushed manner, like he was sharing a secret with you. “You’re not the first to feel overwhelmed by power you can’t control. Believe me, I’ve spent lifetimes struggling with that very thing. But you… you’re different. You have the potential to be more. You don’t have to fight it anymore. You don’t have to suffer. Let me help you.”

Your pulse quickened, but not from the dread of what he might do next—more of because his words resonated deep within you. Every single one of them felt like a key, unlocking the very parts of you that you had spent your entire life burying through your diligent work. His voice, so soft, so knowing, slid under your skin like a lover’s caress, coaxing out the parts of you that longed to be understood.

Loki was dangerous. You knew that. But the way he spoke, the way he looked at you—he made it so easy to forget.

“I can teach you,” Loki whispered, his breath cool against your skin. He reached out, his fingers brushing gently against the chains that bound your wrists, a silent promise of liberation. “Let me show you how to embrace it. How to wield it. Let me show you what it feels like to let go.”

The words glazed on your defenses like honey, and for a moment, you thought you might give in. His gaze was so understanding, it felt like he truly cared. His hands, now resting lightly on the chains, made your hair stand on end and felt warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cold metal. It seemed almost… familiar?

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured, his voice almost tender. “You’ve been alone for so long, haven’t you? You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’ll help you. Let me take control, just for a little while. I can give you peace. I can give you what you’ve always wanted.”

You tried to pull away, but the chains held you fast. Your heart raced as his words wrapped around you like a vice, and the conflict within you grew more unbearable with each passing second. Part of you wanted to scream, wanted to break free, but the rest of you… the rest of you was listening, was waiting for his touch, for the release he promised.

Was it his eyes? The way he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking before you did? Or was it the power, that seductive undercurrent to everything he did, that promised you could slip into dangerous water, without ever fully understanding the cost of drowning in it?

It was a tempting offer. Too tempting. You could almost feel the warmth of it—the weight of control that you had never known. It felt like the answer to all your struggles, all your years of pain, all the times you had been forced to fight. Could it really be that easy? All the pain, all the confusion—it could all fade away. If you just let him in. You were spiraling now, your mind reeling with the possibilities, with the allure of it. You had suffered for too long, and he made it sound so simple, so easy. You knew better. You had to.

But the temptation… God, the temptation was overwhelming.

“No.” The word felt foreign in your mouth, a last defiant breath in the face of everything he was offering. “I won’t let you control me. I won’t be like you.”

For the briefest moment, Loki’s expression flickered—like the mask of compassion he’d so carefully crafted slipped just slightly. His eyes hardened, the warmth vanishing, replaced by cold fury. The air seemed to drop ten degrees.

“You refuse?” he asked, his voice a dangerous whisper, low and menacing.

You didn’t answer, but your heart raced, the uncaged power churning beneath your skin like an unrelenting tide. Loki’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his lips curling into something between a smile and a snarl.

“Very well,” he murmured, his fingers curling into a fist. “But you don’t get to make the rules.”

Before you could react, his hand darted out like a serpent, seizing your face in a bruising grip. He leaned in, his blue eyes searing into your very soul, their intensity whispering the horrors of your darkest, most twisted nightmares into your mind, each image more agonizing than the last.

“I gave you a choice. You should have taken it.”

A burst of pain suddenly slammed into your head, a vicious wave that made you cry out, your body jerking against the chains. It was only then that you realized, far too late, that his scepter was pointed directly at your heart, the cool tip barely a breath away from your skin. The last remnants of your resistance faltered as the power of the scepter sank deeper into your being, the force of his control sinking like iron chains.

It felt like a glacial wave crashed into your mind and seeped into your thoughts. Loki’s voice was nothing but a muffled sound now, cutting through the haze in a calm and satisfied tone. “Feel that?” His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. “That’s the power you have. The power you could have had all along. You’re mine now.”

Your thoughts were spinning, the room closing in around you. The Tesseract’s energy was flaring inside you, the raw power scrambling for control, and you could feel Loki’s influence seeping in, overtaking your thoughts, wrapping around your mind like a vice.

“No…” you gasped, weakly, trying to shake him off, but the words were swallowed by the overwhelming pressure.

“Yes,” Loki purred. “You belong to me now, and you will thank me one day. When you realize that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve shown you, was for your own good.”

With a cruel laugh, he twisted his grip, and a flood of darkness poured into you, overwhelming your mind with every painful, searing detail of his power. He controlled you—body, soul, and everything in between.

The world went black.

⠀⠀

The noise of reinforcement units coming in for repairs filled the background, the steady hum of machinery punctuated by the occasional clang and whirr of tools at work. Outside the small, utilitarian debriefing room, the distant sounds of jets being repaired and refueled echoed through the corridors—a constant reminder of how close they had come to the edge. The Quinjets, once sleek symbols of precision and strength, were now battered and broken, their forms twisted by the brutal assault in the skies above. The jet bay, a hub of efficiency just hours ago, now stood as a grim testament to how quickly things could fall apart.

The room itself, stark and functional, lacked windows—its white walls offering no reprieve from the sterile atmosphere that weighed heavily on those gathered inside. A massive holographic display at the center of the room flickered with damage reports and strategic movements, casting an eerie glow across the faces of the Avengers as they processed the chaos they had just endured. The room buzzed with a quiet sense of urgency, the kind that comes when everything hangs by a thread, when the adrenaline of the mission has subsided but the aftermath still lingers in the air like a faint echo of destruction.

Natasha Romanoff paced at the front, her every step deliberate and measured, her hands clasped behind her back in a posture that suggested both authority and restraint. Her expression was unreadable, a carefully crafted mask that hid the storm beneath. Steve Rogers leaned over the table, his eyes scanning the data with practiced precision, his brow furrowed as he took stock of the damage—not just to the equipment, but to their mission, and to themselves. Tony Stark, ever the restless soul, paced nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, his face a study in concern and frustration. Bruce Banner, though seemingly calm on the surface, shifted uneasily, his eyes darting between the reports and the quiet hum of the room. His mind was still reeling from his recent transformation into the ‘Other Guy,’ and the weight of his own unpredictability hung over him.

"So, what’s the damage?" Bruce’s voice cut through the tension, his words soft but tinged with a quiet apprehension. "I’m guessing we’re not going anywhere anytime soon with the jets looking like they do."

"Repairs are underway," Natasha replied, her voice as clipped as ever, though there was a flicker of exhaustion in her tone. "We’ll be fine for a short-term flight, but it’ll take some time before we’re combat-ready."

Clint Barton, standing near the glass overlooking the hangar, gave a tired shrug, his face etched with the weariness of battle. His hand brushed across his brow, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated there, and he nodded toward the Quinjets in the distance. "Well, if you’re asking if we can leave anytime soon, I’d say no. We’re grounded for now. That one over there..." He gestured toward the wreckage of the Quinjet, its tail section reduced to a mangled heap of metal and fire. "It’s a total loss. We’re looking at days of repairs."

Tony shot a glare at the nearby repair bay through the glass, his mind already working at full speed as he assessed the damage. His eyes traced the outline of the battered Quinjets, the destruction evident in every twisted part. But as much as the sight of the wreckage stirred a sense of frustration, it wasn’t what had his blood boiling.

"Great," he muttered, his voice thick with resentment. "We’re grounded for the time being, and half the damn world’s going to burn because I’m stuck here playing babysitter. Meanwhile, Fury’s getting more irritable by the second."

"Fury’s always irritable," Clint quipped, though his tone lacked the usual bite, his words more a fact than a joke.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he stood, hands resting on the table, his jaw clenched. "That’s not what’s bothering him, though. We’ve all seen how he’s been. This isn’t just about the mission—it’s personal for him. He feels guilty about her."

"Who, the agent?" Natasha asked, her voice sharp with curiosity. "Why would he feel guilty about her?"

"Because he let her go," Steve answered, shaking his head slowly. "He’s the one who pushed her into the field. He’s the one who didn’t anticipate Loki going after her like this. Fury’s the one who’s responsible for her being on the front lines. And Phil..." His voice trailed off, the mention of Phil Coulson’s name cutting through the room like a cold gust of wind. The weight of his death hung in the air, a shadow that none of them could escape.

Clint’s face hardened, his gaze flickering to Natasha before he broke the silence. "Loki’s got her, right?" His voice was low, raw with the weight of his own regret. "I remember him asking me about her, pressuring me for information. Something about turning her into his prize warrior. I didn’t realize how far he’d already gone." His words lingered in the air, filled with the sting of failure.

Natasha’s eyes darkened, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. "Whatever Loki’s done to her, it’s more than we’ve seen. It’s safe to assume he’s fully gained control of her now."

Tony’s mind raced, his thoughts tangled with the anxiety gnawing at his insides. "And what happens if he unleashes her powers? I’ve seen what she’s capable of—teleportation, molecular distortion. She could level an entire city if she’s pushed far enough." The grim reality of what they were up against settled in the pit of his stomach.

There was a moment of silence, the weight of Tony’s words hanging heavily in the room as they all considered the consequences. Bruce was the first to speak, his voice low but resolute. "We can’t let that happen. We have to intercept her before Loki does more damage. Before... she does more damage."

The room fell into a heavy silence again, each person lost in their own thoughts. The stakes were higher than they had ever been before, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead weighed on them all.

Finally, Tony broke the silence, his voice tinged with bitterness. "So, where are we going?"

Steve’s gaze met his, determination flickering behind his blue eyes. "We’re going to your tower."

Clint raised an eyebrow, confusion briefly flashing across his face. "The Stark Tower? Why there?"

"Because it’s the perfect place for Loki," Steve replied with certainty. "The guy thrives on theatrics, on flair. Stark Tower has the kind of symbolism he’d love. It’s big, bold—exactly the kind of place he’d make his base."

Tony’s eyes widened slightly as realization set in. "You’re thinking what I’m thinking?"

"If she’s there, we’ll have the best chance of getting her back," Steve continued, his voice steady with purpose. "And if Loki’s there, it’s the place where we’ll have the best shot of stopping him."

Tony sighed, rubbing his temples as the weight of it all bore down on him. "Alright, but we need to hurry. The longer we wait, the more dangerous this becomes. And with her powers, we don’t know how much time we have before..." His words trailed off, unspoken fears hanging in the air.

"Before she becomes a weapon we can’t stop," Natasha finished for him, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Her resolve was unwavering, her eyes sharp with determination.

Tony tapped a few commands into his wrist console, and a hologram flickered to life. "I’m sending the signal to Thor. If anyone’s going to be able to face Loki head-on, it’s him. We need to have him on standby in New York, ready to come to our aid if this goes sideways."

Steve nodded. "We have to be ready for anything. Loki won’t make this easy, and he’s always got a trick up his sleeve."

Clint nodded grimly, his jaw tight as he looked toward the hangar, his mind already on the mission ahead. "Yeah, well, it’s not like we’re giving him a choice. We’ll be there, we’ll find her, and we’ll stop this before it gets any worse."

Nick Fury stood outside the briefing room, pacing with impatience, his mind a blur of conflicting thoughts. The guilt that had been building in his chest for days threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow his fault—that by putting you on the front lines, by sending you into this mission, he had given Loki the perfect opening to manipulate you. He had created the perfect weapon for him.

“Damn it,” Fury muttered under his breath, his words sharp and biting. “I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known what would happen. I’m the one who signed off on this. I’m the one who put her in harm’s way.” The thought of you, of your powers, your vulnerability—haunted him. But it wasn’t just you that gnawed at him.

Phil. The name seared through him like a burning coal. His jaw clenched, and the memory of Phil Coulson’s lifeless form flashed before his eyes, a haunting reminder of another failure, another loss. The weight of it all pressed down on him, and he couldn’t escape it.

The Avengers emerged from the briefing room, their faces set in grim determination, but Fury remained frozen, consumed by the suffocating weight of his guilt. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his eyepatch, the sting of failure cutting deep. If it wasn’t already too late, they were going to have to fight harder than ever before.

And God knows how you were faring up.

⠀⠀

The fourth time you came back to your senses, a strange sensation overtook you, an out-of-body experience that felt almost too literal. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stretch away, like you were hovering above it, distanced from your own existence. You watched as events unfolded, disembodied and detached, your mind observing from an unfamiliar perspective. The space around you was no stranger—it was cold, metallic, the steady hum of energy vibrating in the air. Yet it felt as though you weren’t fully tethered to reality, as if something in you was pulled just out of reach of the present.

Loki’s influence lingered, like a shadow veiling your thoughts, a faint pressure that continued to tighten around your consciousness. But it was different this time, less suffocating, as though you could almost stretch your fingers and reclaim your mind, resetting it, pushing the fog of his control aside. It wasn’t complete freedom, but it was a crack—a hint that you could break through.

It had been a few days since the takeover. The sensation of being mind-controlled was nothing like you had imagined. It wasn’t some visible force pressing down on you, suffocating you with weight. It was far more insidious—a creeping intrusion that slid under your skin and flowed through your veins, weaving its way into the very fabric of your mind. It was a whisper at first, a soft murmur against your will, growing louder, more forceful until it became a wave that swallowed your thoughts whole, drowning you in its depth. The overwhelming sensation was like drowning in your own mind, fighting for air that was constantly out of reach.

Each flicker of resistance you managed to summon was met with a violent recoil, an electric shock that surged through your brain, disorienting you. Your vision swam, fractured between moments, reality blurring and snapping back in quick, disorienting flashes. You tried to hold onto yourself, to anchor your sense of identity, but each struggle only seemed to tighten Loki’s grip. There were no chains, no physical restraints—just a far more personal, insidious force that felt like an extension of him, an inescapable presence that filled your mind, shaping you, controlling you.

And Loki… He was everywhere, his influence like a suffocating cloak, draped over your every thought. His power radiated around you, inside you, as if it had seeped into your very bones. His presence was relentless, constantly guiding, twisting, and reshaping you in his image. He wasn’t simply a teacher, not in any traditional sense. He wasn’t trying to help you understand your power. No, he was breaking you down—remaking you in the process.

Training under him was nothing short of grueling. Each session felt like an endurance test, an ordeal that pushed you to the edge of your capabilities. Every command he issued, every flick of his wrist was an exercise in both frustration and fear. You were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game, subjected to his whims as he tested your limits in mock battles, moving with predatory grace, sizing you up. This was no place for nurturing or protection. He wasn’t here to teach you; he was here to force you to become something more—something stronger, something more deadly. Every sparring match felt like a war of attrition, each blow a reminder of your own fragility, each movement an attempt to break you down, mold you into something that would serve his whims.

But then, in moments that made no sense, he’d pause. His usually cold, calculating demeanor would crack for just a fleeting moment, revealing something tender and nearly unrecognizable. There were times when he would brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering a moment too long, as though he could feel the weight of your exhaustion, your pain. He would offer you a drink of water, his eyes scanning your face, searching for signs of weakness, yet almost as if he cared. His voice would lower, just slightly, when he spoke to you, as though offering words of encouragement, though veiled with the same cutting edge of superiority that tainted everything else he said.

In those brief, inexplicable moments, you found yourself warming up to him in a sickening way. It twisted in your gut, a dangerous familiarity that began to seep into your thoughts. When he offered small, rare gestures of clemency, like letting you rest or even acknowledging your progress, you couldn’t help but feel something shift within you—a fragile connection that you knew should never be there, that you hated for being there.

You hated that you somehow felt a semblance of comfort in his proximity, even in those rare, fleeting instances when he allowed you to see a hint of his true self, when he was almost... kind. But that kindness was always tainted with a darkness you couldn’t ignore, a reminder that beneath the surface, he was the same ruthless god who controlled you, who tested you, who owned you.

It was dangerous. It was the most dangerous thing you’d ever felt. But you couldn’t stop it.

You would never admit it, not even to yourself. But deep down, the quiet warmth he showed—however brief—had you questioning if there was a part of him that truly saw you, beyond the pawn. And in that sickening realization, you knew that this power he wielded over you wasn’t just physical; it was psychological, emotional. And you suspected this exact power wasn’t even his to begin, more like he was a slave to it. The lines between torment and care blurred in ways that left you confused, torn between your desire for freedom and the strange, almost intimate connection that had begun to grow, against your will, in the shadows of his manipulation.

The first time you phased through the air, an accident in the chaos of the training, Loki’s smirk was immediate. “That’s it,” he languildly praised, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re beginning to grasp it. But you’ll need to master it fully. Let me push you further.”

Before you could process his words, he was upon you, commanding you to fight. There was no hesitation, no room for doubt in his voice—it was an order, and your body obeyed without thought. Your movements were fluid, unnatural, like a puppet whose strings were pulled by forces beyond your control. Weightlessness flooded your mind, and before you could fully understand it, you phased again, reappearing inches from him. The amusement in his eyes was evident, but it was not pride—it was a predator's pleasure.

“You’ll need to be faster,” Loki remarked in an unforgiving tone. “Faster. You’re too slow. I expected more. Show me the depth of your power, or will you disappoint me?”

You had no choice but to obey.

You lashed out, your limbs moving with a speed you could barely comprehend. Power surged through your veins like liquid fire, filling you with both exhilaration and terror. The world around you seemed to blur, the space itself warping as you teleported again, this time behind him. But before you could register your success, he was ready, his body already turning, hands outstretched. In an instant, you found yourself caught in a vortex of his power, the space around you twisting and pulling you into a storm of his will.

“You’ll need to understand this more fully before you even think of using it against me,” Loki said coldly. With a casual flick of his hand, your body froze in mid-air, held by the invisible grip of his power. Every inch of you was locked in place, the pulse of your own abilities stifled by his sheer force.

Inside your mind, you screamed. You fought, clawing at your thoughts, trying to regain control, but Loki’s mind was a labyrinth, and you were lost within it. Each attempt to break free sent shockwaves of pain through your head, the weight of his presence pressing down on your neural pathways until they felt like they might snap under the strain.

“Still resisting?” His eyes gleamed with malicious pleasure as he approached. “This is nothing. Wait until I truly unleash it.”

And that was when you understood. He wasn’t teaching you. He wasn’t trying to help you. He was breaking you.

But there was a flicker—a momentary lapse, a crack in the control. And in that instant, you phased again. It was instinct now, not power, that guided you. You broke free of his hold, stepping back, your mind screaming in defiance. You didn’t know how you did it, but in that one brief, desperate moment, you reclaimed a piece of yourself.

Loki’s smile faltered. His eyes narrowed, irritation flaring in his gaze. “You think your little tricks can free you from my control?” he spat. “You are mine—body and soul. You’ll bend to my will. You’ll master your powers—not because you want to, but because I will make you.”

His biting words struck deep, but there was something else in his eyes. Something more than just control. A flicker of something deeper—something he was desperately trying to hide. You didn’t have the strength to confront it, not yet. But somewhere, deep in the dark corners of your untouched subconscious, you swore you’d fight. Even if it meant destroying yourself in the process.

Loki came at you again, faster this time, his movements precise, fluid, each strike a test of your endurance, each attack a deeper push into your limits. But with every blow, you saw more. More of the man beneath all of the godliness. More of what made him tick. What made him… human, for the lack of a better term.

For the first time since your powers had awakened, you weren’t completely afraid. You were scared, yes. Terrified, even. But you were also intrigued. You needed to understand him. You had to. It wasn’t just about breaking free anymore. It was about finding what layed beneath the surface. What drove him to wield such raw, unrelenting power.

And maybe, just maybe, you could use it against him.

As the god pushed you further, you began to realize just how far you’d come. The simple act of teleporting had become a foundation—a means to control space itself. You had only begun to understand your abilities, but now, under Loki’s relentless training, you were beginning to unravel the layers of power that the Tesseract had gifted you.

“Focus,” his voice sliced through the fog in your mind. It was sharp, commanding, precise. “Control it. Master every aspect. Your power is disorganized, but it can be more. It can be your weapon, your shield. Learn to wield it.”

With a flick of his hand, he sent a burst of energy hurtling toward you. Instinctively, you phased through it, the familiar sensation of weightlessness taking over as you reappeared a few feet away.

“Good,” Loki murmured. But there was no approval in his voice. Only calculation. “But you’re still holding back.”

You glared at him, frustration building in your chest. How could you not hold back? Every time you unleashed that power, it felt like you were teetering on the edge of something far darker, something that could consume you. You didn’t know where it would take you—or what you would destroy in the process.

Loki saw it, of course. The hesitation. The uncertainty in your eyes. He raised a brow, his lips curling into a smirk. “What? You think you can’t handle it? That you’ll lose control?”

“I’m not afraid of losing control,” you shot back, your voice wavering despite your defiance. “I’m afraid of what happens when I don’t.”

The smirk on his face deepened, his eyes calculating, as if he were deciding just how far he could push you. “You have no idea what true power feels like. You’re afraid of its potential. But that fear is what’s holding you back.”

With a casual flick of his hand, he created barriers around you, walls of energy that hummed with his power.

“Break them,” he commanded.

You couldn’t wait to see how far you could push him.

The walls around you shimmered, their surface unnatural, like liquid glass caught in perpetual motion. They weren’t walls in the traditional sense; they were space itself, bending and warping as though it was alive. The air grew heavy, charged with invisible tension. You stared at them, willing yourself to see, to understand.

And then, in a flash of clarity, it hit you.

This wasn’t just about moving from one point to another. This was something far greater. You could feel it now—the infinite potential swirling within you. It wasn’t merely about stepping through the fabric of space; it was about bending it to your will. The molecules around you, so subtle and elusive moments ago, now felt tangible, pliable. You could rearrange them, reshape them. This wasn’t just teleportation. This was the ability to reshape matter itself.

You extended your hand, trembling slightly as you reached toward the shimmering walls. The strain in your head was immediate, but it was an exhilarating kind of pain, like the edge of a storm waiting to break. The air around you rippled in response, and slowly, the walls began to shift. Small rifts, windows into other spaces, opened like jagged wounds in the room’s fabric. You gasped softly, watching as they revealed glimpses of places far from here—a corner of the room, an entirely different plane.

A portal blossomed before you, its edges glowing faintly as it stabilized. The tear in space stretched outward, showing the opposite side of the chamber.

Loki’s eyes widened, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through his composed mask. He recovered quickly, a slight smirk curling his lips as he took a step forward. “Passable,” he grumbled, though his usual amusement was absent. His voice was sharper now, edged with something colder. “But don’t get cocky.”

His words struck you like a challenge, daring you to push further. You clenched your jaw, determination flaring in your chest. With a mental snap, you pulled the rift closed, the portal dissolving into nothingness. The room settled again, but the air still vibrated with your energy.

You turned your focus inward. The molecules around you felt alive, humming with energy as though waiting for your command. You could almost taste their vibration, their power. Extending your hand again, you exhaled slowly, this time pulling not to open but to still. The energy around you tightened, and with a rush of intent, the space itself froze.

The room went utterly still. Objects suspended mid-motion, their trajectories arrested in a silent tableau. Even your own breath faltered, caught in a moment of frozen time. You stood in the center of it all, holding the room together by sheer force of will. The power surged through you, intoxicating and overwhelming all at once. For a brief, flickering moment, you allowed yourself to bask in it.

Until Loki moved.

Of course, he was never one to let his adversaries savor victory for long. With a flick of his hand, he sent a barrage of objects hurtling toward you, shattering the stillness. You reacted instinctively, the power in you surging again. The air around you obeyed your silent command, freezing the projectiles mid-air before they could strike.

“Not bad,” the raven-haired remarked, though his voice was colder now, a faint hint of disappointment lacing his words. “But you still don’t understand. You’re holding back. You haven’t learned to truly channel it.”

You felt it then—his presence pressing against your mind like an unseen force, urging you forward, demanding more. The pressure built, an oppressive weight you couldn’t ignore.

And so, you gave in.

The next wave of energy he hurled at you didn’t stop. It didn’t freeze. Instead, it absorbed into you, the force coursing through your body like molten metal. Your veins felt alive, filled with raw, chaotic power. The intensity was almost too much, threatening to split you apart, but you held on. And then, without thinking, you redirected it.

A pulse of energy exploded outward, aimed squarely at Loki. The impact sent him staggering back, a rare moment of imbalance breaking his usual grace. His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable as he stared at you.

“You… redirected it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t place.

Panting, you nodded, the strain catching up to you. The energy of the Tesseract pulsed within you, wild and untamed. It had given you the ability to absorb and harness attacks, but the cost was steep. Your body felt like it was burning, every muscle trembling with the effort of holding it together.

“That’s enough,” Loki commanded, his voice devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable finality that echoed through the tense air. Your legs buckled beneath you, your head spun with a nauseating dizziness, and your arms felt as though they were made of lead. The world around you seemed to melt away, the edges of your vision blurring into a cacophony of shifting shadows.

It was then that it happened—the flicker.

For the briefest of moments, you felt yourself again, as if your very essence had returned to you. The sensation of shifting between spaces, phasing in and out, was familiar, grounding. The molecular alteration that had become second nature to you—an innate force deep within your cells—began to reset your mind. It was only a heartbeat, a small second where Loki’s overwhelming grasp on your thoughts loosened, allowing you a sliver of clarity.

The flickers grew more frequent, the moments of clarity more profound. Each time your molecules unraveled and reassembled, your thoughts sharpened, became clearer, more lucid. The oppressive fog that Loki had woven over your mind peeled away, layer by layer, leaving you with sharp clarity—if only for mere instants.

You didn’t understand it. You didn’t know why it worked, but you clung to those fleeting moments as if they were your lifeline. Each time you phased, you felt something inside you shift, like your brain was being reset, free of the chains he had bound you with. And in those moments, as your clarity returned, you found yourself watching him.

Not just observing him as an enemy or a captor, but seeing him—his every movement, the tension in his shoulders, the subtle tremor in his hands. You noticed the cracks that began to form in his facade. His orders, once laced with effortless authority, now carried an undercurrent of something else—frustration, hesitation, or maybe even doubt. His piercing gaze, so sure and unyielding, sometimes lingered on you for a moment too long, as though searching for something he could not name.

In one of your moments of freedom, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Why do you do this?” Your voice, low but steady, cut through the tense silence of the room, hanging in the air like a challenge.

Loki froze, his step faltering as the flickering light of the room cast jagged shadows across his face. He slowly turned to you with an unreadable expression. “Do what exactly?” His voice was dangerously soft, but the hint of something darker lingered beneath the surface.

“This,” you pointedly said, your hand sweeping between the two of you, gesturing vaguely to the invisible war that raged. “The mind games. The controlling. Why do you hide behind this power of yours? What even is your point in all of this?”

A tight, humorless smile curled at the corners of his lips, but his eyes, those eyes that once burned with amusement, darkened with something far less playful. “Careful,” he warned, his voice a venomous whisper. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

But the words were already out of you, spilling faster than you could control. “You act like you’re untouchable, like you’re above all of this, but you’re not. You’re hiding. From what, I don’t know, but I see it. Every time I phase out of your control, I see it. You’re just as trapped as I am, aren’t you?”

The air around you both shifted. It grew heavier, dense with the weight of the unspoken. The silence stretched, thickening with the tension of your accusation. Loki’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His gaze flickered for the briefest moment—pain, raw and unguarded. It flashed so quickly, you almost wondered if you had imagined it. But it was there, and it was real.

Then it was gone, replaced by cold, seething fury.

“Silence,” he hissed, his voice low,dangerous. “You presume to know me? To understand me? You, a pawn caught in a game far beyond your comprehension?” His power surged around him, crackling with energy as the room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his presence. The air around him felt as if it were bending under the pressure, each word carrying the weight of a threat you could almost taste.

But before he could act, you phased.

The sensation was like slipping through water, the atoms of your body rearranging with effortless grace as you disappeared and reappeared on the far side of the room. Loki’s gaze whipped toward you, a mix of surprise and fury painting his face.

“You will not defy me,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

“Oh, but I think I just did,” you shot back, your grin widening as you phased again, this time landing on a ledge above him. “What’s the matter, boss? Losing your touch?”

He whirled toward you, his composure unraveling with every word, every flicker of movement. “You dare mock me?” His voice trembled with barely contained rage.

You phased again, this time directly behind him. “I think I just did that too,” you replied, your voice dripping with insolence.

His hand shot out, crackling with energy, but you were already gone before he could even touch you. Each time you phased, his control weakened, and with it, his mask began to slip.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Loki bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber as his magic lashed out, sending another pulse of energy to the space you had just vacated.

But you were already gone, phased to the other side of the room. You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up as you taunted him. “Not used to someone slipping through your fingers, yeah?”

He lunged toward you, his hand glowing with power. But once again, you phased out of his reach, reappearing behind him with maddening ease.

It was working. You could see it in the way his movements grew sharper, more erratic. His control, his perfect composure, was beginning to unravel. And for the first time since your capture, you felt like you were in control.

“Stop this!” he roared, his voice cracking on the edges of his fury.

“Why?” you taunted, your tone almost teasing now, every word cutting through the tension like a blade. “Are you afraid of what I might do? Or are you afraid of what this says about you?”

“I am warning you,” he snarled, his voice trembling, the power crackling in the air. “Do not push me further.”

You took a step forward, closing the distance between you with deliberate defiance. “Or what?” you challenged, your voice softer, but no less cutting. “I don’t need to understand you to see the truth. You’re unraveling, Loki. Just like I am. And the more you push me, the more I see it.”

Something snapped in him then. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance, gripping your arm with bruising force, his presence suffocating, his eyes alight with barely contained fury. You thought, for a fleeting moment, that he might break you—his force pressing down on you like a vice.

But then, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your throat—not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his strength.

“You forget your place,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper, every word dripping with menace. “I could end you with a thought.”

You gulped at the threat, your heart hammering in your chest, but you refused to look away. Even as his grip tightened, even as his power bore down on you like a mountain, you held your ground.

“Then do it,” you finally said, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you want me silent so badly, then end it. But we both know you won’t. You need me.”

His breath hitched and for a moment, he looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The tension in his grip faltered, just barely, before he yanked his hand away as though your very touch burned him. His sharp intake of air was the only sound that punctuated the quiet between you, a pause that felt longer than it should.

“You are insufferable,” he spat, though his tone lacked the earlier venom, the conviction of his anger dimmed. “Your defiance will be your undoing.”

An almost weary defiance burned in your chest as you rubbed your neck where his fingers had left their mark, a small, throbbing reminder of his touch. “Maybe,” you said softly, eyes never leaving his. “But it might just be yours too.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line, a mark of something teetering on the edge of unsaid utterances. With deliberate slowness, he took a step forward. His movements were predatory, as though he was testing your resolve. His gaze drilled into yours with such intensity that you could feel it like a physical weight against your skin, an invisible pressure that seemed to hollow out your lungs. He was close now—so close that his breath, warm and almost tangible, mingled with yours. His presence surrounded you, overwhelming, filling every corner of the space.

The adrenaline that had fueled your defiance started to dissipate, leaving a quiet exhaustion in its wake. The fight had drained more from you than you cared to admit. With a sigh, you took a few steps back and sank to the floor, your knees folding under you as you sat cross-legged, your shoulders sagging with the weight of fatigue.

“I’m tired,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as if the action could somehow soothe the tremors beneath your skin.

Loki stood motionless, his chest rising and falling with the effort of suppressing the raw emotions that were still simmering beneath the surface. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching faintly, as if they couldn’t decide whether to lash out at you or reach for something instead. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every inch of your weary form as though searching for something he couldn’t name, something you didn’t even understand.

“You’re persistent, I’ll grant you that,” he said finally, his voice low, the words sharp, though they carried a hint of curiousness beneath the surface.

You glanced up at him, too drained for anything other than the bitter truth of the moment. “Persistent? Coming from you, that’s almost a compliment,” you retorted, the wryness in your tone at odds with the ache that seemed to consume every inch of your body.

A twitch at the corner of his mouth and a faint softening in his gaze passed quickly over his face. It was gone in an instant, buried beneath his practiced mask of indifference. “Hardly,” he corrected, his tone clipped as he stepped closer. “It’s an observation. You’re like a moth flitting toward the flame, heedless of the danger.”

You leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to meet his gaze, the spark of defiance still stubbornly burning. “And you’re the flame, I suppose? Burning everything you touch because it’s easier than admitting you’re just as fragile as the rest of us.”

His jaw clenched, a brief flicker of something raw flashing across his face—anger, pain, or perhaps both. “You presume too much,” he said, his voice cold, though it lacked the sharpness it had carried earlier.

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe. But you’re not as good at hiding as you think you are. You wear the mask well, Loki, but it slips. And when it does… I can see you.”

His expression quickly hardened, though his lips were still tight with something you couldn’t quite place. “You see only what I allow you to see. Do not mistake my mercy for weakness.”

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze unwavering. “Mercy? Is that what you call this?” You gestured vaguely around the room, your words cutting through the tension. “Because it feels more like a war of wills.”

His figure loomed closer still until his boots nearly brushed your knees. He hovered over you, his shadow swallowing you whole, yet there was something in his posture now that lacked malice. “You speak as though you know me, as though you understand the choices I’ve made,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “But you don’t. You can’t.”

You met his gaze, unfaltering. “You’re right,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. “I don’t know you. Not really. But I see enough to know there’s more to you than this…” you searched for the right word, your voice soft yet firm, “performance.”

A raw and unguarded emotion crossed his face for the briefest of moments before he suppressed it. “I don’t need your pity,” he said, the sharpness of his words dulled, the usual bite missing from his voice. “Or your insights.”

“It’s not pity,” you said quietly. “Curiosity, maybe. Frustration, definitely. You’re not just a villain, Loki. Actually, I don’t think you ever wanted to be one in the first place.”

He scoffed, though it lacked the conviction it usually held. “And what would you know of my wants? Of my purpose?” The bitterness in his tone was sharper now, though his words seemed to betray more of a wound than venom.

You gave him a small, tired smile, the weariness of the moment tempered by a fragile understanding. “Not much. But I know enough to say this: I don’t think you’re as evil as you want people to think you are. And if you weren’t on the wrong side of all this…” You hesitated, then shrugged, a glimmer of misplaced hope in your voice. “I think I could’ve been your friend.”

It was like a chord struck in the dark. Loki stared at you, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes betrayed a whirlwind of emotions—shock, confusion, and… vulnerability. “A friend?” he repeated, the word tasting foreign on his tongue, almost as though it were a language he hadn’t spoken in centuries.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. A friend.”

He was Loki—an outcast, a trickster, recently a monster in his own eyes. Friendship was not for him, not for someone like him. Yet here you were, offering him a concept he had long dismissed as alien. Your words were not a gift—no, not in his mind. They were a lie. A cruel jest. But something about them, about the way you said it, seemed to unsettle him just a little.

His hand twitched at his side, and for a moment, you thought he might reach out—reach for you. But instead, he stayed still, his gaze filled with something he couldn’t quite name. Then, like a crack forming in his ironclad armor, he spoke, his voice low, barely a whisper against the silence between you.

“You are a fool.”

The words stung, yet you didn’t flinch. Instead, you met his gaze, unyielding. “And you’re a liar,” you softly countered. “But you’re not that bad. Or at least, I’d like to think so.”

For the briefest of heartbeats, the world seemed to still around you. The invisible tension pulled you closer even as his walls, so meticulously built, held you apart.

Then, like a thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, it happened. A sharp, involuntary twitch in his jaw. His expression faltered, his usual composure slipping away for a moment, leaving him raw, exposed. His body jerked violently, a sharp intake of breath escaping him, and his hand flew to his temple, clutching as though something inside him was unraveling. A guttural sound ripped from his chest.

"What’s wrong?" you instinctively asked, concern lacing your voice despite the turmoil in your own chest.

"Silence," he hissed through clenched teeth, but there was no venom behind the words—only a desperate plea. His gaze snapped to yours, vulnerable and raw for just a fraction of a second. In those fleeting seconds, desperation passed through his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. The sight of it made your chest tighten, a jagged breath catching in your throat.

"What’s happening?" you pressed, your voice softer now, hesitant, unsure if you were even allowed to breach this moment. "Let me—"

"Quiet!" His voice shattered the fragile silence, a barked command that reverberated with cold authority. His hand fell from his temple, but the movement were jerky and unnatural, as though he were trying to force himself back into the rigid state he had been in for the past few days. His posture straightened, and the ice that had replaced his features now belied the chaos brewing beneath, his eyes betraying him with a tornado of clashing thoughts.

"You should not concern yourself with things you cannot comprehend," he accused, his voice sharper than before, yet it wavered at the edges, a crackling vulnerability buried in the syllables. He took a step back, his movements stiff, as if his body itself were rebelling against the order he demanded.

Before you could respond, he stretched his hand out, a flash of blue energy spiraling from the scepter nestled in his palm as it hummed ominously in the air. "You are far too meddlesome," he declared, his voice cold, detached, though the tremor beneath it betrayed his growing frustration. "I think it’s time we corrected that."

The energy hit you like an avalanche, its cold tendrils sinking deep into your mind before you could even react. It was different this time. Stronger. The force of it suffocating, relentless—consuming. It swallowed every fragment of your thoughts, your will, your very sense of self, leaving no room for resistance.

It was as though he had learned from your earlier defiance, amplifying his grip until there was no escape.

A gasp tore from your throat as the world around you blurred, dissolving into a haze of chilling disorientation. Your vision spiraled, your thoughts scattered in every direction, unable to hold onto anything. Somewhere beneath the overwhelming force of his control, the faintest flicker of your consciousness lingered—but it was distant, buried beneath layers of icy, impenetrable control.

And through the haze, you could still feel him—watching, observing. You could see his hands trembling ever so slightly as he gripped the scepter with an almost desperate force. His face was a mask of unrelenting authority, but his eyes—his eyes held something else entirely. Frustration. Anger. And beneath it all, something undeniably close to regret. For a moment, the scepter’s glow dimmed, as though he hesitated—but it was only for a moment. The unsureness passed and his grip tightened once again, the power surging back to full force, driving you deeper into submission.

"You will not defy me again," he sharply stated, yet unable to conceal the faint tremor beneath them. It was a promise, or perhaps a threat. But as he spoke, a mournful aftertaste lingered, a whisper that could hardly be heard over the pounding of your heart. Loki lowered the scepter slowly, his chest rising and falling as if he had just waged a battle—and won. His gaze lingered on you for a long, silent moment before he spoke again.

"You will remain here," he announced, and the words were not just a command but an ominous finality. "Until I decide what to do with you."

He turned then, almost mechanically—as though his body, too, were beginning to betray him. His footsteps echoed in the room, hollow and final, but just as he reached the door, something halted him. His hand hovered over the frame, the faintest dubiousness in his posture as his eyes found yours again.

In the silence of the room, you stood there, frozen, helpless under his command. Your body obeyed him, no longer your own, while your mind screamed in rebellion, trapped in the suffocating grip of his mind control. Your eyes dulled with the weight of the scepter’s influence, and somewhere deep within, a faint ember of your will still flickered, but it was too weak—too far gone to challenge the force consuming you.

He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line, his expression conflicted. For a heartbeat, something almost tender passed between you, but then it vanished, replaced by the hard, unrelenting figure he had built himself into.

"You shouldn’t have followed me," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost wistful. "It would have been easier for the both of us."

And with that, he was gone. The door closed behind him with a dull finality, its low thud echoing in the silent room like a death knell that reverberated in your chest. Loki leaned against the cold metal wall outside, his back rigid as though the weight of the universe had settled on his shoulders. The scepter trembled faintly in his grasp, the gemstone atop it glowing softly, a faint pulse of light that seemed to reflect the last remnants of a power that bound you both—cosmically, inevitably—together. It was the final tether between you, a cruel connection that neither of you could escape, no matter how far you tried to run.

The power he had once thought would offer him control was now a cruel mistress, bending his will like a fragile branch in a typhoon. He had sought to vainquish, to conquer, but now he was its prisoner. He could feel the grip of the mind binding tightening, its influence sinking deep into his bones. It promised him everything: power, control, victory. But it demanded something in return. His freedom. His agency. And now, it had even begun to take from him his character.

And you… you were the proof of that.

Loki closed his eyes, his breath uneven, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye, trailing down his face like the last vestige of something long lost. Friend. The word you had spoken earlier echoed in his mind, foreign and unwelcome. He had no use for such things. Glory, domination—those were the only truths he understood. Sentiment, compassion, kindness—these were weaknesses to be eradicated. Yet, there you were. A living contradiction. For a quiet instance, you had defied everything he had ever known, everything he had ever believed.

The god reopened his eyes to glance down at the scepter in his hand. The cold, alien light pulsed with intent, one that he could not decipher but could feel deep in his bones. He hated it. He hated everything it stood for. The whispers it carried, the promises it made, the power it offered—it had taken everything from him. And yet, there was no escaping it. He could not let it go, because the Tesseract, the scepter, wasn’t just power. It was survival. His survival.

He took a step away from the wall, his movements stiff, mechanical, as though he were some puppet on strings. No different from you. No different from anyone who had dared to touch the infinite and had been torn apart in the process. The golden instrument was a testament to his burden, his curse—his salvation and his undoing.

As Loki strode down the corridor, the cool metal floor beneath his boots clicking rhythmically, the tear on his cheek had already dried, leaving behind only the bitter taste of a fading regret. He had made his choice, and there was no turning back. The scepter had ensured that.

In the cold, hollow silence that stretched out before him, he knew one thing with terrifying clarity: the Tesseract had bound you to him in ways that would destroy you both. It had never cared for you, for him. It had only cared for its own purposes—its own designs. And in this brief, agonizing moment, Loki understood the true cruelty of its force. It hadn’t just doomed you. It had made him see you. Truly see you—your fire, your strength, your humanity and made him gravitate towards you. Only to take it all away, piece by piece.

Once again, Loki was alone.

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fizzyapplecandy · 14 hours ago

Text

The Nerd in the Washroom

Ateez Seonghwa x Female Reader imagine

Genre: neighbours to lovers, classmates to lovers, slight fluff, smut, oral (f & m), lovely Seonghwa has a crush

Word count: 16k (I got way into it) (Not proofread, editing on the way)

Ever since you've moved to Korea to study at university, you've been curious about your neighbour Seonghwa. You know him as the nerdy guy on campus who has a Lego Star Wars themed backpack, big glasses, and a new fluffy sweater for every day of the week.

Others might find him boring, but you found him intriguing. You couldn't help but think there was something more to him than his nerdy looks.

You were certainly proven right while bumping into him in the laundry room of your complex - chest muscles on display, and an obvious huge bulge in his grey sweatpants.

"Oh my God, here he goes again. I wonder if you can catch his nerdiness in the air?"

She scoffed and continued to snicker with the boys behind her. Their target - Park Seonghwa.

"I think you're being a tad dramatic Jiun."

His appearance never bothered me, so I didn't engage in their gossip. Maybe it's because I never shared the same opinion as them. Jiun is my friend, and if it weren't for her I'd be stuck in a corner without friends. That didn't mean I shared all of her opinions.

"Don't you think you've talked about him enough? Jesus, he's just a guy. Besides, I've seen him around my building, he seems pretty normal."

The silence that followed my statement was ice cold. I could practically feel Jiun's stare.

"Y/N, sweetie, are you okay? Do you have a fever? Here, let me check, because what you're talking about is disturbing."

I slapped her hand away as she came for my forehead. Did I mention she could be a bit pushy?

"I'm fine. I just don't get why you would bother to talk about him so much. It kind of gives "middle school" vibes " I grabbed my pen and started taking down some notes. I was done with their nonesense.

"Woah, it seems like somebody has a crush on the nerd. Didn't think you went for that type of guy Y/N."

I scoffed and tuned out their snickering. Me? Having a crush on Seonghwa? No way. I just felt bad about the way they were talking about him. They didn't even know the guy. And hey, he may be a super nerd, and he may carry around a Star Wars backpack, but... Yeah, well that didn't make his case better.

I looked at him, sitting in the front row. He jutted something in his notebook before highlighting it with a pink pen. He seemed satisfied with it, a small smile gracing his features. He looked... Pretty.

Before I got list in my thoughts, the professor came in. Time to face reality.

Ironically, we lived in the same off-campus building. I've seen him around, wearing his pink sweatshirts, white headphones on his head. He always smelled nice, like a flower field. Made me question what kind of detergent he used. We never spoke, but he always nodded politely when we crossed paths.

"I've got to stop piling up laundry."

In my defense, I am a full time university student, with a part time online job. I don't exactly have time for laundry. Not to mention I don't even have a washing machine in my apartment. I would have to go three flights of stairs down to the basment, where our laundry room was located. It was old, a bit run down, but hey, it got the job done.

With a huff, I picked up my basket and made my way down. It was getting hotter as the days went by. We were approaching July, and my usual home wardrobe consisted of pyjama shorts and a white tank top. I left my bra in my bedroom, beacuse I haven't seen anybody use the old washroom besides myself. Occasionally, Seonghwa, but we've never been down there at the same time.

"Jesus, my arms hurt."

I opened the door with my butt, having my hands full. As I Iifted the basket I couldn't see a thing in front of me.

And as I finally put it down, I was in for a surprise.

There, with his eyes wide, pants low on his hips, pecks on full display stood none other that Seonghwa.

My expression became a mirror of his own, eyes wide and mouth open. I made the grave mistake of glancing down. Right at the surprisingly massive buldge in his gray sweats.

Holy shit.

Who knew nerdy boy was like Hercules underneath all of the pink fluff.

Before I could help myself, I gasped.

"Oh my... Sorry. I..."

He grabbed a shirt from his (surprise) pink basket, putting it in front of his chest.

"No! I mean... I'm sorry? I don't know, oh god."

"You're... Wow" What? Come on Y/N, get it together.

"I'm...? Thanks? I guess."

My eyes grew wider, flapping my hands around.

"No, no, no. I didn't mean it like that! Well, kind of, but... Did I? I don't know."

Seonghwa's ears and cheeks turned red and he flicked his own forehead.

"Of course you didn't mean it like that. Sorry, you caught me off guard." He smiled bashfully, looking at the ground now.

"Talk about catching people off guard. Dude, you're ripped."

My amazed expression could not be kept at bay. Boy, oh boy, I could feel myself getting hotter by the second.

" I wouldn't say that, but... Thanks, I guess?" Seonghwa smiled, this time looking at me. Or specificly, my tits.

I guess going without a bra has its benefits.

"Seen something you like?" I teased, putting my hands behind my back, jutting out my chest.

"Well... I... I have to say, I've never seen someone as hot as you, so..."

I hid my surprise behind a smile. Was he trying to flirt with me?

"I think you should come closer to take a better look."

I honestly thought this would be the moment he backed off, but again, he managed to exceed my expectations.

Without a word, he put down the shirt in his hands, walking over slowly. He stopped a foot away from me, his eyes locked onto mine. I had to strain my neck to look up at him. He was tall, and I liked that.

"Now that I'm up close, I can definitely say it. I've never seen someone as hot as you, Y/N."

I took another small step towards him, almost making our chests touch. His breathing was shallow, and I knew he was trying to keep his cool.

"Tell me, Seonghwa... Are the fluffy jumpers and nerdy backpacks only a cover-up? Why are you hiding this delicious body from the world? Hm?"

I slowly placed my index finger on his chest, bringing it down his stomach, only stopping when I heard his sharp inhale. His muscles contracted, and you could count his abs perfectly.

"Well, I... It's easier this way, I suppose. I don't particularly like attention."

I nodded. "Ah... A bit shy, are you? It doesn't seem like it to me. But I could be wrong."

"I am shy. You're just too pretty, and I like pretty things. I guess I also have a bit of a crush on you. It's stupid, I know. You'd never be with someone like me, but it's wishful thinking."

A crush? On me? I guess my dumfounded expression wasn't as well managed, because Seonghwa giggled a bit.

"How on Earth could I have known that? You never even speak to me. And, hey! Give yourself some credit! You're like, super smart, and you're handsome. It's quite ridiculous how good looking you are. Even with that backpack of yours."

"Which one, the Lego or Star Wars?"

I laughed out loud this time, patting him on the chest.

"You're funny. So, what do you want to do to me? I have to say, I am more than open to prove you wrong about your 'wishful thinking' if you want."

I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, and it seemed to pick up with my question. He gulped before opening his mouth, closing it, and opening it again. He seemed at a loss for words.

"I... I never thought I'd get this far, to be honest. But, God... The things I'd do to you...

Before I could tease him again, his lips were on mine.

I don't know if someone has ever kissed me with such passion. His hands were all over me - first my hair, my throat, my arms... He settled them over my hips and pulled me towards him. I couldn't help myself eather. My arms went around his broad shoulders. Our kiss grew urgent, and the hair grew heavier with each sigh of pleasure we left out.

His tongue prodded into my mouth, caressing mine. I don't know who pulled away first, but thank god, because I needed some air. And I needed to do something else.

I looked into his eyes as I dropped to my knees. My head was perfectly aligned with his impressive buldge. He was a bit taken aback, lips red and puffy, eyes wide.

"You don't have to do that, you know. I am perfectly content kissing the shit out of you for, like, forever."

"Seonghwa?" "Yes?" "Shut up and drop your pants."

"Yes ma'am."

With that, he pulled down his sweats, and surprise surprise, there were little starships and baby Yodas printed on his boxers.

"Please, for the love of everything sacred, and my pride, do not say anything about it now."

I pretended to zip my mouth shut, grabbing at his boxers to get them out of my way. I was a woman on a mission.

His cock was as pretty as the rest of him. Big, with a pink tip. I slowly carresed the head, making it pulse in the air. Seonghwa left out a breathy moan, putting his hand on my head. He didn't urge me, he simply slipped my hair though his fingers.

"I've never seen such a pretty cock before. It matches you perfectly."

I gripped him tighter, making him moan a bit louder this time.

"Thanks... I... Oh god."

He couldn't finish his sentence because I took the chance to lick his cock from his balls to his head. My lips wrapped around the pink bulb and I sucked at it like it was a lolly.

His hand soon fisted my hair, pulling a bit tighter every time I lowered my head some more. Soon enough, with a bit of a struggle, I took all of his glory into my mouth. There was droll everywhere, but I didn't care. Neither did he, judging by his moans.

"Oh my... I knew you'd be good at this... Look at you, drolling all over me. I think you can take it a little rougher, am I right?"

With that, he thrusted his hips up, and his cock hit the back of my throat. I gagged, but I wasn't about to give up. I relaxed my muscles and began bobbing up and down, going faster when I felt his first tightening in my hair.

"That's it... What a good girl... Just like that..."

His words only made me speed up, encouraging me to finish him off. It seemed like he had other plans, because I was pushed off his cock and up on my feet in seconds.

"Sorry doll, but I don't want to cum unless it's in you."

He picked me up and sat me on one of the washing machines. It creeked with my weight on it, and we chuckled before sharing another kiss. This time it was slower, more passionate.

"Do you know how pretty you are right now? With your lips all pink and glossy... I could kiss you all day long. I could also keep your mouth on my cock forever... You're too good at it."

I spread my legs to let him get closer. My shorts were soaked, and he could feel it.

"Thanks babe, I was trying to impress you."

"Oh doll, you did a fantastic job. Let me show you what I can do now."

Without another word, he crouched down. His hands went up my legs, caressing them on the way up. His touch was soft, feather like. Until he got to my sleep shorts, and almost ripped them off me.

"Impatient, are we?"

He chuckled. "You have no idea doll."

Seonghwa was a bit surprised with my lack of panties, but he was also glad. One less layer to take care off.

He slowly parted my pussy lips, eyes focused on my wetness.

"Good god... I could look at you all day."

"Seonghwa, please, look at it all you want another time. I'm gonna bust up here."

He let out a laugh, nodding his head.

"I'm gonna hold onto that promise."

I didn't get to reply because he went right in on my clit. His tongue was doing wonders, going up and down, left to right, keeping a steady pace. He sucked on my little nub, watching me carefully.

"You taste so sweet doll. I knew you would. I could stay here forever."

"I won't complain if you do."

He chuckled and went right back at it. I can't remember the last time someone was this devoted to eating me out. Probably never.

His fingers prodded at my entrance, slowly punching one inside. His tongue kept going over my clit, making me shake.

"Keep going baby, I'm so close..."

My words only encouraged him to go faster, more eager. His finger reached my sweet spot, pushing against the gummy walls. I could feel my orgasm coming. It took a sharp suck on my little nub, and I was out.

"Yes! Oh my! Oh Seonghwa..."

My moans soon turned into little cries, the overstimulation making me more sensitive. It seemed like he wasn't going to stop, so I had to push his head away.

He came up and kissed me roughly, grabbing my boobs and squeezing.

"Sorry doll, got a bit lost. You have the sweetest pussy..."

"I think it's time you use those hips now, don't you agree?"

"You are absolutely right. What a smart girl you are."

I giggled and put my legs around his hips, pulling him into me. He understood my intentions, pushing his pants all the way down. He stroked his cock a few times before slowly pushing it in.

We both let out a sigh after he was fully inside.

"My god doll, you're so tight. You suck me right it. I think we were made for this, you know?"

I nodded and put my hands around his neck. Our foreheads touched, and we gazed into each others eyes. I slowly nodded, and he started thrusting into me.

His pace was slow at first, almost as if he was soaking it all in. His hands grabbed my ass, squeezing every time his cock plunged into my pussy.

"Y/N, doll... We have to do this every day, you know? It's the only logical option."

I smiled, kissing him again.

"Yeah, you think so? I have to say...Ah... I agree."

He speed up, moaning loudly while I clenched around him. It was difficult to keep my hands at bay, so I caressed his chest and shoulders. His broad, sexy shoulders. Without much thought, I sank my teeth into his neck, trailing bites down to his shoulder.

Seonghwa gasped, squeezing me even more.

"Do that again doll. Do it harder."

I listened, putting my head on the opposite side, doing the same thing. I was a bit rougher now, leaving deep teeth marks.

"You're mine now, I left my mark." I was only half joking, but it seemed to make him even more eager in his movements.

"I'm yours. I'm yours, however you want me."

I squeezed his cock again, tightening my walls while he pushed them even deeper inside me. I could feel my orgasm approaching again, and I could tell Seonghwa was hanging by a thread.

"I'm close doll, your pussy is just so good... Come on, you've got to cum with me. I need to feel your pussy pulsating around me."

"I'm close, I'm so close. Please, please..."

He put his fingers on my clit, rubbing fast circles, making me clench even more.

"Cum for me Y/N."

With his whispered words, my orgasm crashed through me like a truck. Seonghwa was seconds behind, groaning in pleasure. I could feel his cum painting my walls, milking his cock until he started shaking.

We hugged, our breaths laboured as we got down from our highs. He took a deep breath, running his fingers through my locks.

"That was..."

"Yeah..."

"We should totally..."

"Yeah..."

He chuckled at my lack of articulate responses. I was in no shape to form a sentence.

He slowly pulled out of me, watching as his cum dripped onto the old washing machine.

"We made a mess doll."

"Yeah, well, I don't care honestly. That was just wow. "

Seonghwa grabbed my shorts, pulling them up my legs before helping me get off. My legs were shaking, so I leaned into him. He hugged me close, kissing the top of my head.

"Do you think you'd be up for a date maybe? I mean, only if you want to. If you don't that's okay, I get it. I am a bit of a nerd after all."

"Yes."

"I get it, I am reasona - Yes?"

"Yes, I'll go on a date with you. But only if you let me wear that cute pink sweater of yours."

"Well now that wouldn't be practical, would it?"

"You can wear all of my sweaters if you want."

"Did you see the residential nerd this morning? He's got a new backpack. And guess what? It's pink!"

"Hey isn't that Y/N?"

"What?"

Jiun turned around and locked eyes with me, and my newly acquired boyfriend. Seonghwa took me on a date this weekend, and we bought matching baby pink backpacks. Way to introduce us as a couple, am I right?

I waved at my friends, motioning to the seat next to Seonghwa's, basically telling them I'm moving.

"Not at all big boy, not at all..."

Jiun was a bit stunned, but the smile she gave me was genuine. Seonghwa glanced at me, interlocking our pinkies.

"You don't mind sitting with the nerd now?"

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #imagine #kpop #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #fluff #smut #sexy nerd #blonde seonghwa #nerd

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hannie-dul-set · 3 months ago

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having the worst fucking week of my LIFE i can't do this anymore.

#4 days straight government events at my internship. thesis got fucking overhauled by our adviser.#because he's using us to compete with his colleagues at the office.#had to juggle those two (+ my event. ill get to that later) that i got SICK what the fuck.#had the event ive been planning for about two months earlier. the fucking uni's general services office were assholes and caused us major #delays #which led to us getting fucking RAINED on so we had to CANCEL it HALFWAY and all of my kids #work on the stage and venue design got soaked in the rain #on top of all of these.#when i got back home after half a day of thesis. half a day of org work. my mom tells me #that rini and woong got taken by their mom and she can't find them anywhere #their bitch of a mother that leaves them starving all day to fucking sunbathe!!!!#i was bawling for a good thirty minutes last night UGH im pretty sure she just took them to the back of the house somewhere.#my mom's gonna ask help from the neighborhood kids to look for them huhuhuhuhu.#id be fine with it if the mom takes care of them. i seriously never tried to bother them too much until this weekend because i thought the #mom has been taking care of them but she hasn't so i had to feed them myself and sHE TOOK THEM AWAY 😭😭😭😭.#god i'm having the worst time.#and now i have to clean the aftermath of this ti #week's hell before i can finally fucking relax in my room.#i hate it here.#at least i'm hot.#event costume was an emo tiefling with a nearly six foot tall axe.#wore it while commuting to uni!!! loved the stares that i got it was very validating!!!!!!!!!!#gonna add that since this week has been pure shit #the only things that i had looking forward to at the end of every day was seeing my cats and feeding them and id feel instantaneously better #but now they're not around!!!!!! so i'm extra fucking sad!!!! god i feel like sobbing again!!!!!#there were only two things that i asked from the lord today.#that it wouldn't rain. and that i'd get my cats back.#neither of those fucking happened!!!!!!!!!! my event was thrown to hell and i still miss my fucking cats!!!!!!!!!!!!

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sadfraudfrogs · 9 months ago

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I currently need to throw my phone into a river because if my mum looks through my phone I'm fucked

#it'll out me as a system and having various mental illnesses #She'll get mad at me for having online friends #she'll probably force me to block them or something and I want to stay friends with them #Without them I have like 2 friends #And only 1 person I can actually be open with #And every single day I cry because I'm scared of losing the only person who knows me for me #I'll be cut off from the entire world and she'll expect me to be happy #I'm happy when I don't have to hide myself but I can't do that here #I'm in a country that hates me and you except me to feel safe going outside?#The only way I'd feel safe is if I changed my name legally and moved to a completely different country #I can't handle living in England and I don't feel safe in this town #I'll just get harassed or I'll see my rapist and have a panic attack #I need mental help so fucking badly but I live in England where my only fucking option is either better help #Or a Councillor who won't take me seriously #The last 2 counsellors I had were shit #The first one talked down to me constantly and there was a language barrier between me and the second so half the time I had no clue-#- what she was saying #My sh is only getting worse #I've finally started bleeding from my sh #And now I'm scared to show my arms around my parents because they'll blame the internet for it #Not the years of bullying or the emotional abuse or the fact I'm still trying to compute the fact I was fucking raped #I blame myself for everything #The internet is how I try to heal #If I get that taken away from me then I'll have nothing #I'll probably try to convert to Christianity just so I have something to believe in #Even though the idea of a god makes me really fucking paranoid #Nothing fucking helps anymore #The only thing I fucking have is my stupid fucking phone #I'm going to kill myself I swear to fuck #Because in this fucking society all I fucking get is oppressed

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fairene · 7 months ago

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beneath the moonlight / ln4

vacay lando norris x maxf!littlesister

no use of y/n, as always.

prompt ⋯ ohhh hey ! wanted to stop by to say i love ur fic and wanted to request insatiable lando with max f’s sister like a forbidden summer fling with all their friends and no one’s supposed to know about their secret relationship ( especially max ) — @444mercss

a/n ⋯ this was much longer than i intended, but the words just kept flowing out of me. thank you to all those who beta read my post and helped with grammar!!! ( @jamminvroomvroom , @theonottsbxtch ) you all helped so much. and thank you to mercs for requesting this. i didn't know i'd enjoy it as much as i did, but it definitely was for 20k words. i'll probably take a week ( or maybe not ) off from writing just to give myself a cool down period, but still here to answer any asks. feel free to pop in. hope you all enjoy this, and remember, readers looks are up for interpretation, along with the outfits. colors of coloring are mention only briefly!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, oral(m+f)!receiving, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, feral lando. best friends little sister, brothers best friend dynamic, mutual pining, 'games', horny thoughts. much, much more. but even, possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc ⋯ 20.1k (WHEWWW WEEE... edited by @jamminvroomvroom, @theonottsbxtch)

the summertime was one of your favorites. you and all of the rest of your girlfriend’s would spend each and every day together without question. but as time went on, they got their own lives. partners, engagements, jobs. not to say that you weren’t an accomplished young lady, but it was starting to show that you were hung up on a life that was starting to fade.

your brother on the other hand, was keen on keeping you in this life. in tip top shape on your toes, he’d always challenge you in a multitude of ways. or annoy you to no end. typically it was the latter.

but he had invited you this summer on vacation with his friends. you knew them all relatively well, texted here and there, but you never imagined to be trailing along on a villa getaway sponsored by the quadrant house, mainly the famous lando norris himself.

you would be shy to admit it, but you had a bit of a soft spot for lando. him and his cheeky smile. the moles that donned his face. his starlit eyes that radiated an emerald hue beneath the sunlight. it was intangible the way that you could pick apart the details about his nuanced beauty, but it was a secret for you to keep. a secret that no one, especially your brother, could ever find out about.

but that’s all that it was, wasn’t it?

a dream. a pathetic fantasy. you wouldn’t ever gain the courage to talk to him, make a move, despite how often him and max talk about going on dates with girls. talking about his love life, or the rather drab there of. he fucked around a lot, max knew that, and would consistently warn you to never get wrapped up in the same lifestyle as the british driver. you’d hold up your hands in defense, shrieking a ‘don’t worry about me,’ though you wish you gave him a reason to.

why did you feel undeserving of lando– because he was a formula one driver? attractive? charming? were you afraid that you were going to be friendzoned–? oh god, that would be the fucking worst, wouldn’t it? you could never imagine the hangouts being the same. so you’d bite your tongue until it bled, even when your body yearned for the heat of his own.

the villa that you would be staying at was on lake como in italy. it was a beautiful venue, a place that you’d been dreaming of visiting. max knew this, hence why he’d probably sniped you an invite. but it wasn’t like no one wanted you there. everyone did. that was the problem. you were so incredibly loved by all of max’s friends, that he kept them at arm’s length. no one would ever hurt his little sister. not while he was still breathing.

“wow,” you breathed, stepping out of the uber from the airport. the house before you was a stunning makeup of eccentric architecture that dated decades before your own birth. it was a grand building with tall, marble columns. thoroughly decorated landscaping, and even had running fountains in the front. you were so lost in your awe that you didn’t see the huge pair of mahogany doors swing open.

“max,” you turned your head towards your brother who was grabbing your bags from the trunk. you shifted to the source of the voice, finding the british driver standing barefoot with a beach flannel and short-inseam khaki shorts low around his waist. you gulped before looking anywhere else but him.

“lando!” max approached him, arm outstretched for a shake. lando met him half way down the marbled steps, taking his sunglasses off from the top of his head.

“how was the flight, mate? good?” max nodded for the both of you whilst you fiddled with the accessories around your hands. you didn’t ever know what to say to lando. you found yourself unbelievably speechless in his presence.

“not too bad, ‘specially if this is what you’ve got.” lando chuckled at your brother’s words, and then his eyes finally landed on you. you and your comfortable outfit from the plane ride over. you and your pulled back hair, respectfully messy, and the jewelry that adorned your fingers. his eyes caught over the bling, and how you anxiously picked away at the skin.

“never thought she’d grace our presence,” lando said jokingly, which had your head snapping upright. you flushed, sucking your bottom lip with your teeth.

max rolled his eyes, avoidant of the topic of you in general. “whatever, mate, she’s here now, in’she?” what? what was that supposed to mean? was your presence requested? you suddenly felt wanted above all things.

“she certainly is.” lando approached you with his tongue tucked behind his bottom lip, hasty in his steps. you stood up straighter with a light smile on your face, eyes twinkling away from his own. you couldn’t keep eye contact with him. “c’mon, love, i’ll take your bags.”

“are you sure? i can take–”

the bags were grabbed from your hands. you felt the palm of his own for just a moment— the warm flesh, humming low against his own. you felt like he spoke to you through your blood, but you let it go. lando norris wasn’t giving you special attention, that’s for sure.

you promised yourself that much. this whimsical, airy crush of yours needed to be vetted on the spot. he was your brother’s best friend, older than you, and certainly didn’t have time for a girl who wasn’t a celebrity.

right?

he took your bags through the exquisite villa. the interior was even more luxurious than you could ever imagine– floor to ceiling windows, candlelit ceiling lights, flora decorating each wall that you turned to. it smelled delectable, too, wafting germanium and coconut oil. the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored, as you shimmered brighter than the summer sun.

“you like it, then?” came lando’s voice. your head dropped, glancing at him from where he stood, waiting for you to join him on the steps. had he been watching your face?

“you’re joking.” you assured, hands clasped together. “it’s beautiful.”

lando smiled then, too, letting his lower lip snatch between his top teeth. he tried hard to conceal his happiness, but you felt like you could feel it amongst the air. you felt warm all of a sudden and cleared your throat, urging him forward up the spiraling staircase.

you walked in silence with him down the long corridors. you would pause before each door briefly, wondering if he was going to open it, but he didn’t. it wasn’t until you were reaching the ends of the hallway when he stopped, twisting the knob of the white wooden door. he stood aside, letting you in first.

the room you’d be staying in for the next few weeks was more than you could ever dream of. with its spacious interior, personal bathroom, and private balcony, you felt like the luckiest girl alive to be able to experience this. to live in this moment. to be here. in italy, of all places.

lando interrupted your dreaming haze by sliding the bags in. you turned to face him in your unruly, exhausted glory, and he stared at you. a hand of his found the back of his neck.

“so…dinner tonight at seven, pool day tomorrow, um…” he looked around, acting as if he could suddenly have the words appear into his head. “oh and, if you need anything, my room’s just next door.”

he said it with haste, as if he were shy about the fact, and was already stepping out the door.

“wait,” you said, stepping forward. lando hung back, gripping onto the door frame, swinging his head back into the room. “thank you.”

the words seemed to hit him harder than you thought that it would. he blushed a light red, dimming his tanned face, and cleared his throat before nodding. “of course.” he said with out hesitance, making it clear that he would do this for anyone. “‘m glad you’re here.”

and then he was gone.

you stared at the shut door in stunned silence. did you really hear him correctly?

you didn’t let your thoughts linger too long, but you couldn’t help but let it. the curly-haired brunette stayed in your mind whilst you settled in and unpacked. all ounce of his shy, gaunt nature.

by the evening you were more than settled and relaxed. you’d taken a small nap to rejuvenate your energy, and just in the nick of time for dinner. you got ready amply, sliding a comfortable dress over the surface of your body. the straps were thin and fell loose upon your collarbones. you’d pair an elegant pair of low rise heels on your feet, pointy-toed, that matched the color of your dress.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the dim yellow lighting illuminating the corners of your face that you so frequently forgot to appreciate. it was in the hours of the night that you could appreciate yourself, unopposed to the gawking looks of strangers.

there was a soft knock on your door at 6:57. you turned, dress swaying from your movements, and cracked it open.

lando stood there on the other side. him and his dark shirt and khaki pants. he wore a pair of leather black loafers that matched his shirt. he smelled good, too, a masculine tint of sauvage.

no words were spoken between the two of you. you simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s features. you resisted the urge to trace the moles on his face with a finger, whilst he fought himself to not reach out and run his hands along the fabric of your dress.

his eyes softened when you met his, cheeks filled with a simple kind of joy. the two of you were done ogling at one another, still foreign in each other’s presence.

“ready?” he asked. you nodded, grabbing a matching handbag from the countertop and slung it over your arm. you shut the door to your room behind you and walked a few paces behind lando. you weren’t close with him like that to walk side by side.

or so you thought.

he dragged his feet to slow his pace, coming parallel to your side. he held his breath for a moment, turning to look at the exposed skin from your dress. you caught his wandering eyes and looked up at him, wandering beneath his emerald depths.

“what?” you asked tenderly, voice hitching in your throat.

“nothing.” he turned his head to face back forward. “just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all.”

that was an understatement. you haven’t seen lando in almost three years. max had done a stellar job of wanting to keep you separated from his friends, though you weren’t upset about it. you had your own life, and that was perfectly enough for you.

but you were a girl with a heart full of wanderlust, and often dreamed of what you could’ve had. there was a marksmith of delusion prodding the hidden parts of your brain, working tirelessly to pick apart the small interactions you’ve had with lando over the years.

when you turned 18, he brought you to an exclusive club and showered you with gifts, alcohol, and even more. it was a night you wouldn’t forget, feeling lucky enough to manage a dance with him on the dance floor. his hands hovered above your body, the warmth seeping through your skin, rattling your bones. he even got so close to your face that you could feel his breath. smell the alcohol that reeked from him.

you thought you were going to kiss.

and so did he.

but your brother separated the two of you, calling lando over for a group shot. you were left there, stranded on the dance floor, with the phantom touch of a man that you knew you could never have. it pained you to admit such a truth to yourself, but it didn’t loiter. you had a life to get back to, not indulge some silly, fanatical dream that kept you up late at night as a teenager. lando norris was the fantasy, never to become a reality.

though, every time in presence, you’d manage to falter. set those delusions free the second he’d act kindly to you; gentle, tender tenacity that you believed would be special to you. max’s little sister. that’s all you were, though, weren’t you?

“you’ve been well, haven’t you?” you asked him with a hum, holding your bag with both hands in front of you. the leather piece bucked against your abdomen. lando watched, peering to see if he could hold it for you.

“‘course. living my dream, aren’t i?” you’d made it to the end of the hallway. the top of the staircase.

“it’s not a dream.” you said with a softer intonation. he looked back towards you with a raised brow. “it’s reality now, i’d reckon.”

he smiled.

the two of you made it down the steps. you lingered in the grand foyer, beneath the candlelit chandelier. it was still light outside, but the sun was beginning to set. it had created a pink and blue hue over the water’s edge.

but you weren’t looking at the water’s edge.

you were looking at lando. your brother’s best friend. he had his hands in his pockets, facing the open living room, rocking back and forth on his heels. you cut your way to his line of sight staring upward at him. he looked down at you, wondering what you were searching for.

you had considered not doing what you were about to do. you really did!

but your hand was already outstretched, the tips of your fingers grazing over the grown facial hair on his chin. he didn’t jolt from the action and merely stared into your eyes, pupils blown wide from the warmth of your touch.

“i like it,” you commented before taking your hand away, finding yourself into much deep trouble if max had seen the two of you.

“yeah?” lando asked, suddenly much closer to you.

“makes you look older and manly.” you rolled your eyes.

“what? i wasn’t manly before?”

your hand rolled over your mouth to withhold a laugh. “i’ve seen you weep at the sight of fish.”

lando’s face lit up and his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek. “doesn’t make me any less of a man.” he crossed his arms.

“really?”

“just enthusiastic. don’t see a problem with having a bit of character.” you didn’t argue with him further when you saw your brother and other group friends join one another in the living room. they made their way closer to the two of you.

you took a step back from lando. he couldn’t take his eyes off the action, his face falling instinctively. it’s nothing. his expressions mean nothing. they’re not for you.

“c’mon, i’m starvin’.” max called, slapping lando on the back. sure enough, you were walking out the door behind your brother, everyone trailing in an orderly manner.

you heard lando call your name from in front of max. you hummed in response. “you’ll ride with me, yeah?” you blushed. how could you not? max turned his head over his shoulder, his voice saying nothing, but his eyes telling all. he knows how you felt about lando when you were younger.

he knows, he knows, he knows. but surely, surely you’ve gotten over that little crush of yours. and lando, too, hadn’t harbored any feelings towards you either? surely, surely he couldn’t. you were his little sister. and max knew how lando treated girls as of late.

it left a sour taste in his mouth, but he said nothing when you nodded, brushing past him.

lando opened the door for you. his mclaren was a two seater, comfortable, and roared to life when lando turned over the engine. you couldn’t help but laugh feeling the seat vibrate beneath your thighs. it was a feeling of exhilaration that you hadn’t felt in a long time, but a feeling that came perpetually with lando’s presence. being with him made you feel alive, more alive than the years you’d walked this earth.

your excitement had done things to him as well. his eyes were glued to how you reacted, enthralled by your visceral enthusiasm to being in such a tangible sports car. your fingertips grazed across the leather interior of the door handle.

“gonna jump out on me?”

you shifted in the leather seat, crossing your legs over one another. there was a heat building inside of you, deep in your core.

“not if you don’t give me a reason to.”

he chuckled at that. “i’ll try.”

you smiled to yourself, looking down at your fiddling hands. lando stepped on the gas and pulled out of the villa’s extraneously long driveway, leading the pack of friends behind him.

“you look fit.” came his voice, nervous, beneath his breath. your eyes caught his side profile, all rough edges of it. “beautiful, but your brother’d have me by the balls if he heard me say that.”

your breaths were heavy in your chest. “then don’t let him.”

lando’s head whipped to meet your eyes, hand white-knuckling the steering wheel. you weren’t even sure what you were implying with your words, but he hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting them. god forbid he didn’t understand. you didn’t brush him off like you did as a child, didn’t stumble away bashfully. now, in your grown state, you faced him head on. you challenged him, just as he suspected you would.

“between us, then?”

you nodded, tongue coming to wet your bottom lip. you made a motion of a lock and key against them, throwing the key out the window. he watched, but was drawn back to the road. that was one of the fastest car rides you’ve ever been in with that roaring engine, feeling like you had stepped into the biggest unknown of your very existence.

the restaurant that lando had made reservations for was absolutely beautiful. you couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve been awed by the sites you’ve seen, but you couldn’t help yourself. you were simply one of the luckiest girls with even richer friends.

lando opened the car door for you, sprinting to the other side. you found yourself laughing at the action, finding his urgency cute.

you stepped out of the car and you immediately found your brother, his stance idle before he marched over to you.

“he say anything to you?”

you flushed. between us, then?

“no. what would he say?”

max didn’t elaborate and simply settled for a huff from his nose. lando had been handing off his car to the valet man when he met up with the two of you. your other friends were in tow, eight of you in total, and made it inside the restaurant with ease.

you didn’t even think about what the seating arrangement would be. not until lando pulled out a chair for you, beside him, and you had no other choice but to settle in. not like you were complaining though.

but max was going to. you could see the look on his face when he sat opposite to you, flashing you a pair of warning eyes. but you didn’t know what warranted them– you didn’t even say anything to lando, more or less.

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling far too old for these insolent glances, and picked up the menu. lando sat next to you, mirroring your actions. you placed the napkin on your lap, a polite etiquette you’ve always precluded dinners with.

“ah– look,” you leaned into lando’s space, the heat from his body, the cologne from his shirt, sifting through your nose. it was tempting. “for you.”

your finger pointed to the blackened cod that they had on the menu. lando met you half way, looming over your shoulder at what you were pointing at. as soon as he read it, he scoffed. “fuck off.” you couldn’t help but giggle, attempting to stifle the sound the best you could.

“don’t do that,” lando’s voice came firm, but soft against your ears. he was talking just loud enough for the two of you to be able to hear. you glanced quickly at max, who was lost in conversation with his buddies.

“what?”

“hide your laugh.” you guessed you didn’t realize how often you muffled yourself. your hand lowered to your lap. “you used to do it when you were a teenager, too.” he pointed. you thought for a moment, realizing that he was right. “never understood why. especially since it’s so pretty.”

you froze, staring up at him with weary eyes. he looked confused at your expression. your hand came to slap his bicep. “stop it.” but you were teasing him. he saw right through your tone.

“don’t let him, ‘s what you said, right?”

you swallowed. nodded your head.

his mouth dipped to your ear. his breath hot, just like your cheeks. “he won’t hear a thing then, will he?” lando’s nose brushed against your scalp, and you thought for a moment, dreamed, that he would plant a kiss upon your head. but his lips simply hovered, breaths warming your strands of hair.

but you turned your head to meet his eyes, shaking his contact off. he noticed. tensed. “but he can see, you imbecile.”

that had lando laughing. your face broke with a smile, unable to resist his intoxicating gestures. he simply shrugged, letting you win this one, and his arm came to sling over the back of your chair. his fingertips grazed the strands of your dress, dipping down to your bare shoulders. your posture straightened against the chair, legs crossing over one another beneath the table. he watched you shift, his teeth catching his bottom lip to retain his smile.

the waiter came to take your orders. you ordered your preferred choice and drink, lando following suit. when the table received their drinks, you lifted your glasses for a collective ‘cheers’.

when the main course was finished, you were handed the dessert menus. short a couple, you had to share with the man next to you. you nudged lando’s shoulder with your own and like a dog to a whistle, he was over your shoulder once more, his stubble barely pinching your skin. the thought burst through your head: what would it feel like on your neck? on your thighs, your cunt? you blushed again for what felt like an infinitesimal number, but turned your attention back to the menu.

you pointed at the option that you thought was best. lando hummed, his eyes tracing over the features of your face. you glanced at him. “what?�� you asked.

he simply huffed a short laugh and nodded his head at your choice.

it arrived sooner than later and the two of you split the sweet dessert. your brother was still lost in his own conversations, leaving you to your ministrations with lando. whatever they may be, you’d want them all.

when you had your fill and so did he, you couldn’t help but look at him. he turned, and you laughed quietly between the two of you. he raised a brow.

“you’ve got–” you pointed to his lip, but you figured your words were fruitless. you licked at your thumb and raised it to his mouth, cleaning him. his eyes darkened, becoming hooded with the shadows of lust. you even dared to bring your thumb back to your mouth, popping the remnants across your lips with a ‘pop’. lando never thought his dick could be so hard.

“there,” you breathed. “all clean.”

there was a brief silence. one second. two. “you’ve always been trouble, haven’t you?”

your own eyes were hooded. “maybe.” you teased, cleaning your fingers with the napkin. “guess you have to find out?”

lando’s hand gripped tighter on the back of your chair.

“guess so.”

the drive back was tense. tense with your excitement. on the way out, lando and you lingered at the back of the pack. his hand was on your lower back, warm and electric, reminding you that you had stepped into the deep end with him.

you still couldn’t believe what had happened.

lando was speeding down the freeway, weaving his way in and out of cars, a dangerous task that you only felt comfortable with him performing. you’d lose your mind if anyone else was the driver, but he was the professional here, wasn’t he?

you were even so bold to roll the window down and stick your hand out, feeling the harsh slipstreams beneath your nailbeds. you relaxed in the seat, head lolling against the cushion, hair flying into the wind. lando turned his head to look at you, his elbow leaning on the interior beneath the windowsill, and almost swerved into oncoming traffic. you were a picturesque beauty, lounging freely in his passenger seat, legs crossed, free.

you were at peace for the time being, and it was the only way he’d wish to see you. but he could think of other things.

he pulled into the house with ease. it was well lit amongst the long, windy driveway, and he made sure to let you out first. you two were the last to arrive at the house this time, taking your sweet time. you were in no rush to race back to your room, and neither was he.

it was well past 10pm. when you reached the foyer, max was waiting for you.

“bright and early tomorrow?” he asked.

“bright and early.” you confirmed. he pulled you in for a swift hug, rustling the top of your head with that familial brother love that you adored him for.

he patted lando on the back briefly, before narrowing his eyes at him. you didn’t understand what was happening between the two of them, bro code, but lando seemed to understand well enough. max and his buddies traipsed up the steps, and you felt at ease when you heard their doors shut.

it was just you and lando, now, idling in the foyer.

you said nothing but began to walk, trailing forward through the grandeur villa. you were ample with your pace and heard him moving behind you. with a push of your hand, you opened the door to the grand balcony, leaving it ajar for lando to sneak out from.

he did.

there was a patio set there, waiting, and you let your handbag drop onto the coffee table. you sauntered over to the cobblestone walls, the balustrade meeting post to post for about thirty feet. you leaned against the stone. it was cold against your bare back.

lando seated himself in one of the chairs, his legs spreading wide. he watched you lean forward, then spin to face him. your back was illuminated by the halo of the moonlight, drenching you in a pale visage of beauty.

“you wanna know something?” you asked. lando perked up, humming with curiosity. he was too busy admiring your figure, having to pull himself back from such tumultuous thoughts. “i had a crush on you when i was a kid.”

that stifled a laugh from the british driver. “you did not.”

you shook your head. “sure did.” you didn’t know why you were telling him this all of a sudden, but it was weighing heavy on your mind. “max was pissed. knew i only came around when he told me you’d be there.”

the pieces began melding together in lando’s mind. he had been such an idiot boy that he couldn’t see what a prized beauty you were. there was a trace of second hand guilt. a pattern of ‘what-ifs’ trifling through his mind.

“‘was just a stupid girl. tried so hard for you to notice me.” your hands covered your face for a brief moment.

“you always wore skirts,” he recalled, looking at his hands in his lap. he looked up at you, smirk building. “that why?”

you were shameless when you nodded your head.

“so embarrassing, i know–”

“what about now?” he cut you off, clearly wanting to ask this question the moment it left your lips.

“what do you mean?” your mouth went dry, your hands clasping at the balustrade as if you were going to faint. your heart pounded in your chest.

“what do you feel for me now?”

you couldn’t meet his eye. you looked anywhere else but him, in fact, and opted to over your shoulder to admire the view of the ocean beneath the starlight. the ocean wouldn’t judge you. it would wash away your problems, in fact, and not stare you down.

there was a deep intake of breath that had your head settling from its dizzy state. you looked back to lando and he sat there, cocky, upright. but there was a genteel nature about him that didn’t have you as afraid as you thought you’d be.

he raised his arm, outstretching his hand for you.

you swallowed, pushing yourself off from the balustrade. you sauntered towards him, earnest in your steps, before letting your palm rest on his.

he pulled you close, fingers wrapping against your wrist. he was warm to the touch and he could feel your erratic heartbeat in your veins.

lando’s legs spread for you to settle between. you stood above him, looking down at his brunette curls, his stubble, his cheekbones. his own hands were experimental against the planes of your body, touching sweetly against your hips.

“you didn’t answer me.” he repeated.

you crossed your arms over your chest.

“some dreams just remain dreams.”

he waited a beat. you felt his chest rise and fall.

“do you want to dream forever?”

no. no. you didn’t. you wanted your fantasies to become reality. being with him. being loved by him has always been what you wanted.

you lowered yourself on his lap, straddling his waist. you felt his cock thrum beneath the guard of his pants. did he want you the same?

his forehead collided with yours. his nose brushing against your bridge. you shook your head, closing your eyes.

“wake me up,” you mewled quietly, voice deep within your throat. it was a desperate plea, one that you thought he may not understand until he caught the glint in your eye. the wanting. the years of pining from a distance. how he was so wrapped up in his boyhood that he couldn’t appreciate a woman at his side. “please.”

he didn’t wait any longer to meet your lips with his own.

you were cautious with your touches. your hands were on his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. but your kiss was deep by his own volition, gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb, earning a groveling sound in your throat.

his other hand was stroking your back, pushing you against him until your breasts were firmly against his chest. you gasped at the firm contact, him using it as an excuse to slip his tongue into your mouth. he explored every corner with an expertise you didn’t know was possible. no place went untouched by his saliva, marking a cavern of his own, and perhaps awakening a fantasy that had been dormant for years.

he lied when he said he didn’t notice you.

he lied.

lando would always await your appearance when he went over to max’s house. he’d hear you skip down the steps in whatever mary-jane heel you wore for that day. max would groan when your head popped through the archway, waving at his friends, but your lashes fluttered when you settled on lando.

‘course he fucking noticed.

he thought of you a sweet girl, caring for her brother, with an exquisite taste in fashion. he’d remember the skirts you wore– black ones, pleated ones, plaid ones– they were all committed to the vaults of his memory. he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

and he still did. while you were perched atop of his lap, huffing in nervous breaths, your hands anxiously skirting across the plane of his dress shirt. you shook atop of him as your lips moved coincided with one another. two bodies, melding together beneath the moonlight.

your tongue swirled against his own, hips bucking against the bulge in his pants. your cunt tightened aimlessly, drenching his pants below. he could feel the patten of fabric become lathered in your slick, and it brought him back to earth.

“we can’t.” he breathed against your lips. his chest was beating up and down, unable to calm himself. though he attempted rejecting you, his hand tightened around the fabric of your dress.

your nose brushed against his as you chuckled. “a bit late, isn’t it?” your teeth bit at your swollen, bottom lip. you could see his eyes flash downward at your action, his own tongue wetting his own.

“your brother,” he began to shake his head, still clutching around the fabric of your dress.

“he doesn’t…” you began to say, kissing the sides of his stubble. you were even so bold to take his free hand, guide it to your inner thighs, and let his fingertips caress the wet fabric covering your cunt. it was swollen, desperate for his touch. you’d been desperate for his touch. desperate for as long as you could remember. “have to know.”

lando’s fingers curled upward to apply pressure right on your clit. he didn’t even have to search for it, and you shifted your hips, bucking them across his palm. “fuck, baby…” he groaned into your cheek, followed by a crass chuckle. “you always get this wet?”

your head buried itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder, whining with embarrassment. “jus’ for you…” the words came quietly, but they rang loud in lando’s ears. he could feel the vibrations from your throat, your aching cunt. you were laid atop of him, dripping down your thighs.

“yeah?” he breathed, finding his heart beating rapidly beneath the weight of your body. his fingers began a pattern of motions across your clothed clit—back and forth— and you mewled into his shirt. there was a patch of drool beneath your lips. “look at you, then, made a mess all over me…”

your lips sucked on the skin of his neck, biting at his chest. attempting to shift closer to him, if it was possible, had your cunt aligned over his clothed cock.

“‘n i’ve barely touched you.”

lando wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to. this was his best friend’s little sister. the amount of lines he’s crossed. the friendship he’s had for years suddenly feeling vulnerable, out the door. but he can’t say he hasn’t thought about a moment like this. fantasized about it once or twice.

“touch me,” you pleaded, tilting your head to look at him. your eyes were wide, glossy with your pleasure, whilst his darkened at your contact. “more, i need…” your hips grinded against his palm. “more.”

“fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath. fuck his self control. fuck whatever this was going to do to his friendship. you are real, pining for him in his lap, begging you for his touch. anything from him, really, you would take. this moment felt like it was going to flutter away any moment, and you’d be waking up from a sick, yearning dream.

the hand upon your back steadied you against his body, whilst the fingers of his other moved the fabric of your panties aside. here, with his sensitive fingers, he could feel the heat from your cunt. it washed over him like a wave, retracting, tightening when he flexed his middle finger. you were utterly drenched for him, the cool breeze of the night raising goosebumps along your skin.

you shivered above him, watching how his hand worked beneath your dress. his hand against your back curled around the base of your neck, angling your eyes back up to his own. “eyes on me.” you listened, melted at his soft, demanding tone, and nodded your head. you shimmied frantically across the plane of his hand, but he tsked. “be patient.”

you seemed to understand well enough. he would give you what you wanted, in time. you would be patient, holding back the whimpers deep within your throat. you were just about to implode on yourself when he finally inserted his middle finger into your folds, taunting you dangerously. you gasped, unable to keep yourself still as your back arched. your head fell back into his hand, lando’s thumb swirling around your bare neck.

the straps from your dress fell loose with the motion and you could feel the breeze harden your already taut nipples. his eyes clinged downward at the sight before him, head bending forward to kiss your exposed chest. one of your hands came to clench around his wrist, the other to his neck, holding him fiercely to your body.

your fingers were thrusted deep into the base of his neck, the fade of his hair. you tugged when his finger curled deliciously inside of you, his thumb– acting so expertly– applied gentile pressure to your clit, toiling with your impetuous lust. you felt exposed to him, putty in his hands, weightless against his body.

the british driver’s lips were relentless on your skin. your chest was claimed by his tongue, swirling around the top of your breasts, edging you further to a spectacular orgasm. he sucked tight against your skin, but your head raised to meet your lips to his ears.

“no marks,” you requested, but you heard him growl against your chest. his hands flexed– his wrist clutched with your palm, his hand on the back of your neck– the contact with your neck had you breathless, clenching around his singular finger, and he took blatant notice.

“a secret, yeah?” he confirmed, holding back his groveling tone. the words were bitter when they hit your ears. there was a layered amount of surplus emotions that guarded his heart, held him at arm's length, and he knew it would tear him apart. but now, he focused on you atop of him, and getting you to come.

“mhmm…” you had to clamp your mouth shut from bursting with a wanton moan. it was too much– the way that he swirled his thumb, how his finger was just the perfect length to bottom out inside of you. your hips moved relentlessly, despite his grip around your neck, and you pushed down on his wrist when it started to become too much for you.

but lando had other plans. he shook his head, let out a tsk between his lips, and let his ring finger slip into you with ease. you let out another moan, deeper than the rest, but he responded with a tug on your hair.

with his lips still against your breasts, his motions froze. “quiet.” you hummed a disapproving sound. “want me to stop?”

you shook your head. “no– no!”

you could feel his teeth against your breasts, a cocky smile no doubt with how flustered you became at the thought of him stopping.

“gotta be quiet, love–” and then his lips were back on you, sucking amply at your skin. his head lowered until he captured a nipple between his teeth, letting the ridges toy with your sensitive buds. your head lowered to the top of his as you breathed him in– his shampoo, his cologne– and it didn’t help with containing yourself.

his pace against your cunt quickened. dual fingers sliding in and out of you with ease, thumb riding aggressively on your clit. you could feel the coil inside of you wringing with heat.

lando’s lips found your other nipple, treating it with the same voraciousness that the other received. it was beginning to become too much for you. no man had ever had you this way– putty, liquid, melting– beneath his touch. you feared that you’d never be able to have an orgasm again.

you became antsy in his hands. your grip on his wrist was shaking, your thighs desperately clenching around his waist. he took it as a sign that you were close, and the words fell easily from his lips.

“gonna cum for me?” his chin rested on your chest, angling to look up at your sweating, flushed expression. your eyes fluttered shut as you nodded. his grip around your throat tightened against the columns. you’d never trusted a man so much to not hurt you.

“come on, sweet girl, ‘ve got you.” he promised to you, “bet you’re so pretty when you cum.”

you felt the skin of your lip break into a light gash beneath the weight of your teeth. you’d been so focused on keeping quiet, that you went ahead at your own expense. lando saw the way your eyes opened, and lurched to meet your lips with his own.

the iron upon his tongue didn’t frighten him. perhaps it turned him on in some manner. the lengths that you were willing to go to keep your sweet lips tightened. but as his own tongue swirled around the stinging cut of your lip, you moaned into him. he absorbed the sound, locking it into the expanse of his memories. you had such a sweet voice. he’d never hear something like it again.

“come on, baby,” he urged you once more, speaking into your mouth. his breath was hot, spinning a knot of thread with your own. you felt him laugh at your oncoming orgasm, taking joy from eliciting such pleasure from you. “let me see how pretty you are.”

it didn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach you. you went taut, shaking in his hands, eyes rolling into your head. you swore you saw stars, and that was just from his fingers alone. it had you wondering what his cock felt like.

your head fell limp against his shoulder, breathing heavily, clutching the fabric of his shirt. you didn’t want to let him go. his fingers laid idle inside of your tightened walls, not wanting to release the feeling either. not with his hand drenched, his pants soaked, and his forehead dripping with his own sweat. his cock had been painfully hard, a pool of his precum seeping through his pants, combining with your own. it was a beautiful, disastrous mess that he’d initiated between you two, but he felt no regret.

you sniffled against his shoulder, breezing with the cold air, and let your arms wrap around his neck. you hid your face against his body, attempting to bury your embarrassment within him. you had just come on the balcony atop lando’s lap. what fucking world were you living in? you’ve had feelings for him for what felt like a century, and now a dream that you didn’t even know was possible of coming true, came at the palm of his hand.

lando couldn’t believe it either. you were tucked against his body like a hand to a glove, a perfect fit, breathing heavily, shaking, against his palms. your cunt roared with a beating heat, swimming with the orgasm he had given you. proud wasn’t a word that could surmount to this feeling.

and he said nothing when he fixed the straps of your dress, gauging a more presentable you. he tucked your hair behind your ears, fingertips loitering on the expanse of your cheek. you smiled into him, coming to raise your head to meet his eyes.

his eyes fell to your blistering lip. the swollen buds that he sucked the blood out of. his forehead met yours, and neither of you said anything; just a soft breath and heartbeat between the two of you.

within seconds he took his hand from your cunt, washed his fingers against his tongue, and let it fall to your bare back. you were stunned at the motion, but drool pooled in your mouth. you gawked, openly, just how hot the action was alone.

lando stood with you in his arms. one hand on the back of your neck, the other cupping your thigh. your legs, whilst trembling, tightened around his waist for support as he took you through the quiet villa. the only lights were the candles that were still burning, but you didn’t see them, your head hiding in the crevice of his neck. he hummed quietly, a rhythm that had your eyes beginning to lull with sleep.

you heard him open a door quietly and shuffle around the mess on the floor. your room, no doubt. you’d left a pile of clothes as a welcome for yourself when you were picking out your attire for the evening. it didn’t help him, either, by being surrounded by your scent. your perfume, you, it swirled around him, taunting him. dared him to fuck his best friend’s little sister.

lando bent down to lay you into your bed. you fell against your will, hands still upright for him to fall in. but he just couldn’t let himself.

he did, however, let his fingers trail across your bare thighs, your knees, your calves, ankles, until he was met with your heels. his hand lingered on the back of your ankle, angling one of your feet upright to slip a shoe off. his fingers moved to the other, placing the expensive pair on the ground. you stretched your hands above your head, falling deep within the pillowy, feathery embrace.

you stared up at him. your hair messy, dress disheveled, eyes heavy with exhaustion. and he looked down at you, moving forward to let his fingers trail up your sternum, the perks of your breasts. the moment was so quiet. only your breaths and his own could be heard– and maybe the pounding of your heart.

he looked beautiful looming above you, hovering with a protective, apologetic look. apologetic? what did he have to apologize for? except for a mind-blowing orgasm, that is.

his hand froze against the place of your heart. palm flattening, he could feel just how fast your heart was racing. you grabbed his wrist, thumb sliding up and down against his veins. he swallowed.

“don’t know if we should do this again.” he spoke quietly.

your heart broke. you sat up straight in your bed, confusion written all across your features. you thought that this was something between the two of you. that he wanted you. and now what was happening? did you do something wrong?

“why?” you asked, feeling tears well in your eyes. you couldn’t help it. the girl inside of you had come to the forefront, her dreams of being with lando being squashed beneath the weight of his words.

he sighed deep, unable to meet your eyes. he was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“you don’t want me?”

his head snapped in your direction, almost breaking clean off his spine with just how fast he went. he shook his head, hand coming to cup your cheek, but you shook his affections away. your hand dropped from his wrist, wanting to feel nothing of his heart.

he spoke your name. twice. three times. you looked back toward him, tears hot in your eyes. “hey.” you focused on his voice. “you know that’s not true.”

your brows furrowed. “do i?”

his expression dropped.

he fell to his knees before the side of the bed. an action no man has ever done for you. you gaped visibly, watching as both his hands came to rest upon your knees. he leaned into you. stubble tickling your thighs.

your name was sweet on his tongue.

“what would your brother say–?”

“fuck what he thinks.” you leaned down.

lando’s head dropped between your thighs, taking a deep inhale of your skin. you shivered, letting your hand rest on the back of his neck.

“we need t’give it time.” he said upon raising his head. he looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes. the moonlight shimmered through your windows, casting a vague gracefulness of illumination across his tanned skin.

“how much?”

lando wasn’t sure. his silence was an answer enough. you sighed, letting your body fall against the bed once more. he lifted himself to sit beside you, placing both hands at your hips to cage you in.

“hey,” he said to gauge your attention back to him. “we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

you wanted to believe him. but you weren’t sure that you could. lando leaned down to kiss your sternum against the fabric of your dress.

“you still want me?” you asked, voice cracking with your emotions.

“i’ve wanted you,” he said against your stomach, “since the day you came down in that white skirt.”

you gasped, head tilting to look at him. that was one of the first times you met him– third, maybe– you remembered which one he was talking about. it was a skirt with little white bows, embellished with threads of ribbon and lace.

“the one with the bows?”

“that fuckin’ skirt…” he scoffed with a laugh. you were still floored, but managed to smile. you couldn’t believe his confession, finding it unbelievable. unbelievable that maybe, maybe you had a chance with him. the girl inside of you was squealing, but the woman didn’t quiver beneath him.

there was a momentary silence between the two of you. but you shifted, moving to stand. lando watched you from his perch on your bed, hair ruffled and eyes red from his own wrought of emotions. you didn’t expect this from him. this sensibility.

you began to strip with your back turned to him. he watched. silently.

you stripped of your panties and threw them over your shoulder. lando caught them, still gawking at you. “keep them.” you spoke. “you ruined them.”

that had him laughing. but he kept them, staring down at the lace material. you threw on a large shirt from your suitcase that reached your mid thigh. you finally spun around to meet his eye, but he didn’t dare move.

“what?” you asked, his staring becoming more intense.

he swallowed. shook his head.

“you better go.” you spoke for him as you approached your bed, narrowly dodging him when you threw yourself down. his eyes raked over you, speechless. “lando.” you reaffirmed, bringing him out of his haze. he let out a sigh and stood, hand coming to brace the back of his neck.

he lingered before opening your door, glancing at the dress on the ground. and then he was gone, shutting your door behind him, before falling to his own bed. you were lucky to find sleep that night, and it came easy with your exhaustion. but anxiety thrummed through your mind, bustling with a pint of rejection. it was so sweet from his tongue, but it hurt all the same.

lando laid in his bed before he showered. changed. laid in his bed with the thought of you. how did this happen? how could he forfeit a lifelong friendship? it was simple, really. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, and he couldn’t ever let you go. he’s always watched you from a distance. liking your posts, viewing your instagram stories. he was obsessed with you in more ways than one, but that was a secret for him and him alone.

yet, he couldn’t get max out of his mind. how he would react to him? to you? fuck, the thoughts were brewing a storm inside of his head. the damage had already been done, his heart already thrumming with the essence of you in its wake. you spread through the blood in his veins, latching onto his vitality like a parasite. though he welcomed the thought, the wonder of you overtaking his life.

that was a thought that he could fall asleep to. and he did, snoring with a good guzzle that had you tossing and turning.

the morning came and went. you were up early, as you promised max, but took time planning your wardrobe. you wore a bathing suit beneath your choice of clothing, but what was essential was the short, white, skirt that rode mid-rise on your waist.

the shirt you wore was thin, sheer, a light beige. it had straps that came down to tie a bow between your breasts, and cropped enough to leave heaven to the imagination. for one man in particular, that was your goal.

‘i don’t know if we should do this again.’

fuck that.

you skipped down the steps and were met with max awake bright and early. he had been cooking breakfast, a favorite of yours, and was just about finishing up before he glanced towards you.

“morning!” came his preppy voice. he was wearing a thin white shirt and swim trunks, ready to take on the day to swim.

“good morning.” you sat down at the lush kitchen island, max sliding a plate of food in front of you. you dug in immediately.

“woah,” max commented, sitting down beside you with a cup of tea. “relax. thought we were going swimming?”

you coughed. “we are.” you continued to finish your food with haste. “just hungry.”

you heard more steps come down the stairs. but you didn’t turn your head until max did, his eyes brightening as his close friend was approaching.

“mate,” max said, eyeing up lando. “you look like shit. did ‘ya sleep last night?”

lando hummed with his tired voice, already prepared to go swimming as well. he wore a black shirt with papaya swim trunks. you ogled at him before he looked at you, turning away quickly once he skirted his eyes towards your direction.

“slept great.”

you scoffed.

max and lando turned towards you. the fork in your hands dropped and your eyes widened. a blush creeped onto your cheeks.

“you snore,” you commented, still refusing to look at him. “you know that?”

max turned towards lando. “your rooms are next to each other?” the words were poignant, aimed as a remark to the british driver. he simply shrugged his shoulders in response, not finding any reason to engage.

you stood with your plate in hand, making headway for the sink. from behind, you could feel a pair of eyes heating the plane of your back. you weren’t stupid. and neither was he, knowing exactly what you had done this morning.

the skirt you wore was a reminiscence of his confession the previous night. it brought back the childlike memories of grade school. a time when life was simpler, and you were just a girl, and he was just a boy. but he knew you weren’t that girl anymore. a woman grown, you were elegant. he didn’t understand how you were related to max, a scruffy rascal, but he was happier for that.

when you turned on the water for the sink, lando approached you. max had been tending to his phone, scrolling through social media, so he hadn’t been paying attention. lando’s shoulder brushed against your own when you were scrubbing, desperate to say something.

“you–”

“max,” you interrupted lando, turning off the water and turning towards your brother. lando took a side step away from you, giving you space when max looked up from his phone. you received a side eye from the british driver, his lip curling with pettiness. he saw what you were doing now. was this your form of punishment?

max responded with a ‘hm?’ “you want me to cook tonight?” you offered, and max glanced at lando, who never stopped looking at you. you saw max’s expression tense.

“why not. could save us some money, won’t it?” he said, waiting for lando to add on. “right, lando?”

lando spun around, releasing his tight grip on the counter. he took a sharp breath in, nodding his head in agreement. you watched as a blush creeped onto his face. you bit on the inside of your cheek, but weren’t expecting lando to retaliate.

he spoke your name, which had your head lifting. “what happened to your lip?”

you froze. eyes widening. your own lip twitched with a remedy of a snarl, and he bit back, his nose curling with distaste.

max approached you two, observing your scabbed lip from the night before. “shit. he’s right. what happened?”

you reached back to clench the marble counter beneath your fingers. “uh–” lando held back his devious smile. “bit it in my sleep, ‘spose.”

max simply shrugged his shoulders, and headed for the backyard where the pool was. when the door shut, you let out a sigh. lando stepped in front of you, caging you in with his arms. his head dipped to your shoulder, his curls brushing against your cheek.

“get off me,” you commented with grit, biting your words. lando shook his head, not moving.

“don’t play this with me,” he said, lifting his head with a deep inhale. you raised a brow at him, having absolutely no idea what he meant.

“said we weren’t going to do this again, didn’t you?” you made him sit with his words. make him roll in the fucking mud. “we’re not. and if we were–” you shoved his chest with both your hands, which had him lurching backward. he didn’t go far. “i’d fucking win.”

he invaded your space again, leaning his lips towards yours. you felt his breath again, his scent creeping into your nose. it was like he never left.

“y’sure ‘bout that?” he said with a light tone, teasing you with the vibrato of his words. you swallowed a lump in your throat.

but you stood your ground. “positive.”

lando lingered for a second longer, leaning closer to your lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you out in the open kitchen. “whatever you say.” were the only words he said before he leapt away from you suddenly, leaving your exposed body cold.

he followed you out to the pool, never leaving enough space between you two. but you had other plans–sticking by max’s side would surely drive him insane.

so you sat beside your brother all day. in the pool chair next to him. tanning, reading a book, scrolling on your phone– it didn’t matter. it wasn’t long before the rest of your brother’s friends joined everyone by the pool.

most of them were in the pool by the afternoon. you had made your way to the kitchen, shedding of your skirt and top. left in your swimwear, you wanted a snack.

in the bowls of fruit you found, you pulled some mango, strawberries, and bananas. you cut them with a knife from the drawer, and put them in a bowl. there was more than enough fruit for everyone, but you took some of your favorites in the meantime.

the sun was hot that day, and you had forgotten your sunglasses. sunscreen on your head would cause greasy hair, and you didn’t want that. so you searched briefly in the kitchen for any sort of hat that someone left, and you found one.

it was a papaya hat. with mclaren’s logo, and a number 4 on it. you smirked, bringing the hat atop your head.

it fit nicely and you grabbed the bowl of fruit. you made your way back outside to the patio and your brother noticed you immediately. he called your name, and you sauntered over.

lando and his mates had been in the pool playing with a frisbee, but as soon as max had said your name, he was looking over his shoulder. he went speechless.

with his hat atop your head and your exposed body, he could help but drool at the sight of you. a droplet trailed down his chin, but he dunked the lower half of his mouth into the pool before anyone saw.

“for us?” max asked towards the bowl of fruit. you popped a slice of mango into your mouth, biting tenderly into the piece before nodding your head. lando swallowed tightly, practically shaking beneath the surface of the water.

you placed the bowl on the wooden table and stood back as you were met with the onslaught of a crowd of wet dudes. you backed up towards the stairs of the pool, ready to hop in yourself. you thought yourself a genius– having the entire pool to yourself while they ate. but before you stepped in, your elbow was caught in a warm palm.

lando faced you with his bare chest dripping with chlorine, hair ruffled and damp. droplets of water slithered down his cheeks, which you felt tempted to rub away with your thumb, but you retained from stretching out your hands.

he simply stared at you. and you stared at him.

then he flicked the end of the cap with his pointer finger and smirked, raising his brows with a teasing fashion. he had the nerve to glance at your chin, narrowing his eyes. you didn’t have time to react before his own thumb came to wipe away a droplet of mango juice from your chin.

the action was fast, unnoticed by anyone around you. you blushed instantly, freezing in place. lando popped his thumb into his mouth, tongue visibly swirling around the fingertip. he made a humming sound, approving of the taste.

“tastes sweet.” he muttered to you. he raised his eyes, hooded beneath the glare of the sunlight. “not my favorite, though.”

holy shit

you thought you were going to pass out.

with your eyes flared wide, you spun away from him, throwing the hat to the side, and dove straight into the pool.

you needed to cool off. desperately. and your time in the pool did. when you finally climbed out, max was lounging in the pool chair beneath an umbrella. you joined him in your seat, drying yourself off with your towel. lando was watching the entire time, sitting opposite to max.

when you finally laid down with the towel of your bare legs, max scoffed at his phone. clearly, he was trying to get your attention.

“what?” you said, the hat you had thrown off was now back in your lap.

“look,” max handed you his phone, and you immediately rolled your eyes. it was a picture on instagram of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. his new girlfriend that he cheated on you with. he was a fucking asshole, and max knew that from the very beginning.

“ugh,” you groaned, handing his phone back to him. max took it and was about to keep scrolling.

“what?” lando asked, curious now to see what the two of you were grumbling about. max handed him his phone, but he was still confused who he was looking at.

“her ex,” max commented with a rumble. lando’s eyes shot up at you, watching your expression shift. lando was now investigating thoroughly, scrolling through this guys posts. he still had some of you up, and it only angered him. it angered him to an unfair degree, feeling the pinnacle of jealousy, although entirely unwarranted.

“i brought him to a race once,” you pointed out, unable to look at either of them. instead, you settled on the water in the pool. “barcelona, last year.” your arms crossed over your chest.

lando raised a brow. “he was that leach for leclerc, wasn’t he?” you were surprised that he remembered, but nodded your head. it wasn’t a good memory. he had abandoned you the minute you arrived at the race in search of the ferrari driver, and had to manage yourself alone in the crowds. it was miserable, but at least you got to see a good show.

“yeah,” you commented with a huff. “fucking asshole.”

“asshole.” max mirrored you.

“why did it end, then?” lando was pushing the boundaries, but max didn’t seem to notice or mind.

though you did.

you didn’t want to relive the thought. the embarrassment. the entire fucking heartbreak that you pathetically went through.

“because i was stupid.” is all you said before you stood with your towel, making your way inside without another word.

max turned to face lando and smacked him on the shoulder. “the fuck did you ask for?” came his harsh words. lando was stunned, not intending to chase you away.

“shit, sorry i–” lando was quick to rise to his feet, though, not even glancing back at max before he chased after you. “i’ll fix it,” he promised before disappearing inside, and max simply shrugged, wondering just how lando could work his wonders. though he doubted he truly could.

lando called your name from deep inside the villa but you were already half way up the steps. you froze when you heard his voice, stifling back any sounds from your chest. he caught up to you, standing a step beneath you.

“i’m sorry–” he said, “i was just—”

“just what, lando?” you grumbled, truly not wanting to hear his words. “you wanna know just how embarrassed i was? huh? when i found he was fucking one of my best friends?”

lando stood there, shocked, coming to hold out his arms for you to fall into. but you didn’t. “i was such a fucking idiot. it was right in front of me but i didn’t believe it. how smart of me, right?!” your voice raised when lando cornered you at the top of the stairs, your back against the wall.

you couldn’t help but spew emotional nonsense. “oh woe is me, truly, you’d probably end up doing the same–”

lando caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand leaning against the wall. “what did you say?”

you gulped, not meaning for the words to slip off your tongue. shit. he looked pissed. pissed that you would think so lowly of him.

“i–” you gulped. “i didn’t mean–”

his hand tightened around your chin. “really? that what you think of me?” no, no, no! you didn’t. you didn’t. you shook your head in his hold, your eyes largening with your emotions.

“if you were my girl,” lando whispered to you, not breaking eye contact with you once. “you’d know it.”

but you dared to disagree.

“what am i then?” you challenged, your voice raising in the echoing halls. “what was i yesterday, a whore?”

he bared his teeth at you, displeased with what you called yourself. his hand from your chin latched onto the side columns of your throat and your mouth parted with a delectable pleasure.

“you needed me, yeah?” he was sure to comment. but you didn’t budge.

“get your hands off me.” you bit out.

“you didn’t seem to mind yesterday.”

“clearly you didn’t do a good job for a second run,” the words pinched his ego, though the hand against the wall came to slide around your waist.

“weren’t you begging for me? or did i make that up?” you seethed at his cocky tone.

“think you had too much to drink. i’d never beg.” it was a straight lie that came from your lips. he knew it. you knew it. but you pretended to keep your strength.

“‘touch me, please,’” he mocked in your tone.

“must’ve dreamed it. thinking ‘bout me, lan?” the nickname was new for him on your tongue and he bristled, along with the blood soaring to his cock.

“‘more, need–” you slapped your hand over his mouth.

“fuck you.” you hissed. his mouth curved to a smile before he let his grip on you go.

“we’ll see if you’re lucky tonight.”

you brushed past him with a scoff and he stood there idly, watching your hips sway side to side. he chuckled at your retreat and you flipped him off before entering your room and slamming the door. you were done with these fucking games, his toying words. he had no right to approach you after finding out about your ex.

you immediately turned on the shower in your room and stripped of your bathing attire. it was when you were searching aimlessly through your drawer of panties, you remembered that you were missing a pair.

a smirk grew on your face, and you couldn’t help but feel that you held the power.

a few hours had passed after your interaction with lando, and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. you were missing from the entirety of the activities around the pool, and he even dared knock on your door, but he resisted. though it tore him apart, thinking about your writhing anger.

but you, you had other plans. you’d showered off from the pool, taken care of your skin, and taken a nap before you were to get up and make dinner.

you had come up with the idea for dinner.

fish. as everyone enjoyed.

you smirked to yourself as you made your way down the steps. it was quiet, and you heard no churning of others about the halls. it was nice to revere yourself in the solitude of the late afternoon, hoping that you would have the entirety of the downstairs floor yourself.

you got to work with your scheme and pulled out the fish from the fridge. whatever you were making, you were sure it would be delicious.

and when the meal was just about done, you heard a strangulated sound of ample footsteps down the staircase. you were just about done setting the dinner table when max soared through the kitchen, aiming right for the pans and pots of ingredients you sniffed.

“woo!” he cheered, clearly delighted with your cooking. the other boys at his side were quick to mimic him, agreeing with his statement. your hands clamped over your heart, showing how happy you were that they were thrilled.

“well,” you urged. “go sit! i’ll bring it over.”

they didn’t hesitate. beginning to take spoonfuls of rice, vegetables, and the fried fish you whipped up, they were eager to get a headstart. your thoughts wondered where the british driver was, but your thoughts were answered when you heard the last pair of footsteps through the grand foyer.

you just finished placing the bowls of food in front of the eager boys. they weren’t polite in waiting for everyone to sit down, but you didn’t mind.

it was an afterthought for what his meal would be. of course you knew he despised fish. you listened to everything he said when you were younger, years ago, and never forgot.

you leaned against the kitchen aisle, facing him, and he immediately recoiled at the smell. his nose turned upright, curling upward with his lip, and you saw the sparkle of his canines.

lando approached you, the stove, and took a glance at what the helpings were. he turned his head over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look, which you returned with a small shrug and a smirk.

“witch.” he uttered, hands clamping around the edges of the countertops, unsure what he was going to fish through the cabinets for.

“don’t worry.” you said, lando turning to raise his brows. you slid him a bowl filled with greens, vegetables, and a little bit of rice. “plenty for you, don’t you think?”

you cocked your head toward the empty seat, but he instead took the one right next to you. the bowl in your hands was pungent with sprouts, and even you recoiled. you placed it down in front of him, letting your hand linger on his back. “i’m no dietician,” you said quietly. “but i tried to substitute as much as i could.”

“thank you,” he said through clenched teeth, fucker.

you were quaint with your serving, taking enough for your fill, and sat down swiftly. conversation grew between all of the men, your brother included, and you ate in silence. you had done more thinking about your situation with your ex, and recoiled with a sickening feeling in your stomach. lando watched from the corner of his eye, noticing how little you touched your fork with your lips and spun your spoon amongst the rice.

he knew he said tribulating words. taunted you. teased you. but he did not mean for it to stretch as far as it had. you were twiddling with the accessories on your wrists, barely saying a word the entire meal, and he felt that it was his fault. you’d only gone as far enough to tease him with a full fish basking over an open flame on the stove.

it wasn’t shameful when he was devouring the meal you had cooked. despite the repugnant smell of fish lingering in the air, your food was…divine. he wasn’t all that surprised, but it was a nice treat to end one of the first full days.

but the most courageous ideas filled his head. he kept looking at you, staring, out of the corner of his eye. you were entirely blue with your melancholy, and he resented the soured expression upon your beautiful face. he took it as his own responsibility to relieve you of your worries. your anxieties. insecurities. as it was his fault that they emerged.

it didn’t take long before beneath the table, lando’s hand wandered. he began with a soft graze of your knee which had you sitting up straight, white skirt you dressed in before remaking its appearance around your hips.

you turned your head to face him, eyes flaring with wonder of just what the fuck he was doing. but his expression stayed nonchalant, undeterred from his conversation with your brother. you decided that you should play the same game, sliding into the roll of uncaring of his soft touches.

though it was much easier said than done.

his fingers were daunting. restless. he took a break to sip his water with his opposite hand, divulging into deeper conversation as his hand trailed higher. it was then that he spread his palm wide over the span of your thigh, bare, pinching at the skin. you leaned over the table, leaning your head into your palms that were supported by your elbows upon the table.

you sighed, your other leg jumping up and down. you attempted to listen to whatever they were talking about– football, instagram, the races– but you couldn’t tune in for long. not when he tugged the fabric of your skirt to the side, and let his pinky dance across your folds. fuck.

attempting to muffle your struggle, you brought your glass to your lips, sipping in promptitude. you leaned back, tucking your chair as far as you could against the table. it finally caught lando’s attention, briefly, when he gave you a once over with a cheeky smile. max caught the action, raising a brow at you, but you simply swallowed down your drink and crossed your hands over your lap.

your lap, that so happened to house lando’s hand between your thighs. your cunt was clothed by your panties, but you could still feel the pressure of his finger lodging against your slit.

you wrapped your hand around his wrist, gripping tight with the desire for him to stop, but he would do no such thing. he went as far as using his ring finger to stroke the cotton of your underwear, grazing over your clit as if it were nothing. he circled around your tender bundle of nerves, refusing to leave it alone.

your second hand came to wrap around his wrist, higher up on his forearm, pleading indefinitely to halt his movements. your thighs clenched impossibly tight around his hand, suffocating him, but it didn’t stop him. it only had him steadfast in his pursuit– to get you to come at this dinner table.

with your force against his forearm, you were sure to leave bruises of your fingertips in your wake. but you didn’t care. through your tension, he could feel your pleasure. he knew that you would writhe, squirm, but you couldn’t. not here.

you found yourself trembling. your grip around his wrist softened, lip caught between your top set of teeth. you were lucky that the tablecloth was acting as a barrier between any wandering eyes–though, shamefully, that was the last thing on your mind.

but right now, you felt yourself coming to a clearing. a light at the end of the tunnel in the name of your orgasm. shit.

it took only one quick glance around the room to see that everyone was done with their meals. with empty plates, they were awaiting more. and more you shall give, best to get up rather than submit to lando’s toilsome teasing. you couldn’t give him this pleasure. not when he toyed with you, refused to admit to any truths that might belittle his feelings.

you finally shoved his hand away. it took all the might you had, and it even had his head shifting in your direction. you stood, and he immediately tugged the hem of your skirt down beneath the table cloth. if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word.

“dessert, anyone?”

there was a small rally of cheers, and you smiled. it was the only thing that could get your mind off of lando’s hand between your legs. the flushed expression you wore didn’t wane until you were alone in the kitchen.

it was ice cream that was for dessert, and that would be enough. you put out some toppings for them to choose from, and returned with the platter. you set it toward the center of the table, and the pickings were gone instantly. everyone had their own serving, side bowl, ready to go.

but lando waited for you to settle back in before he grabbed a pint of vanilla. he nudged the ice cream scooper towards your direction, a silent indication that had him asking if he could serve yours. you simply nodded, even though your cunt burned with the phantom touch of his fingers. he did that to you in no way another man could. leave you wanting more. sex with your ex boyfriend had been a joke. you never came. ever. you only did when it was at your own hand, your own touch. but with lando…

lando on that balcony, dressed in the pale moonlight. you, his angel, glowing halo of energy illuminating your face, unraveled before him. he doesn’t think he’s ever met such a woman receptive to his touch. he’s fucked girls before, too many for max’s taste–hence his displeasure– but they weren’t like you. they didn’t squirm, whimper, in his hold. they’d moan like they were being televised, recorded, ready to be on a screen play.

you were natural. beautiful. incapable of being anyone but yourself. he admired you for such bravery, commending you silently through the cosmic planes. though you could not hear the words from him, you felt a warmth coming from his direction despite the cold treat being scooped into the dish in front of you.

he gave you more than enough and smiled. a real one, you caught. it was a break from the humidity, a breeze that was most welcomed upon your skin. fuck. you were supposed to be mad at him, weren’t you? weren't you supposed to plot your volatile revenge for him touching you?

you were.

when he settled beside you with his own serving, you were quick to shuffle a bit closer to him. the chair scooted across the floor, a vibration felt beneath his own, and he bristled. what were you up to? you appeared to be happier, a bit less caught up in your own head, and that he could be grateful for. you even engaged in a few conversations with max’s friends.

they were lovely chaps, truly, but they were his friends. not yours.

lando was just about to respond to a question that max had asked him, but he coughed on his ice cream, the feeling of your fingertips darting across his crotch taking a huge galavanting surprise out of him. he didn’t know that you had such austerity within you, but it was a welcome discovery.

but your skillfulness was not.

the outline of his cock beneath his shorts was obvious. you felt the light curve, the tip, the base all beneath your palm. it was an empowering sensation, hidden beneath the table cloth, and lando had to outstretch both of his hands to steady himself.

“y’alright, mate?” max asked when lando coughed. the british driver nodded beside you, leaning forward.

“yeah. fine. carry on?” max repeated his question for lando. before he was about to answer for a second time, your hand curled around the base of his cock, feeling full in your palm. your thumb brushed against his tip, smiling to yourself when you felt a light wet patch against your finger.

he sucked in a tight breath, but answered max with a strained voice. he clenched his jaw tight and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. you knew you were riling him, and it was paying off to see him flustered.

you continued your stroking motion discreetly beneath the table. the excitement of being caught was perhaps too thrilling, and the presence of your hand against his cock only excited you further. he was big. that was enough for you to be floored. your guesses as a edgy teenage girl were correct, and the woman inside of you purred at the idea of him inside of you.

little did you know, he thought the same. when his fingers were lodged inside your hot folds, your deathly tight grip clamping around him, he knew that he had to have you. he knew it years ago, too, but just how pretty you were atop of him…how receptive you were to his touch– it was a pillar of pleasure that continued to build and build, until it will ultimately fall.

until it will fall, and he is deep inside of you. with the outline of his cock embedded in your lower belly he would feel satisfied, with his cum dripping from your cunt, he could find a peace from this torturous lust that overtook every fucking part of his mind. he needed you. carnally. in whatever fashion labeled him as a barbarian, he would hunt you down if that is what you wanted.

and maybe you did.

you wanted him to chase you. to fight for you. to appease the teenage girl inside of you that yearned for his affections, his oblivious attentions. you felt that you deserved it for all the work you put in through your teendom. the boys you rejected. the time you gave up to attend his races.

was that such a bad thing to be wanted? to be wanted above all, by the man of your wonderlike dreams? but was he so dreamy, then, when he glanced at you with his needy, preening eyes when you held his cock so firm in your hand?

the answer was undoubtedly yes.

you felt the pulse of his cock against your hand. it was a delectable vibration that beat for you of all people. you felt more than divine prowess gripping his length, such a dirty, lewd, action beneath the table. and none of them knew what you had been doing. how you were affecting him. it was a secret wasn’t it?

the catalyst for your movements was about to be thwarted when he readjusted his hips in the chair, bucking fiercely against your touch, your hold on his dick.

conversations around you began to dull down to a minimum. the night was ending, and he felt himself rearing a release. but he couldn’t. not here. fuck. he gripped on your hand beneath the table, shivering, shaking, as he pleaded you with his eyes. they were wide drawn, glossed with a desperation that you needed permanently in your life. it was a face you wouldn’t forget. ever. how he yearned to cum in your hand, but it wasn’t the right time. when would be the right time?

“since you made dinner,” max began, letting out a grueling burp, “i say we lot ‘ought to tidy up, shall we?” the boys nodded and hummed amongst each other in agreement. they made quick pace clearing the table, and this was lando’s excuse to rip himself free of your devilish hand. though he wanted nothing more than to cum with your sleek fingertips, he had to be nonchalant about it all.

he cleared his throat when he stood, feigning a quietness that felt unusual, but no one said a word. you smiled to yourself, pulling your hand away back to your lap. it was damp from his precum, sordid with an urge to pop a finger or two into your mouth. and you did. pretending to clean yourself from any residue of icecream, you licked your fingers clean.

lando stared. unable to take his eyes off of you. he lingered with his hand around your bowl and plate, his breath hitching in his throat. devil woman, he thought.

when the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher and the fragile ones laid out to dry, you finally stood. you arched your back, stretching your limbs, but felt cold on your cunt. it was the air conditioning that cooled you, reminding you that he was the one to tease you first beneath the table.

your brother bid you goodnight with a kiss to your cheek, whilst the others thanked you sincerely for the meal. you were grateful to receive such gratitude, but it wasn’t from the man you wanted it the most.

tucking your chair into the table, you made your way into the grand kitchen. with its tiled walls, marbled kitchen island, lando stood at the epicenter. with a towel in his hand, drying the last few of the dishes, he watched you saunter in.

his tongue poked at the inner corner of his cheek with a clenched jaw. boy, did he have words for you. you and your actions. how you ruined him at the dinner table whilst talking to your brother of all people. it was like you wanted them to see–

when you joined him side by side, the pair of you said nothing for a moment. but the moment when lando scanned the room front to back, he dropped the towel and grabbed onto you.

he spun you around so your front pushed against the kitchen aisle, your back arching against the palm of his hand. his second went around the front of your throat, pulling your head up to his own.

“that what you wanted?” he growled into your ear, trembling with his edged orgasm teetering on the tailend of a massacre. “hmm? tell me, baby.”

you were at a loss of words, dizzied from the grip around your throat. you wished that he would leave bruises.

then he bent you over the counter, the cool surface eliciting a gasp from deep within you. his hand flexed over your back, scaling your spine.

“being a fucking tease…”

“you started it.” you retaliated with a childlike immaturity.

lando chuckled as his crotch came flush against your cunt. your wet, dampening cunt by the second. the hand that had been latched to your throat moved to your skirt, toying with the fabric. he scoffed, feeling the wetness of your panties. “bet you’re still wet anyways.”

you were.

your face flushed.

“dirty fucking girl.” he said quietly, a comment to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. you swayed your hips against his, desperate for a flickering sensation of friction.

“ah ah,” he tsked, landing a slap to your ass. the sound ricocheted through the echoing kitchen. “think you deserve it after tonight?”

you mewled in response, your cheek freezing against the countertop. the heat from your asscheek was enough to satisfy you for the moment, your thighs clenching together. he ogled, head twisting in a fashion that was revered with lust.

with a fist he made a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pulling your head back against his chest. “hmm?”

“no.”

“no?” he’d repeat. you nodded your head, submitting to him without question. he was peeved that you didn’t fight back, but would take your submission with earnestness. but you had other plans brewing inside your head. ones that you knew would drive him up the fucking wall.

but that would come later. for now, you let your head fall backward onto his shoulder, and looked up at him. “let me fix it…”

your whimpering had his eye twitching, lip curling, arms flexing. it was a gut reaction to how soft your voice had become, how eager he knew you were.

his hold on you loosened, and you took this as your opportunity to spin around and drop to your knees in front of him. you couldn’t help but gape at his thundering cock beneath his shorts, salivating at just the thought of him filling your mouth.

but he said nothing else, stunned in his place; how could he not be when you regarded him with ardor, quivering hands?

“please…” you said, your cheek coming to nuzzle against his thigh, one hand gripping the back of his calf. he couldn’t reject you like this. not when he wanted you so dearly.

a hand came to run through your hair atop your head. an nonverbal, encouraging pet. you hummed, making quick work of lowering his shorts, his briefs, and his cock sprung free with vitality. it was red hot, pulsating with blood, beating a bright scarlet for you. it glistened with his own slick for you.

“go on, love,” he was breathless. “you can take it, can’t you?”

you nodded furiously, a whine leaving your lips. with your determined fingers, you wrapped them around his base, pumping your hand back and forth. it didn’t take much before he was leaking over your palm, and you let your lips swirl around his tip.

his head fell back in pleasure, fingers tightening his grip in your hair. with his empty hand, he gripped the island to support his weight from toppling upon you.

he was both sweet and salty, a sensation you’ve never tasted before. you continued your relentless pursuit on his tip until he was wrought with desperation, and let his hips buck forward until he was half way down your throat.

you groaned in protest, your eyes watering with tears, but took him like the good girl you were. he wanted you, and you wanted him. you could ask for nothing more.

“just like that, baby–” he stuttered out, voice cracking when you took him whole down your throat. you breathed through your nose. “fuck,” he cursed, your lips puckering, even stimulating him with the top ridges of your teeth. he let out a deep moan.

“perfect,” he commented, but you thought you misheard him for a moment. “you’re perfect.”

it persuaded you further–not like much was needed– and sped up your pace. faster and faster you went, guzzling him perfectly. with your other hand that gripped his calf, calm to knead at his balls. that was the moment he faltered, unable to withstand your feverish tongue. he had to bite back his own groans of pleasure.

“where?” he demanded of you. you paused, but didn’t take long for your answer. he was holding himself back as much he could, his hips bucking down the hot cavern of your throat, but you didn’t relent. my mouth, your actions screamed, and he didn’t think twice.

before you knew it your mouth was loaded with his cum, hot rods of delectable nectar from him. you were pleased, more than satisfied, that you made him cum in just a matter of minutes.

he pulled himself out of you, letting you breathe. you swallowed, not finding him distasteful, and even showed him your bare tongue. he was panting, attempting his best to catch his breath, but managed a coarse chuckle.

you gave his flaccid cock a singular kiss before you rose to your feet, bringing his shorts and briefs up with you. he adjusted himself before launching his lips on your own. the remnants of him were prominent on your tastebuds as he swirled his tongue into your mouth. you allowed his strength, making a sound from your throat.

“taste like me,” he commented against your lips. you beam.

“must’ve been good, then?” you knew it was. but you wanted to hear it from him.

he snickered. “guess so.”

you slapped his chest before breaking your kiss. you glanced up at him one more time before placing a kiss on his cheek, escaping his grasp. he held onto your hand, though, wondering just where you were going. not when he didn’t have you cumming on his tongue.

“it’s past my bedtime,” you remarked, raising your brows. his own scrunched. “what?”

“let me–”

you shushed him.

“on the house.”

you were gone before he could respond, skipping up the steps, ready to set your plan in motion. he didn’t know what was coming, not yet, but he surely would once you closed the door to your room, and stripped of your clothes.

you left him there pondering. he was entirely at a loss— you skirting away with ease, high tail with that lacey material– and vanished without another word. it had lando breathing heavily, hands running through his hair. shit, he thought, this was bad.

in the bathroom of your suite, you twisted the shower on. whilst waiting for it to heat up, you turned your attention towards the open shaft windows that you could prop open. your room is next to mine, lando’s words rang through your head. okay, you thought, game on, right?

you made sure the windows were open at a respectable distance, praying that his own would be too. he liked the cool breeze from the night, pray tell from his times of sleeping in max’s room in your childhood home.

glancing at yourself in the mirror once, you were betting on this to work. to truly grab his attention, whilst also awarding yourself a release you’d been craving since his fingertips caressed your knee.

into the shower you went, tilting your head back and letting the waterfall drench your scalp. it was relaxing, more than you anticipated, and your mind was able to wander to other things. like his hands. his toned, muscular arms. his neck, built intensely with strength that you’ve never seen before. in certain lights, especially beneath the italian sun, it bulged outward. you wondered what it’d feel like between your thighs. your fingers wandered along your soaked skin, breasts reacting to your touch, taut beneath your palms.

lando had just shut the door to his room, shaking off the sweat that dribbled down his forehead. and his windows were open— the curtains swaying back and forth— and he heard your call.

at first, the british driver thought that he was hallucinating. that he was hearing things from losing it. but there was no denying that it was your sweet siren serenading through the air, wafting against the mediterranean winds.

a moan had been pulled from you by your own hand. your head flat against the tiles of the shower wall, you twisted until your cheek was firm against the siding. one hand came to rest on the base of your throat, gripping for comfort, while the other trailed downward to your navel, priming at your folds.

you were swollen hot, but never to the same degree you were on his lap just the previous night.

it was enough, though, for you to rub against your clit the way you knew your body best. a delicious combination of whimpers and moans trembling through the air.

lando was brought to his fantasies, unbelieving that they were coming alive before him. he leaned against the windows from his room, hand clenching tight around the ledge, and listened to your whining calls, urging him, tempting him, to knock down your fucking door and fuck you like you wanted him.

a finger slid easily inside of you. with both stimulation to your clit and your sensitive nerves inside of you, it was heaven. the hot water combined with your punitive thoughts, tracing back to lando, aroused you to a degree unfathomable to any pleasure you’ve ever felt. besides his fingers, that is.

lando couldn’t resist. his own cock was blistering with heat, again, in just the span of ten minutes. you had just been on his knees for him. now, here you were, a siren within the night, taking him under your bewitching.

and spellcasted he was.

with his dick in his hands, he was dripping. your sounds became louder, prominent, for his open window. and he absorbed every droplet you gave him, a man dehydrated of the world’s most sweet nectar. he was greedy, selfish even, and knew then that he had to be yours. he didn’t give a fuck what max said, thought, cared about this moment. it would belong to him and him alone— your saccharine temper.

he could imagine you there, thinking about just how desperate he was. how you knew what you were doing to him. how he unfolded before your voice.

you were.

you thought of his face. how it contorted with pleasure while you sucked him off. you’d remember the sounds he made— whimpers of desperate, wicked nature— that had you curling your finger inside of you, even becoming so bold as to add a second. it should be criminal to think of your brother’s best friend this way, but that thought came and went just as the tides changed.

lando fisted his cock with the thought of you wrapped around him. hand draped across the ledge of the windowsill, he writhed and seethed from his own daring thoughts of you. your skirt, your pretty eyes, your wondrous nature. he was awed by you, but wanted to damn you to ruin with his touch. it pursued him further, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

surely he wouldn’t, not when he heard his name carry through the air. his name rolling off your tongue. his name in the form of a whimper.

“lando,” you breathed, loud enough to surpass the stream of the water. and your stomach coiled, reaching an orgasm before you could count to three.

lando had, too, spurring loads of his come into his empty hand. it wasn’t an elegant movement— rather messy and untamed— but that’s how it was when it came to you, wasn’t it? nothing was going to be easy about this relationship he conjured up in his head, but for you, though it’d be worthwhile.

you went to bed that night with a sleep full of your wildest, fanatical dreams that included lando. whereas he tossed and turned, unable to believe that the girl he knew in his childhood had him wrought with lust.

the morning that followed was a quiet one. you and the rest of the vacation group of boys were headed out to one of italy’s finest beaches, chartered there by a small boat. you had opted for one of your best bathing suits and cover up pieces, looking outright chic.

when you arrived at the beach, you stuck closely to max’s side. the entire ride, lando had been stealing glances from you, shifting awkwardly in his seat. you had your answer from your plan the previous night. he heard you.

good, you thought, crossing your legs over one another. serves him right.

you’d lay out your towel on the white sand. your brother joined you, laying down a few feet from you along with some of his buddies. lando kept his distance, knowing too fucking well that’d he’d pull some feral shit in front of you and your brother.

some of the others opted for surfing. with their boards ready from the rental shack, they were catching waves with ease. you watched from your upright position, lathering yourself in spf.

“what’dya think of chris?” your brother asked you. you turned your head, wondering what he was implying. chris was one of his good-natured, all classic, sweet boy friends. you’d known him for a good majority of your life, but never…really thought of him.

“he’s a good guy.”

lando was sitting up now. listening.

“well,” max shrugged, taking your nonchalant answer with grace. “asked me if it was okay to give him your number. think he fancies you.”

your expression dropped. chris fancied you? in what universe could he, when he couldn’t even manage a conversation with you. you weren’t even sure he could ever muster the courage to look you in the eye, for that matter.

“and…what did you say?”

max looked at you with his sunglasses on. you saw your reflection in them.

“think it’s fine. ‘e’s a good lad. nice. well-mannered.” he emphasized his last point. was that a jab at your previous boyfriends? “besides…i wanna see you happy.”

it was touching, truly, that your brother cared for you on such a protective level, but you didn’t need him meddling with your romantic life. not when the man who consumed your sexual thoughts sat a few bodies next to you.

your eyes drifted to find lando’s. he was already glaring, sending sharp daggers your direction. he heard it all, and was about to combust with jealousy. you could see it. you’d use it.

“maybe.” you brushed it off, but found chris in the waters. he was just coming out from the sea, and you thought this was your perfect opportunity.

you jumped to your feet, sunglasses on, and tore your cover up from your body. you didn’t look back to know what lando’s expression was— worshiping.

chris’ head popped up when he saw you approaching him. he shifted a bit, as if he were preening his feathers.

“catch any good ones?” you asked, your feet touching the water. chris cleared his throat.

“some,” he gestured to the large waves. “current is strong today.”

you edged further into the water until your knees were covered.

“you looked good out there, at least i think so.” you managed a smile, not entirely opposed to his company. your brother had been right. he is a nice lad. you should at least build a friendship with him, shouldn’t you?

“really?” he was shocked. “you were watching?”

you nodded with a hum, and continued further out into the blue waters. chris took this as an invitation and dropped his board high up on the sand and followed you in. he wasn’t as built as lando was, but you shouldn’t even be making the comparisons.

you stopped when the water was just beneath your breasts. water seeped in through your top, and you noticed that chris’ eyes caught on the fabric. typical.

“what do you do for work, then? are you a student?” you managed a brief conversation with him. chris met you at your side.

“business student in scotland,” he confirmed, but he wasn’t all cocky about it. you thought that he’d boast, but he didn’t. “yourself?”

you told him your plans. he was impressed that you’d accomplished so much at your age.

and your conversation with him went on, but not without the darkness of lando’s envy over your shoulder. you’d taken a few glances over chris’ shoulder to see his reddened expression, watching the pair of you share a few laughs.

he wanted this day to be fucking over. he wanted you in his bed. and he would have it one way or another— whatever it takes.

arriving back to the villa that evening, your brother and his friends wanted to go out clubbing. it was around 8pm and the sun was beginning to set, though you didn’t feel like a night out. the sun had gotten to you, and you were rather tired.

“you’re sure you don’t wanna go?” max asked you in the foyer, waiting for the rest of his band to go along.

“i’m sure. besides, i could use a night in.” your brother respected your choice and didn’t push you further. before he left with his friends, he did turn and leave you with one comment.

“lando’s here, too, in case you need anything.”

and then he was gone, tailending with chris flashing you a smile.

shit.

shit, shit, shit. you knew you were in for it now. there was no way that you’d escape lando for the evening, unsure how he caught notice that you’d be staying in for the night.

when the door shut and the house was empty, you raced up to your room. you’d worn a floor length slip dress when you’d gotten home, but wanted to change and lock yourself in for the rest of the night. but your situation changed drastically when you reached the first step, and saw lando leaning against the staircase from the top.

“just you and me, yeah?”

you gulped, taking a few steps back. he looked furious yet unbothered at the same time.

“what to do, what to do…” he began to saunter down the steps when you moved back. “in this big, empty house…?”

he trailed after you all the way until you were on the balcony. he slipped out from the sliding door, watching as you were frantically nervous in his presence. you had no idea what he was thinking, watching you all day flirt with chris.

your back was against the stone balustrade, hands spread wide to support yourself. your heart was racing, but you wouldn’t let him see that. wouldn’t show him the effect he had.

lando wore a black ln4 shirt from his collection, along with tan sweatpants. it was an understatement to say he didn’t look fucking good.

he donned a cocky smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you, leaning into your space. you felt his breath on your cheek.

“he’s a good lad, innhe?”

you met his eye— his blue, green eyes that were swarmed with a darkness you didn’t believe him capable of.

“he’s nice.” you said, referring to chris. because he was. he was respectful.

“‘he’s nice.’” lando mocked, scoffing. he turned his head to the side to look over your shoulder to the coastline that surrounded the villa.

“yes, he’s nice.” you bit back, brows furrowing. “more than i can say for you.”

lando’s expression froze, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightened as he processed your words, foot tapping against the stone.

“yeah? you don’t think i’m good to you?”

whatever this was…you loved it. you craved him. needed him. there was a zing of electricity that ran down your spine, electrifying your cunt. your thighs tightened together and you shrugged, playing him off the best that you could.

he tsked, tilting your chin to meet his eyes with his index finger. “we’ll see.”

and then his lips were on yours. ravaging. starving. he was a man that has been deprived of you for far too long— twenty four hours— without your touch. it was maddening the way he was obsessed with you. how you infested every corner of his mind. you, you, and more you.

you succumbed to his kiss with ease, your tongues battling between one another. he tasted of espresso, whereas you tasted of the apple liquor from the boat.

he won, ultimately, a hand coming to wrap around the back of your neck. your own latched to his shoulders, another going for his hair. you tugged on the strands, eliciting a groan from him that you wished to hear over and over, time and time again. you were sure that you would, not daring to ever let him go. you had him surrounded.

his tongue lathered over yours, dripping saliva down your chin. it was messy, intangibly so, but you’d have him no other way. you wanted him like this, uncontrolled, pining, for your affections. you had him in the place you wanted, and he had more in store for you.

he broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting the pair of you. your eyes heavy with desire, his own mirroring the same. his kisses traveled to your jaw, your throat— but he sucked feverishly against the skin, surely to leave bruises. you gasped when you felt his teeth puncture through the top layer of your skin. “marks—”

you reminded him, but he didn’t care.

“fuck what they think.”

you melted where you stood. his hand came to wrap around your lower back, angling your hips to brush against his. he was already hard, you could feel it, but you were sure that you were dribbling too.

his relentless pursuit of your neck didn’t end there. when he met the fabric of your dress, he pulled the straps down with ease, your breasts falling free. he ogled at your mounds, saliva dripping from his chin. it was, perhaps, the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. not the waterfalls of france, not the cascades of lake como— but this, right here— lando norris drooling on your chest.

“what would you do with ‘nice’?” he mumbled into your skin, attacking one of your perked nipples with his tongue. you gasped, biting your lip to retain a moan.

“he could treat me well,” you seethed through clenched teeth, gripping the strands of his brunette curls. you felt him vibrate with a hum.

“you’d eat him alive.” he chuckled, switching to your other nipple that was blistering with heat. your entire body radiated like the sun, but did no good beneath the moonlight. “what would he do—” a nip of his teeth against your nipple, you jolted, hips bucking forward with an anxious pension for friction. “with all of this?”

you were at a loss for words, drowning in his sweetness.

“let it go to waste…” lando dropped to his knees with a hand still firm on your back, the other raising the hem of your dress. he tsked, cheek flattening out against your thighs. he separated them with the strength of his neck, looking up at you from the bundled fabric. “a shame.”

you agreed mercilessly, nodding your head with a whimper. it elicited a laugh from him.

with a singular finger he pulled down your panties. the cotton was thin, as if you knew this would happen. they slid down your legs and you kicked them away.

your hand was still threaded at the base of his neck, continuing to tug at his strands. it’s how you told him you needed him, but that wouldn’t be enough. not for lando.

“what do you want?” he asked, looking up at you from his seated position, face wedged between your legs. you gaped at him, breathless and flushed.

“your mouth—” you pant, but before you could finish he licked a long stripe down your folds. “god, fuck—”

“not god,” lando corrected. “just me, baby.”

“lando, lando…!” you whined, back arching for a better angle for him to reach. he responded, humming against your clit, sending throttling vibrations up your navel. he was so fucking good. how? how could a man treat you in such a way?

finding your writhing adorable, he finally let his tongue swipe past your entrance. the sensation was indescribable, but you knew that you needed more. and more he was willing to give, burying his face into your cunt.

your honeyed cunt that he was addicted to. he knew you’d taste like heaven, but this was all the more holy than he could fathom.

with his face buried inside of you, you were sure to see stars. here, beneath the moonlight of the italian villa, you were ethereal. he could steal glances up at you. your contorting face, toiling with passion. passion that he drank from the source, sucking you dry.

his nose applied pressure to your clit— the perfect combination— and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. not with his jean paul scent invaded your senses, his thick hands cupping you so perfectly. one hand kneaded at the flesh of your thigh, the other swirling circles on your lower back. it was perfect. he’s perfect.

“please, please,” you didn’t know what you were begging for.

lando hummed, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue. he curled inside of you, teetering you upon your edge, and you were just about to let loose when he pulled his head away, leaving you trembling.

he stood with ease, as if he wasn’t just devouring you, and you reached out for his hand. you were about to reach the peak of a mind blowing orgasm, but he denied you. with your hand wrapped around his, he knew how this would end. his lips came to your ear.

“you were right,” he huffed. you felt his retentive anger. “don’t know if i’m nice.”

he tugged you along through the house, hand upon your back steading your shaking stance. too impatient to help you up the steps, he swooped you into his arms bridal style. you gasped with a giggle, reflexive from his actions, and he burst open the door to his room with his shoulder.

he dropped you onto his bed, ripping off his shirt in the process you propped yourself up on your elbows, gaping clearly at his tanned, toned skin. he smirked down at you, coming to hover above, and stripped the dress clean from your body. before him, you were bare, naked, more exposed than you've ever been with your brother’s best friend.

you went to cover your chest, clamp your thighs shut, but lando refused. he trapped your wrists above your head, knee coming to separate your legs. you wiggled your hips hopelessly for friction, still wading heavy on your lost orgasm, but he didn’t let you graze his thigh.

“you’re being mean,” you whined, attempting to twist out of his hold. but you didn’t prevail.

lando’s lips met yours with a kiss of depravity. he pulled away, but you chased him, your head leveraging from the bed.

“am i?”

one hand left the hold on your wrists to touch your cunt. you were dripping down your thighs. he brought his fingers to his lips, wiping them clean.

“think you like it, love.”

you hissed when he took his hand from you, but relaxed when he kneaded one of your breasts. he was in utter reverence of your body, your beauty. you eclipsed all things that shined bright in his life, you becoming the epicenter.

his pants were off in the next second, thrown to the corner of his room. his briefs, too, and his cock danced freely from its entrapment. your mouth watered.

“this what you need?” his tip teased your entrance. your eyes rolled back into your head with a frenzied nod. “yeah? think you can take it?”

“yes, yes! i can, i can, please lando…” your hand latched around the back of his neck, the other to his shoulder.

it didn’t take him much convincing to surge forward, agonizingly slow, until he has inside of you. you choked on your breath, the air ripped right from you lungs with how he stretched you. it was alike no pleasure you’ve felt— his fingers, his tongue, all works of mastery— but you feared that nothing could compare to this. not when his hand around your breasts drop to your cunt, rubbing voracious circles against your clit.

he let you adjust, waiting until you shook your hips from side to side, and bottomed out. it was surreal how you ended up here. but you wouldn’t go back. not for a second. not when his dick inside of you ripped through you with such passion, such love, you were inclined to imagine.

lando’s own breaths were wild. erratic. he had to halt himself from slamming inside of you, your tightening, wet walls gleaning him of any morals he had come into this villa with.

“move,” you urged him, breaking him free of this torment. his eyes flared wide. “need you to move.”

need

such an all encompassing word that would drive him mad.

he listened to you without hesitation. his hips slapping in and out of you with a heavy, dangerous pace, he never wanted this moment to end. it would feel like this every time he fucked you— the first, starstruck time— and that would be enough for him to lay to rest in an early grave.

both of you were a mess of moans, sounds of skin on skin echoing through his bedroom. the moonlight casted a white haze upon the pair of you, your eyes shimmering in the reflection. he was lost in it, in you, how seraphic you’d become in just the few days he’d been around you. how undone he became. he was a lost cause the minute you made a jest to him at the dinner table.

his chest lowered to yours for a better, sweeter, angle and it had you screaming. your nails cut through his back, leaving reddened scratches against his tanned, freckled skin. he loved it. it had his pace quickening, and his hand working harder at your clit. you were close, he could feel it.

feeling the way you began to tighten around him, how you became barely lucid beneath him. “so good,” you mewled, finding no other words but to praise him.

“nothing compares,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck. “you’ll be mine then, yeah?”

your heart surged in your chest, but your breathing remained the same. you were too fucked out to truly resonate the meaning behind his words.

“yours, yours,” you repeated over and over until you were sent over the edge. you screamed his name, cutting through the air, cutting through him. he was left a sopping mess with his quivering hips, sloppy pace. you knew he was going to cum, too, when his teeth grinded together, and he let out a guttural moan. it churned your insides, swishing your heart through.

he came inside of you. you felt it, the heat from his cock. but he made no effort to move. you didn’t want him to.

the pair of you laid atop one another in his dark room. panting. catching your breaths. in unison your hearts would align. sweaty bodies melting against each other.

his head was buried deep into your neck, breathing you in. you soothed him, just as much as you riled him to no end.

“did you mean it?” you asked, voice hoarse.

lando hummed.

“about us.”

you felt his teeth break into a smile against your skin. he raised his head to look at you. “i did.” your breath caught in your throat. “don’t give a shit what max’ll say. we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

you nodded in agreement. your brother would simply have to deal with this. he’d get over it in time, you’re sure, and it would be the best for both of you. no longer would you yearn at a distance for a man you thought didn’t spare you a second glance. no longer would you dream of this moment materializing before you. it had become a reality, and there was nothing more that you could be grateful for.

he wanted you. lando wanted you. and you wanted him the same. it was one of the first times in your life that you felt safe. comforted in a newborn relationship.

it wasn’t long before lando pulled the covers of his sheets over the two of you, holding you tight as you shifted into the shape of his body. you were a perfect fit, a missing puzzle piece that he’s been searching years for.

and now you were here, sleeping soundly in his arms.

lando had found sleep, too, his soft snores carrying through the room. you and him paid no attention to the fact you were sharing a bed. if anyone walked in, then they walked in. you were at peace, and that was enough.

sooner rather than later, the party-goers for the evening arrived home. they attempted their best to be quiet at such an odd hour, and decided to retire. max and chris went out to the balcony, however, and decided for a small chat.

but before that could even commence, chris noticed a piece of black fabric loose on the patio. he stared at it from above, brows raised.

“mate,” he called max over. he met him at his side.

“this yours?” he pointed down at it, and his face went ghastly white. no fucking way.

“motherfucker.”

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @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

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i-smoke-chapstick · 3 months ago

Note

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

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