#he said something about message from PR before he said the last part

[maxielonceagain]

Maxy ❤️

”Can have a little fun in life, don't take everything so serious”

[pucksandpower]

Pollinated

Day 11 → Sex Pollen 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content and dubious consent

Kinktober Masterlist

“You’ve got a stack waiting for you.” Alan leans on the edge of your desk, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He’s holding a bundle of envelopes, some thick with scribbled messages, some thin and printed with clean, crisp fonts.

Your PR officer’s eyebrows raise in mock exasperation as he shakes them at you. “How do you even have time to race with all these fans wanting a piece of you?”

You grin, setting down your coffee and wiping your hands on your pants. “That’s the problem of being so popular, Alan. It’s a curse, really.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a real burden. Everyone loving you.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

He drops the stack in front of you with a soft thud. “Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” His tone is teasing, but you catch the flicker of something more serious underneath, like he’s reminding you there’s more work to be done after this.

You roll your eyes as he walks off. You love this part of your day — the letters, the drawings, the fan art from kids who see something in you that makes them believe they can be here too. They’re always so personal, full of energy, like they’re rooting for you from their living rooms or school desks.

You flick through the pile, reading the familiar opening lines. Dear Y/N, you’re such an inspiration or I love watching you race! Your heart lifts as you come across a brightly colored drawing from a girl named Chloe, of you standing on a podium, arms raised in victory. It makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt a little. You can practically hear the little girl’s voice, excitedly telling her parents, “That’s gonna be me one day.”

“This is what it’s about,” you mutter under your breath, running your fingers over the crayon marks.

More letters. More words of encouragement. A scribbled note from a group of university students who drove twelve hours just to see you race last season. A letter from an older woman who says she’s been watching F1 since her husband introduced her to it in the ‘70s and how proud she is to see a woman making waves. You pause at that one, your chest swelling. You’ll have to write her back.

You reach for the next envelope, a bit plainer than the others. No stickers, no hand-drawn doodles in the margins. It’s simple, just your name written on the front in neat black ink. Your gut tugs slightly, but you brush it off. Not every fan is an artist.

You open it, pulling out a card with a printed picture of a car on the front. Your car. You smile, flipping it open to read the message inside.

But your smile fades as you start to read.

You don’t belong here.

The words are bold, black, and stark against the white paper. They stand out like a punch to the gut, each line colder and more hateful than the last. The handwriting is meticulous, like whoever wrote it wanted to be sure you’d understand every word.

Women like you are ruining the sport.

Your throat tightens. Your fingers grip the edges of the card a little harder than before, the edges bending under the pressure.

Go back to doing what you’re good at: nothing.

You try to swallow, but it feels like there’s a knot lodged in your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve seen something like this. Hell, it’s not even the worst thing anyone’s said. But right now, it’s too sharp, too specific, too venomous.

You reach up to close the card, your hand trembling slightly. But before you can fully shut it, something catches your eye — a tiny puff of fine yellow powder shoots from the fold, drifting into the air in front of you.

“What the-” You blink, confused for a split second.

Then, it hits.

A burning sensation spreads through your throat and nose. Your skin tingles, a wave of heat rushing over your face. You gasp, trying to catch your breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling fire. Panic spikes as your vision blurs.

“Alan!” The name barely makes it past your lips before you feel your legs give way beneath you.

“Alan!” You try again, but it comes out weaker this time. Your limbs feel heavy, your chest tight, and the room starts to spin in slow, nauseating circles.

Footsteps pound across the floor. Alan’s voice sounds far away, muffled, like he’s underwater. You catch a glimpse of him sprinting toward you, his face pale, eyes wide. “Y/N?”

Your body jerks uncontrollably, a violent shudder running through you. The room twists, everything turning hazy as you hit the floor hard, your fingers twitching against the cool tile.

“What the hell — Y/N!” Alan’s panic is sharp now, cutting through the fog. You can barely see him through the haze clouding your vision, but you feel him grab your shoulders, shaking you gently.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear bleeding through the edges.

Your entire body seizes again, every muscle clamping down painfully. A sharp cry escapes your throat as the convulsions take over, uncontrollable now.

“Help! Somebody, help!” Alan’s voice is frantic, desperate, echoing through the room as the world starts to fade. His hands are on your face now, trying to keep you conscious. You feel his fingers trembling against your skin, hear the panic rising in his voice as he keeps shouting for help.

But you’re slipping, sinking deeper into the darkness as the convulsions wrack your body. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

Alan’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

***

The world returns slowly, like surfacing from a deep dive. There’s a ringing in your ears, muffled voices blending into the constant hum of machinery. Your body feels like it’s on fire — each nerve sizzling under your skin, radiating heat. You try to move, but it’s as if you’re bound by weights. The sheets beneath you cling to your body, too warm, too tight, too much.

Someone’s talking nearby, but it’s distant, warped. You can’t make out the words yet. Everything feels heavy — your eyelids, your chest, even your breathing. Your mouth is dry, your tongue like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.

Slowly, the fog begins to clear, and you catch fragments of conversation.

“… highly illegal substance …” A voice, crisp and professional, filters through. The doctor. “… extreme toxicity … very few cases on record …”

You try to focus, but the burning sensation inside you only intensifies. It’s everywhere — your limbs, your core, your mind. Like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You manage a groan, the sound barely escaping your lips.

“She’s waking up,” someone says, closer now. Alan? It sounds like him, but there’s a hitch in his usually confident voice. Panic.

Your eyelids flutter open, and the room comes into blurry focus. Harsh fluorescent lights. Sterile white walls. The sterile smell of antiseptic clogs your senses, a sharp contrast to the heat still coursing through you. You blink slowly, your vision sharpening enough to see Alan standing by your bedside, pale and jittery, his hand running through his hair in nervous strokes.

Across from him is the doctor, his white coat stiff and immaculate. He’s holding a clipboard, and his face is a mask of concern. When he speaks, it feels like each word takes a lifetime to process.

“… the substance she was exposed to … it’s not just any powder,” the doctor is saying, his voice measured but grim. “It’s a synthetic pollen derivative, known as Lust Dust on the black market.”

Lust Dust. The words sink into you, but you don’t recognize them. Your throat feels too tight to ask for clarification. Alan, however, doesn’t hesitate.

“What does that mean? What the hell is that?” Alan’s voice is raw, frayed at the edges.

The doctor sighs, flipping through the notes on his clipboard before answering. “It’s an extremely illegal bio-weapon, developed underground. It was used in several isolated attacks a few years ago, mostly in war zones. The symptoms … well, they’re brutal.”

You don’t like the sound of this. Brutal. Illegal. Bio-weapon. The words swirl around in your head, each one setting off alarm bells, but you can barely move enough to react. You just lie there, heat pulsing through you, your body screaming in agony.

“The pollen attacks the body’s nervous system,” the doctor continues, his tone clinical. “It acts as a stimulant, targeting primal instincts, heightening … certain responses. The most dangerous part is that, if untreated, the body will burn out within hours.”

“Burn out?” Alan echoes, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean? You mean … she’ll die?”

“Yes,” the doctor replies, his tone darkening. “In most cases, without intervention, the victim’s body will shut down. It’s a highly sexualized toxin. The only way to counteract the effects is through physical release.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. The words hover in the air, sinking into the room with a weight you can almost feel. Your heart races, your mind struggling to comprehend what’s being said. Physical release? The burning sensation in your body intensifies, like it’s reacting to the very idea of what the doctor’s suggesting.

Alan’s face pales further, his hand gripping the back of his neck in horror. “Wait, are you — are you saying she has to-”

“Sex,” the doctor says bluntly, not sugar-coating anything. “Yes. If she doesn’t have sex soon, she will die. The sooner, the better, to mitigate the damage the pollen’s already caused.”

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, despite the unbearable heat raging inside you. The fire in your veins is consuming everything, twisting the doctor’s words into cruel irony. This can’t be happening. Not this.

“I … I …“ Alan stammers, clearly at a loss, his eyes flicking to you, desperate and terrified. “There’s got to be another way. Medicine? A procedure? Something?”

The doctor shakes his head. “There’s no antidote. The only option is the one I’ve given you.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. But you can’t do anything except lie there, burning from the inside out, unable to stop the panic surging through you as the realization sinks in.

Alan takes a shaky breath. “What … what do we do now?”

The doctor straightens, his voice calm but commanding. “The most important thing is finding someone who’s willing to … assist.”

Alan’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can say anything, the door bursts open and several members of your team file into the room — engineers, mechanics, staff. Their faces are tight with concern, and they crowd into the small space, murmuring amongst themselves.

“What happened?” Someone asks, their voice tense.

Alan quickly explains, his voice shaking as he goes over the details. The pollen. The bio-weapon. The need for “intervention.” Every word makes your heart pound harder, and you can feel the collective shock ripple through the room as the reality of the situation sets in.

“She needs someone,” Alan says, his voice thick with emotion. “She needs someone to …”

He can’t even finish the sentence.

The room falls into stunned silence. You can hear the soft hum of the machines around you, the ragged breathing of the people in the room. It feels like time has stopped, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

Then, the whispers start.

“I’ll do it,” someone mutters.

“No, I will,” another voice pipes up. You recognize it as one of the engineers, his voice shaky but sincere.

“I mean, she’s our driver, right? We have to help.”

More voices chime in, each one offering, each one willing. The panic in the room turns to a frantic eagerness, as though everyone suddenly realizes what’s at stake. You can barely comprehend it — the idea that your team, your colleagues, are discussing this as though it’s just another task, something to be done to save your life.

Your mind is spinning, your body trembling with the heat still coursing through you. You want to shout at them, tell them to stop, that this isn’t how things should be. But you can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is listen as the conversation grows more chaotic, more desperate.

Then, the door opens again, and a new voice cuts through the noise.

“Everyone out.”

It’s Max.

The room falls silent instantly, every head turning toward him. He stands in the doorway, his face hard and set, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity you’ve never seen before. He looks around the room, his gaze sharp, taking in the faces of your teammates, the panic, the confusion.

“I said out,” Max repeats, his voice calm but firm.

No one moves at first, too shocked to respond. But then one by one, they start to file out, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as they leave the room. You hear Alan hesitate for a moment, but even he doesn’t argue. The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone with Max.

You’re too weak to turn your head, but you can hear him walk closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He doesn’t speak right away, and the silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your condition.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Max’s voice fills the room. “It’s going to be me.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“No one else is touching you,” he says, his tone low, steady. “I’m your teammate. I’m the one who’s going to help you. Not them.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the resolve in his voice, the determination. He’s not offering. He’s deciding. There’s no question, no hesitation. It’s going to be him, and no one else.

And as the burning inside you flares again, you realize that part of you is grateful.

***

The air between you and Max is thick with tension, the kind that crackles in the silence, heavy with unspoken words. You lie there, your body still ablaze, the fire under your skin pulsing in waves, but something about his presence — steady, resolute — grounds you, if only just. You can’t move, can barely speak, but your mind races, half-paralyzed with the agony of the pollen and half with the strange anticipation of what’s to come.

Max stands beside the bed, his face framed by the fluorescent lights above, casting shadows that sharpen his features. He doesn’t look afraid, though you can tell there’s something behind his eyes — something that trembles just beneath the surface. His gaze locks onto yours, and it feels like he’s looking past the pain, past the situation, to something deeper.

“This isn’t how I imagined …“ His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, as though the words aren’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours, tentative at first, like he’s asking permission for what’s about to happen.

You want to respond, to say something, but your throat is too tight, too raw, the burning heat still tearing through you. You manage the faintest of nods, your hand twitching against his, and that’s all he needs.

Max leans over, his face close to yours now, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand trails gently down your arm, his touch soft, careful. “I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “We’ll get through this.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in that same quiet, tender voice, he adds, “Schatje … you’re so strong.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and despite everything — despite the fire tearing you apart from the inside out — it brings a strange, aching warmth to your chest. Max has never called you that before. The intimacy of it catches you off guard, though you don’t have the strength to dwell on it for long.

His hands move lower now, brushing across your skin with reverence, as though you might break under his touch. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You don’t deserve this,” Max whispers, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice cracks ever so slightly, betraying the calm façade he’s trying to maintain. “I’ve … I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits softly, his words a confession, raw and vulnerable. “But not like this. Never like this.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the feel of his hands on your body, the way he’s handling you with such care, as though he’s afraid of hurting you. And somehow, through the pain, you manage to relax just enough to let him in. Just enough to let him take some of the weight from you.

He presses his lips to your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, and you can feel the tremble in his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the burning inside you dims, replaced by something else. Something warm, and tender, and utterly consuming. Max moves with purpose now, his touch becoming more sure, more confident, but never losing that careful tenderness. He’s cooing to you, whispering soft praises in Dutch, his voice like a balm against the fire raging inside you.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Max admits again, his words spilling out like he can’t hold them back any longer. “For so long. I just … I didn’t know how to tell you.”

His hands continue their journey, and despite the circumstances, despite the fire still licking at your insides, your body responds. Every touch feels magnified, every brush of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something deeper through you, something primal and desperate and… needed.

“You’re so strong,” he says again, his voice reverent, almost in awe. “So perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”

Your body trembles beneath him, not just from the fire that’s still coursing through you, but from the way he’s touching you, the way his words wrap around you like a soft embrace. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected, the vulnerability of the moment stripping away any pretense, any barriers you might have once had.

“I’m here, liefje,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear now. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You don’t know how he manages it, how he makes something so painful feel like this, but he does. His hands are everywhere, soothing the burn, coaxing your body to relax, to give in to what you need. And with every touch, every whispered endearment, the fire inside you dims, just a little, just enough to let you breathe.

“I wish it was different,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion now. “I wish this was … just us. Not because of this. Not because of …“ His words trail off, but you understand. You understand perfectly.

He presses his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged, his body tense with the effort of keeping himself composed. “But I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, his voice fierce with determination. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Your body reacts to him instinctively now, every nerve ending lighting up in response to his touch, the fire inside you blazing hotter but in a way that feels … different. Less painful. More like an ache, a deep, desperate need that only he can fill.

“Max …“ you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse, barely audible. It’s the first word you’ve spoken since waking up, and it feels like a release, like a crack in the wall you’ve built around yourself. He hears it, though, and his gaze softens, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “I’ve always got you.”

His movements quicken, and you can feel yourself spiraling, the fire inside you building to a crescendo, but this time it’s not just pain. It’s something more, something overwhelming and all-consuming. You can feel him with you, guiding you, coaxing you toward the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again, his voice breathless now, his own control slipping. “I’ve wanted you for so long …“

His words send you tumbling over the edge, your body convulsing in a wave of pleasure so intense it nearly takes your breath away. The fire beneath your skin peaks, then suddenly, blessedly, begins to recede. It’s like the flames are being extinguished, one by one, leaving only warmth in their wake.

And Max is there, holding you through it, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move.

As the last of the fire dies down, as your body finally begins to relax, you hear him whisper, so softly you almost miss it.

“I love you.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, unguarded and raw, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The room, the pain, the circumstances that brought you here — it all disappears, leaving only the two of you, tangled together, vulnerable and exposed.

You’re too weak to respond, too exhausted from everything that’s just happened, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach.

“I love you,” he whispers again, like he’s afraid you didn’t hear him the first time. “I’ve always loved you.”

His confession hangs in the air, delicate and fragile, but it feels right. Like it’s been waiting to be said all along.

As the fire beneath your skin finally dies out completely, as your body settles into a state of calm for the first time in hours, you let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, his warmth the only thing keeping the remnants of the fire at bay.

Max doesn’t let go. Not for a long time. And you don’t want him to.

***

Max holds you close, his body pressed against yours, his breath still coming in shallow bursts as the two of you lie in a tangled heap on the bed. The burning fire that had been searing through your body has finally been extinguished, leaving only a lingering warmth that feels manageable now.

But even though the pain is gone, even though your body has found relief, there’s still something… unfinished. A strange, restless feeling that hums beneath your skin, an ache that begs for more.

Max is quiet beside you, his hand brushing gently through your hair as he watches your face, his expression soft but intent, like he’s still worried, still waiting for some sign that you’re okay. But you can see it in his eyes — he knows. He knows it’s not over yet.

You shift beneath him, the subtle movement sending a ripple of sensation through you, and your breath hitches involuntarily. The fire is gone, but that need, that craving — it’s still there, simmering just below the surface. It’s not the urgent, desperate heat of the pollen, but it’s undeniable.

Max’s gaze sharpens, reading the subtle cues in your body. His hand stills in your hair, and you feel him shift beside you, his body tensing slightly as he watches you, waiting for you to say something, to ask for what you need.

You don’t have to.

“Oh liefje,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You still need more, don’t you?”

Your throat tightens, and you nod, unable to form the words. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — understanding, maybe, or something deeper. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He already knows.

Max’s hand trails down your body, his touch feather-light, and it sends a shiver through you, your body responding to him instantly. He presses a kiss to your temple, then to your jaw, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I’m here,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Whatever you need.”

His lips travel lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and you arch into him, your body aching for more. He moves slowly, deliberately, savoring each touch, each kiss, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips when he moves lower still, his mouth brushing against your collarbone. He’s taking his time, drawing this out, making sure every second is filled with pleasure, with tenderness. There’s no urgency now, no frantic need to cure the fire. This is something else — something deliberate, something intimate.

Max’s hands slide down your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs as he lowers himself down the bed. His mouth follows the path his hands have carved, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing, as he moves lower, kissing across your stomach with slow, deliberate care.

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers tangle in the sheets, gripping them tightly as you fight to keep your composure, but Max makes it impossible. His lips are everywhere, soft and warm and completely unrelenting.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t think you even realize …”

His words send a thrill through you, and your breath catches as his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips. He presses a kiss to your navel, and you feel the heat pooling deep inside you, the need building again, stronger this time, more insistent.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you. He always hears you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers back, his voice soft, reassuring. “Just relax.”

You try, but it’s impossible with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s kissing you, like every part of you deserves his undivided attention. He’s worshiping you with every movement, and it’s almost too much to bear.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs, and your breath stutters as he spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark with want as he looks up at you. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he presses a kiss just below the dip of your waist, teasing you, making you wait.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Do you know that?”

You can’t respond, can’t do anything but arch into him, desperate for more. He knows exactly what you need, and he’s giving it to you slowly, carefully, savoring every moment.

Max’s hands grasp your thighs, and he pulls them apart slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something in his gaze — something raw, something vulnerable. He’s giving himself to you completely, just as much as you’re giving yourself to him.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there, and your entire body shudders in response. Every nerve is on fire again, but this time it’s not the cruel burn of the pollen.

This is different. This is Max.

He pauses for a moment, his lips hovering just above where you need him most, and he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You can’t form the words. All you can do is nod, your body trembling beneath him.

Max smiles, a small, almost shy smile, and then he lowers his head, his mouth finally, blessedly, on you. The sensation is immediate, intense, and you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as he works you with a precision that only he seems to know. His tongue moves slowly at first, teasing you, drawing out your pleasure, but it doesn’t take long for him to find the rhythm that makes your entire body sing.

He’s relentless, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, driving you higher and higher until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you’re sure you’re going to break.

“Max!” You gasp, your body arching off the bed. “Please …”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. If anything, he goes faster, his tongue working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. You’re so close, so impossibly close, and he knows it.

“That’s it,” he whispers against you, his voice thick with need. “Let go, schatje. I’ve got you.”

And then, with one last flick of his tongue, you’re gone, tumbling over the edge into a wave of pleasure so intense it almost hurts. Your entire body convulses, your vision going white as you fall apart beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly they burn.

Max doesn’t let up, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re nothing but a trembling, panting mess. When he finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your body slick with sweat, your heart racing in your chest.

He crawls back up the bed, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he goes, his hands soothing over your trembling limbs. When he finally reaches your face, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing your hair back from your face.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft, reassuring. “You’re okay.”

You can barely nod, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. Max pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back as you come down from the high. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.

For a moment, everything is still. Quiet. Perfect.

And then, just as your breathing begins to slow, the door creaks open.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable as he takes in the sight of you and Max — sweaty, tangled together, your bodies still humming with the afterglow. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at his clipboard, then back at you.

“Well,” he says after a moment, his tone entirely too clinical for the situation. “It appears the cure has been administered.”

Max stiffens beside you, but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice — or care. He simply jots down a few notes on his clipboard, his pen scratching loudly in the silence.

“Residual effects of heightened libido may persist,” the doctor adds, almost as an afterthought. He glances up from his notes, his gaze flicking between you and Max, then nods, satisfied. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

And with that, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you and Max in stunned silence.

Max lets out a breath, a low, incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Did he seriously just …”

You nod, still too dazed to form a coherent response.

Max shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Well, I guess we’re not done yet.”

And with the way your body still hums with need, you know he’s right.

[fairene]

one of your girls / ln4, part two

lando norrisxfem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

part one

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

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

wc ⋯ 13.7k (unedited!)

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

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

each other. 

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

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

but not for him. 

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

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

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

you did this to yourself. 

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

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

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

‘you’re too sweet,’ 

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

his favorite girl. his girl. 

“she’s here.” 

what? 

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

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

you looked…

happy. 

he…

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

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

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

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

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

rebecca stared at you expectedly. 

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

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

him? him? oh, fuck, here we go. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

did you expect him to? 

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

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

“uh oh.” 

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

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

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

but he didn’t stop to look at you. 

you didn’t either. 

but your hands–

god your hands

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

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

you dared him to.

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

fuck him.

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

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

“nothing.” 

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

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

you had thought about it. you really did. 

but you couldn’t. 

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

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

lando

you hesitated. 

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

“what?” 

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

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

“neither did i.” 

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

you were confused by the question. “yes.” 

“can i see you?” 

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

you could practically feel him wince through the phone. 

“please.”

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

“okay.”

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

“610.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“did you run here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“like what?”

you scoffed. 

“like you’re in love with me.” 

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

“i wanted to see you.” 

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

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

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

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

“lando, what–”

“i’m sorry.” 

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

“what–?”

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

“why now?”

he perked up, wondering what you meant. 

“why, now, are you sorry?” 

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

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

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

“really?”

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

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

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

you felt his hands tense against your hips. 

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

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

he was confused. again. 

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

“one of your girls.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he wiped the tears from your cheeks. 

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

you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. 

“you have to.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

you thought he was going to kiss you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

it couldn’t be for nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fuck. you missed the feeling of that stubble. 

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

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

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

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

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

you were across in the pitlane observing the car, arms folded over your chest. that fucking guy’s hand rested on the upper part of your back, rolling soft circles with the pads of his fingers. he clenched the rim of his helmet in his hands. his teeth grinded inside his mouth, sawing down the enamel. for you, he’d have no teeth. for you were the only world he wished to bite, and even then you starved him of it. 

“y’alright, mate?” oscar’s voice interrupted his thoughts. lando broke his stare from the pair of you, ripping his eyes away. 

but you had turned, then, and let your eyes linger on his back.

“fine.” 

that evening was no different than any other. for lando, at least, he succumbed to his hotel room for the night. he had no interest in going out. if he saw you with that spanish prick, he’d only lose himself even more. the guilt of losing you had been overturning, divulging into what a psychologist would declare as madness. 

but you were the opposite. you were out on the town, clubbing with rebecca and raphael. carlos was there, too, but was saving his energy for the race tomorrow. he held no drink in his hand, but you did. you were downing shot after shot. 

you were swaying your hips, grinding against raphael with a steady pace. he was into it. his dick was aggressively hard against the back side of your dress, but you weren’t scared by it. it enticed you further, in fact, and had you drawing new sensations of pleasure through you.

finally, you thought, a break from him. from lando. but the voices echoed inside the back of your mind. it bounced off the walls; he couldn’t compare. 

lando would have his hands drawing up the sides of your body. fingertips scathing the fabric of your dress, teasing touches that would have you writhing in his hold, desperate for him to fuck you in the back. 

lando would have his face nuzzled into your neck whispering bittersweet praises into your ear. he’d squeeze your hips with anticipation as the both of you would move in sync. always in sync. the two of you were one on the dance floor, one when you fucked one another senseless in your less than private moments. when he was particularly desperate for your touch, he’d go as far as taking you in the bathrooms at any club. he had no shame; not when it came to you. 

but raphael was tame. and maybe you appreciated tame. maybe this was a new start for you. fresh and free of any unknowns. 

“you’re beautiful, hermosa.” he would whisper to you, body trying its best to keep up with you. he did, for the most part, but you moved to your own beat. lando would know. he knew every inch of you. were you really prepared to be strangers? 

you spun around in raphael’s arms, wrapping yours around his neck. you offered him a cheeky smile. this wasn’t you. “and you’re handsome!” it was alcohol talking. you would never be seen so exuberant. not like this. 

it had raphael laughing, though, and it was enough for him to take you back to his place. 

the entire way back to his place you were giggling, latching onto his tanned skin. his hair was soft, sheen, and luscious. your hands never got lost in the strands of his hair– it was too combed, not curly enough. nothing was curly enough. 

and then he had you against the wall of his flat. your hands pinned against your head, and he met your lips with his. fuck, you couldn’t remember the last time you’ve been kissed. but the worst part about all of it was–

you hated it. 

you tugged his head down to your neck, letting him work the sensitive skin with his tongue. your lips felt hot. blistering with a heat you haven’t felt in a long time. it felt…it felt…

raphael’s tongue found the meeting part of your underwear and skin, “can i?” he asked with a timid voice. you let out a soft moan and nodded. he tugged the fabric down, your dress still hanging off your body. you didn’t even remember if he left kisses along your neck, your breasts, you guessed his lips weren’t that memorable. 

and then his tongue was against your slit. you weren’t wet enough. clearly. you could feel the chapped parts of your cunt, disappointed in your body that you couldn’t ‘get it up’ for him. whereas he was practically jacking off in his pants, you were left like a desert. it wouldn’t be like this with lando. 

he explored your cunt with his tongue, narrowly dodging your clit ever so slightly. he thought your noises of pleasure were noises of distress, so he avoided touching your clit as much as possible. so he tongued you through and through, until you began to become irritated. 

you couldn’t even feel tight in your stomach. the feeling couldn’t be outmatched. maybe your sexdrive had died. maybe you could never cum ever again. this was to be your fate– dry and lonely. fuck. you let your head fall back against the wall, which he took as a good sign, and kept going. instead, you threaded your hands through his hair, rolling your eyes. 

you let out a few soft, faked moans. you felt guilty– of course you did– but apparently it was an olympic sport to make you cum. he certainly wouldn’t make the playoffs. 

after another minute of this, you were fed up. 

you tightened your cunt on command, which took a lot of fucking work, thank you, and began to heighten the sound of your moans. the award for best fake orgasm goes to: you!!! you surged forward to grip onto his shoulders, even pretending to be shaking. 

you deserved an oscar. 

“didn’t think i was that good.” 

an egot, maybe. 

you let out a soft sigh, a faked chuckle, and let him lead you to his bedroom. he fell atop of you on your back, holding himself up with the strength of his forearms. he dipped his hand down, scathing over your irritated cunt. you gasped at his hand finding your slit once again, drenched in only his spit, and without warning slipped a finger inside of you. 

your mouth hung open, lurching at the sudden contact. you felt sinched beneath his weight, taught with tension. he even curled his finger inside of you. he grazed your bundle of nerves that had your squirming. squirming for more pressure. he kept hitting your spot until he pulled away. you looked confused at first, wondering where exactly he was going. 

and…then he was pulling his cock out. fuck. you really weren’t going to win here, tonight, were you? not in the slightest, it seemed. he looked down at you with a knowing smirk. the same one where he thought you came beneath his tongue. 

he thought you came. 

fuck!

“are you ready?” he asked when his cock pushed against the skin of your lower belly. he was a good size, you admit, but you had a inkling that you weren’t going to find a sweet release with his hands. you nodded, forgetting your manners, but raphael said nothing. 

he pushed into you with a discerning pace. you scrunched your nose out of his eyesight. he was too busy fucking himself into your pussy. he couldn’t even open his eyes to look at you. and, for the record, he didn’t use a condom. dick. at least you had a form of a contraceptive. you’d make sure not to let him finish inside you. that’s for fucking sure. 

he slid in and out of you with the lubrication of his spit and his own precum. you didn’t move. you laid there, bored, faking a moan and gasp here and there. 

the whole time you thought about someone else. and you didn’t feel guilty about it. you were able to find yourself comforted by the dreaming thought of lando’s voice in your ear. the phantom touch of his stubble. the amount of moles that you could count on his face. 

with a grunt, you felt raphael push off of you, cumming onto his own sheets. he laid there, panting, and you…”did the same.” 

he turned to face you, smile on his face. “did you finish?”

you nodded with an itching smile. he seemed triumphant. though you couldn’t be drier than a haystack. 

your exit from his flat quickly. it’s not like he even took your dress off. he insisted that you stayed, but you retorted that you had an early morning with alexandra. whether or not that's true, you didn’t seem to care. he didn’t fight your statement and seamlessly let you go, clearly too exhausted from his evening to even see you out the door.

you hailed a cab from your hotel shamefully. you felt icky. your lip sneered when you caught a cab and tipped the driver once you arrived back. the elevator ride never seemed so tantalizingly long. 

when you swiped into your room, you threw your belongings on your bed and turned on a hot shower. while you waited for the water to heat, you opened your phone. 

no messages from lando. 

did you expect any?

maybe. 

you decided to call him. you didn’t fucking care. it was the alcohol talking. 

ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…

no answer. 

you left a voicemail.

“heeyyy…!!” you surged into the phone as you began to untangle your dress from your body. “i–uh, i dunno i just…wanted to call you… because i…” you swore under your breath as you couldn’t get a strap off. “sorry i…” you stuttered, laughing to yourself. “i think i miss you, lan.” 

and then you hung up, singing yourself into the shower. the hot water panned over your body, fingers trailing over the mounds of your breasts. the soft skin of your abdomen. 

but with your whimsy, came a price.

lando was there. he just didn’t answer your call. he had been awake, wondering what you were doing, since you were absent on almost all forms of social media. so when he got your call, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. 

then the voicemail came.

he must’ve played it over a dozen times. hearing your soft voice, amicable and kind. you had been drinking, clearly, and he could hear the sound of the shower running in the background. he held his phone against his head, other hand running through his hair. he was a wreck over you, and you were as well. drunk dialing was never a thing between the two of you. 

especially an ‘i miss you.’ 

and how ‘lan’ slipped past your lip with such ease. the name was meant for you to use. only you. 

he found himself stroking his cock to your words, the temptress in your voice. he knew she was there, baiting him, and he was no better than a fish to bite. he fisted his cock with your name on his lips, and a reminder that yours was on his.

with a pounding heartbeat and ringing in his ears, all he could think about was you. and more or less, you the same.

your fingers trailed down your navel in the shower, coming to nib at the lips of your clit. how swollen it was, angered and annoyed, that such a man could ignore it. by association, you. 

a hand rolled over one of your breasts, twisting your nipple in hand. you gasped at the sensation you provided, flicking your clit between your fingers. you truly needed no more to make yourself cum, except the thought of lando’s voice in your ears. 

‘come on, baby,’ he would say to you, fingers gliding along your drenched slit with ease. you clenched around nothing, whimpering to yourself in the hum of the hot shower. ‘little more for me, yeah?’ he would always talk you through it. never once would you be alone when you came. he was always there, lingering, a shadow against the walls. 

you slipped a single finger inside of yourself, curling it expertly as lando taught you to. ‘just like that, sweet thing.’ he’d mutter against your shoulder as he’d fuck you on a chair facing a mirror. you could never make yourself cum before his “lessons.” 

your back arched against the marble of the shower walls. your thumb and forefinger worked just like his would against your clit, massaging the bundle of nerves until a coil inside of you snapped, and you came all over yourself with his name on your lips.

and he could feel it. amongst the cosmic plane. he had been grudgingly fisting his cock, grunting your name over his lips. it was sinful, the way that his cock was spewing cum in only a matter of minutes at the thought of your voice. ‘lan, lan,’ you would say to him, ‘need it. need you inside,’ you’d whimper against him, begging for his cum to seep out of you. 

he’d never deny you a pleasure. so he shouldn’t deny himself. he came in a matter of seconds over the palm of his hand, your name flustering his tongue. and he’d lay there, soaking in his milky cum, eyes blown wide at just how much of an effect you had on him; mind, body, and soul. 

you stood there in the shower, flustered from heat, the slick running down your thighs. your hearts beat in unison at that moment, miles apart, on the same wavelength. 

the shower wasn’t the same after that. you felt dirty, but so good. the namesake of lando’s voice in your ear was enough to have you cumming on your own fingers, but the touch of another man made you ill. what a shock that was to you. or maybe it wasn’t a surprise at all. 

clean to the best of your ability, you slept easy that night. the best sleep you’ve had this weekend, in fact, with lando frolicking through your dreams. and you in his, whispering soft ‘i love you’s’ which had him writhing with pleasure. you infested every part of him, and he did the same to you. you’d never be free of lando norris, and the thought began to settle. it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but you couldn’t forget his words. 

‘i don’t know,’ he spoke into your stomach. his nose pinched you. the words sliced clean. your stomach coiled not with pleasure, but anxiety. why didn’t he want you that way? why did he hesitate? 

you weren’t taking his rejection well. that was clear. 

but he wasn’t taking this any better. he was going through his own emotional turmoil of trying to make this up to you. it would be the last thing that he did. 

when you woke that morning with a groggy headache and a sore ache between your thighs, you couldn’t help but groan. what the fuck were you doing last night? you perhaps had the most disappointing sex of your entire life, and now, as you looked in the mirror you were nothing more than mortified. 

littered on your chest, above your breasts, were a few specks of bruises. hickey’s. fuck. fuck. that was one thing that was always far too intimate. kisses and hickeys. what did this mean, then, that you belonged to raphael? your fingers trailed up the bruises on your chest, the flesh tender beneath your soft touch. you winced at the memory of his cocky face, thinking that he had you finishing more than once. if at all. you leaned over the sink, washing your face off with cold water. 

your hands rested at the base of your neck. your reflection stared back at you, pitiful, the bruises beneath your eyes reflected a tiredness that the word ‘exhaustion’ could not begin to fathom. you were disappointed in yourself. that much was clear. 

a sigh escaped you when you finally mustered the courage to leave the bathroom. for the race today, you decided on a long dress. one that covered your chest, but hung on your shoulders. it was a beautiful piece. you’d been saving it for this weekend, and you were more than thankful that the universe seemed to be looking out for you. 

you tidied up your appearance the best you could and slid on a pair of heels, grimacing at the sore ache from the night before. raphael didn’t have a valet, so you had to walk across four blocks with his hands wandering down your sides, desperate to fuck you in an alleyway. ew. you shivered at the memory, but continued on from your hotel room.

though, you took one last glance before leaving, and let your eyes rest on the balcony. it felt like a dream to see lando sitting there, his face resting against the tender flesh of your stomach. his stubble itched through the cotton of your shirt, but it rather tickled. and then he said he didn’t know what he wanted with you, and your whole life slipped right through your fingers. 

he slipped through your fingers. 

you shut the door. 

lando’s morning, on the other hand, started off stellar in comparison to yours. he had stayed up a while longer, wondering if you would call him back, but you never did. there was a faint pang of disappointment, but much more guilt that he let you slip away so easily. he should’ve refused to leave your hotel room that night. refused by any force you attempted on him. 

but he’s just that much of a fucking idiot, wasn’t he? when he left for the paddock early that morning, he glanced at his phone one last time. one missed call, and it was from you last night. and then suddenly, his heart was warm, and there was a smile on his face.

all this told him was that there was a chance. you called him. you called him whether or not you were shitfaced. blackout drunk. in your vulnerable moments you thought of him. reached out for him. fuck, he was in love with you.

in love

he paused when he shut the door behind him, frozen in place. what? is that what this was? love? 

anxiety churned in his stomach. this feeling had been there for a while. a long time. and only now he was just realizing it. shit. 

he fiddled with his phone in his hands. thumb hovering over your contact card, he let it fall. 

it rang twice before he heard the line connect. 

“yeah?” you said, demure and quiet. he knew you were exhausted. he’s heard this tone before. the tone you had when you were viciously hungover. it had him chuckling. “what?” 

“good morning to you, too.” the words rolled easy from him. he suddenly felt calmer with you on the other end, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from fluttering in the pit of his stomach. 

“good morning.” you said, like you were shocked that he was calling you to say good morning. 

“fun night?” he asked, stepping into the elevator and hitting the ‘lobby’ button. a few members of his team were already waiting for him. 

 but you had froze up in the car ride to the paddock. what? how could he know? did he know that you were with raphael? you cleared your throat. “what– what do you mean?” 

“you called me.” 

shit. 

if you weren’t fucked already, you were royally now. your hand dragged over your forehead as your head swarmed with anxious thoughts, completely forgetting about calling him and then…touching yourself in the shower to the thought of him. yikes! what a little freak you were. but lando would enjoy it. 

“i–” you stuttered, voice caught in your throat. “i’m sorry…i was just…” 

your voice trailed and you could hear his childish laugh from the other end. “no, no. it was cute.” you heard the elevator ding from his end, but it hard to focus on when there was a deep blush flustering your cheeks. 

“i didn’t mean to bother you,” you quickly said, finding the need to apologize over and over again for disrupting his night. it was embarrassing enough as is that you had the worst sex of your life, but you called the one man that didn’t want you for consolidation. what a conundrum that was, wasn’t it? 

“you didn’t.” his words were firm this time, no traces of playfulness. you perked up at this, finding yourself laughing. 

“must’ve said something dumb, didn’t i?” 

there was a pause. 

“yeah. yeah. something dumb.” 

there was another beat of silence. you shifted in the uber, the pass around your neck.

“i’ll see you there?” 

you heard him suck in a tight breath, then release it. 

“yeah. yeah, ‘course you will.” 

you smiled. he could feel it. 

“okay. bye, then.” 

he said your name softly on the other end with a salutation, and the line went flat. you slammed your back against the leather seats of the car, hands rolling over your face. you rubbed your eyes, wondering if you were still dreaming. 

it wasn’t fair that he could make you this way. that he had you in tears just a few nights before, and now your fingers shook with excitement. fuck him. fuck him for making you feel this way, and yet, there was no trace of annoyance on your face. 

just a bright smile. 

your name was called when you swiped into the paddock. it had you whipping your head up to see who it could be, but you already knew that it was alexandra. she wasn’t trailed by anyone else, thank god, and she flung her arms around you for a hug. 

you sang a soft greeting towards her, and she looked up at you expectantly. you raised a brow. 

“so…!?” 

you narrowed your eyes. 

“your night with…!” her voice dropped to a whisper. “raphael.” 

you shushed her, looking around, before you held one of her hands in yours. “you want the truth?” her facial expression dropped, but she nodded anyways. 

“awful.” 

she groaned, head rolling back in disappointment. “i told rebecca it wasn’t a good idea.” 

“the sex was…horrible. just…i mean, what the fuck?” alexandra burst out into a laugh as the both of you joined side by side towards the ferrari hospitality. you dreaded going, given the unanswered texts for him, you didn’t want to be confronted with…anything. 

“most importantly…” alexandra stopped the two of you before you entered. “are you over him?” 

him. the inevitable. 

you swallowed. 

and nodded your head.

alexandra was only slightly pleased and gave you a reassuring smile. boy, this would be a long day. 

before the race started you were wandering around the pitlane with your miniature crew of ferrari girlfriends and their friends. raphael had found you, eagerly, with a prideful smile on his face. out of kindness, you returned the gesture, and let him linger around you for the day.

ferrari’s pit was next to mclaren’s. you couldn’t help but stare. 

lando was there. in his papaya race suit. he was speaking to his engineers, and never glanced your way. look at me, you wanted to shout. please, your mind begged. but you stayed firm at raphael’s side.

he dared to stretch out his hand to let it loiter on your waist, but you shimmied out of the contact with an awkward smile. he noticed, but didn’t say anything. 

lando did too. 

but not what you wanted him to see. he saw you with raphael’s arm around your waist. you were smiling, laughing, in their presence. whereas he couldn’t even bear a night out without the cumbersome thoughts of you constricting his mind. he thought of nothing but you. and here you were, haphazardly dangling this spanish prick in front of his face. fucker. 

you turned to look at lando again, free of raphael’s touch. he was staring.

your heart beat faster, eyes widened. your palms were sweating– why were they sweating? he looked pissed, frustrated, but you didn’t know why. your brows upturned with a soft expression that he yearned for, and his envy flushed away. 

it was that easy. your gentle features. the concern ridden in your face. 

you even gave him a small wave, twiddling your fingers. he was bashful in response, and returned it with a small twist of his own fingers. 

but his eyes carried down. towards your chest. you blinked, realizing that part of your dress had slipped further. there was an obvious bruise making an appearance, and you felt guilty. guilty as if you had cheated on him, but you were never in a relationship to begin with.

you saw his jaw tightened and his hands flex before he turned, leaving you speechless. 

and then you were dragged away, just like that, into the viewing panel for the race. they were about to start their formation lap, yet you could barely focus with your racing heart. 

it past with ease. raphael tried to get closer to you, but you found excuses to stay huddled at alexandra’s side. she noticed, and even wrapped her own arm around your waist. the two of you were a picturesque vision of divine femininity. you felt untouchable at her side, incomparable to any girlfriend you’ve ever had. 

lando was fighting hard. he was aggressive on the straits, pushing past the limits of his drs. your hand traced over your chin as you watched the tv intensely, frightened when you saw him make contact with one of the mercedes drivers. 

“what is he doing…” you muttered under your breath. your nailbeds were being hacked on by your teeth, chewing them down to the stump. parts of your thumbs streamed with blood. 

little to your knowledge, your reaction had been broadcasted. alexandra’s face unfurled with a cheeky look, realizing that she had been played by your deception from earlier. you were not over him. in fact, you were entirely worse than before. your concern was ebbed through the power of media, and that wouldn’t be forgotten. 

“are you okay?” came raphael’s voice. you didn’t even look at him.

“fine.” 

he took your cold tone in earnest, realizing that there was something more at stake here. 

you couldn’t be more grateful when lando passed the checkered flag. your hand found the column of your throat, finding comfort. you let your face be consumed by a smile, one similar to raphael’s when he thought he made you came. stupid man, you thought, glancing towards the spaniard. you had a new priority now.

you had to prove that you wanted lando. but how? everything felt like it was becoming too complicated. your fates were intertwined via an invisible string. 

and you didn’t even go to his podium.

he looked for you, sweat dripping down his forehead, but didn’t see you. it had him grow weary, agitated. he raced this hard so he could prove himself to you. prove that he was better than some lowlife. 

but he fears he lost you. 

the hickey’s on your neck spoke volumes. you fucked him. fucked that stranger. his fists curled around the trophy, break-necking the medal display. 

did you come? 

no. stop that. it’s none of his business to ask–

she didn’t. you couldn’t. 

the pieces began to fall in place in his head. the phone call. you called him…when you needed him most. 

it suddenly made holding this trophy all the more worthwhile, and he even donned a smile on his face when he raised it high above his head. this, he thought, was victory. 

the night came as swiftly as the day went. you were getting ready to go out, alexandra reminding you to schedule your uber. you did. the dress you wore this evening was short. one of your favorite colors, and had a high neckline. for obvious reasons. you were entirely mortified that raphael felt the primal need to mark you like some bitch. it had your stomach twisting with anger, fingers pulsing with a punch. 

but your violent urges stayed dormant when you met up with alexandra, charles, rebecca, carlos, and…raphael. jeez, what a lot you’ve surrounded yourself with. raphael was at your side in an instant when you climbed out of the uber, refusing to give you a morsel of space. it had your lip curling, grimacing down the vomit that curdled in your throat. 

you barely spoke a word to him tonight. there was nothing more to say to him. if you were to say anything, it would be a rotten lie. 

alexandra tugged you along through the doors, charles at her flank, which you gladly let her do. anything to get away from raphael would be best for you, given how much you didn’t want to confront him. it was just for the weekend, right? no strings attached. 

no strings attached, echoed through your mind. flashes of lando’s hands on your hips, the phantom embrace that tensed around your flesh, seeped into your head. your heart plummeted against your will, looking around futilely for his bright smile amongst the sea of oncomers. 

it didn’t take you long.

but you wish that it did. 

he had his arm slung around some girl, hat backwards, first few buttons undone on his white dress shirt. hands clamming up, you tightened them together over your front, letting your eyes gawk at such a beautiful pairing. it was a different girl than the one you had rudely met in monaco. 

another one of his girls. 

your mind begged you to let it go. but your heart chained itself to lando, refusing to let go this…infatuation that had you sick to your stomach. what did she have that you didn’t? was she nonchalant? was she a cool girl? 

your staring lasted too long. lando saw you. he felt your eyes– your heated stare, beckoning his attention. he answered your call, glancing directly at you. but he did not wave. 

neither did you. 

the urge thwarted you to look anywhere else but him, tugged your attention elsewhere, but you stayed firm on his freckled face, sharp cheekbones, his daunting stare. you felt the beat of his heart from across the room, the bass boosted rap, his irritability when raphael came to rest a hand on your hip. but you did not turn away from this fight. your arsenal was loaded, and so was his. 

lando glanced at raphael, first to break eye contact, and swug the rest of his cocktail in hand. he let the glass slide across the counter of the bar before tugging the girl at his side to his front, the pair of them dancing with one another. 

fine, if he wants to play, then you’ll play. 

you were handed a cocktail by raphael. you thanked him sincerely before you downed your own in one gulp. raphael gaped at you with a slack jaw. you wiped the loose drops from your jaw, and offered him your hand. 

“dance with me?” 

raphael didn’t need to be asked twice when he took your hand. you led him deeper into the club, the led lights brightening both your faces. in this light, you supposed that he was irrecoverably handsome. and the thought slipped through your mind that maybe, just maybe, you could’ve had a good life with him. that in some universe that you could get over this feud with a man who doesn’t want you, you’d have a well-earned chance at happiness. 

but the thought left just as quickly as it came. 

your hips were against his. ass against his crotch, grinding in a rough series of movements. he began growing accustomed to how you moved, and that much you could be thankful for. no longer would the two of you be awkward on the dance floor, fragile hands trembling against your body. he felt more confident, but you could tell there was something brewing behind those big brown eyes of his. but you honestly couldn’t care less, not when you were distracted. 

not when your eyes were entranced on a man who treated you like garbage. who cried in your arms, begged for your presence. then, left your hotel room with tears streaming down your face. 

his hands were tightly wound around the girls abdomen, cocky expression glazing his face. he spoke to a few of his buddies here, too, amply looking like a douche. one that who knew exactly what he was doing to girls. fuck. 

you were just one of his girls. 

this enraged you. but it shouldn’t. but it did. there was no excuse for your fray of emotions. they simply existed, and you were going to deal with them. not in a responsible way. no, you were far too gone for that. alcohol warmed your throat, your palms, your chest. 

you let your head lean back onto raphael’s shoulder, your mouth coming to his ear. “you can touch me.” you encouraged him. he seemed to lighten at this, becoming bold enough to let his hands trail up your body. he’d indulge in your shape, letting his fingers imprint against the globes of your breasts, the lining of your panties beneath your dress. 

a light giggle left you when you let your head rise from his blades, and were met with an aggressive, terrifying, stare from across the room. 

your lips puckered. 

lando’s head was resting on the girl’s shoulder, his hips swaying with hers, but his eyes were trained on you. you, you, and more you. he was glaring at the man behind you, his gaze so bitter that it soured even your own tongue. it was the miniscule amount of guilt that flustered your head, but you shoved it down. 

lando retaliated, beginning to kiss on the girls neck. she leaned against him, a gorgeous smile lighting up the room. 

you grumbled, turning your head to meet raphael’s eyes. your eyes pleaded with a language of seduction, one that any man could understand. 

raphael took the bait. 

his lips trailed down your ear, down the column of your neck. all whilst your back was pressed against his front, you felt the outline of his dick. your palm tightened at the memory of how he attempted to fuck you, but you had to remain composed. you couldn’t fail now. 

your lip caught between your teeth for dramatics. like you were holding back a moan. 

lando was watching. in fact, he never stopped. he was drunk on the addiction of watching you. watching you grind your hips on that fuckin’ guy, not even wince when his lips were glossing over the sensitive flesh of your neck. could he make you wet with just his mouth? 

the british driver could feel his end nearing. if this progressed any further, he’d drag your ass to the bathroom and fuck you like you’d deserve. he didn’t give a fuck. not anymore. not when your lip was bitten by your top row of teeth, an illusive point to how that guy was pleasuring you. he felt fucking sick. though he was starving to the same degree. 

his chest was aflame at your teasing touches on your own body. he could see the outline of your panties, the lack of a bra. your nipples were pinching against the fabric that confined them, and he had to stop himself from drooling. you were so fucking sexy. 

the girl at his front was growing bored of her lack of attention. he, honestly, didn’t even remember her name. but he’d suffice it with a swirl of his tongue around the skin of her jaw. it was a critical move, since he knew that you’d never let yourself be kissed. you wouldn’t risk such intimacy with a man you’ve only known for a few days–

except you would. 

this was war, wasn’t it? 

watching lando suck and slurp on that girl’s neck had you desperate to come up with an alternate idea. an approach that would crown you victorious without a second thought. it was cruel, you knew this, but you were out of options. you had something to prove. prove that you were over him. though, you knew that this would end in one of two ways;

him, fucking you.

or, him leaving. 

you much preferred the latter. 

with enough fury boiling in your bones, you lifted your head to meet raphael’s eyes. with your pointer finger, you let it roll over his chin, connecting with your thumb. you glanced at his lips, your tongue wetting your own, and pulled him to meet you. 

raphael said your name into your mouth, nervous to even let his tongue explore yours. you sucked in a tight breath, lip curling to reference a snarl at how much you despised the sensation. it was messy, wet, and you felt instantly disgusted with yourself for even letting him touch your lips. you felt like you jumped too far into a relationship with raphael, even though you were certain that you didn’t want one. 

“be my girlfriend,” raphael breathed into your mouth. you hummed a laugh, thinking that he was joking. but he moved to separate you too, staring at you with a brazen thoroughness that you never wished to see again. 

“i’m serious. i want–” 

“‘scuse me, mate,” you knew that voice. you knew that voice too well. your head spun around to see lando leering dangerously close to raphael’s face, the heat of his body emanating onto your own. he stood only a few inches from you.

you felt his hand ghost over the small of your back, and you suddenly felt desperate to feel it. with your lips raw from that kiss, your fingertip glazed over the flesh, your eyes lost in lando’s tense expression. his jaw was tightened, chest doing it’s best to keep his heated expression under control. however, that control was slipping with every passing moment that you were in raphael’s arms. 

raphael turned his attention to lando, suddenly pissed. “need something?” 

lando gave him a hoarse chuckle. “yeah. can i borrow your lady for a second?”

raphael made a move to shake his head. “no, we were just—”

“thanks, mate.” lando gripped your back with his fingertips, digging into the skin without mercy. you felt his anger rolling off of him in tense waves, the urge to consolidate him overwhelming. he led you through the crowds of people with an insurmountable force, jaw tightly clenched the entire way. you could practically hear his teeth grinding against one another. 

he said nothing until he opened– no, broke the door– to the bathroom. it was a single stall– no one was in there. he allowed you to enter first, stretching out his arm as a much needed signal. you waited a moment, arms crossing over your chest. 

his eyes didn’t relent. he would wait here all fucking day before you decided to go in. and you did. he locked the door behind the two of you in an instant. 

“what the fuck are you–” you began to scold, back turned to him as you approached the mirror and the sink. you were interrupted when he spun you around, hand place firmly on your hip. the contact had you gasping, glancing down at his hand. 

“so, what?” he said, looking down at you through hooded eyes, blown pupils. his heart was electrified, hidden behind his cage of ribs, and one hand flexed as it gripped the edges of the porcelain sink. he hummed, “hm? he your boyfriend now?”you gaped at him. “you’re serious?” you stifled a laugh, unbelieving of his attitude. “what’s it to you, lando? hm?”

his shoulders tensed. “you shouldn’t be with him.” 

you rolled your eyes. lando gripped your chin, demanding your attention. “why not, then? ‘m i supposed to be your whore forever?” 

his thumb rolled over your bottom lip. “you never were,” he tsked. you were bewildered. brow raising, however difficult to focus when his hand around your hip began to swirl circles on your skin. 

“what the fuck are you saying, then, lando? you need to–”

“you let him kiss you.” 

you froze. 

“never me. why?” his restraint was slipping. his forehead edged closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath fanning across your face. 

“why?” he asked again, his nose brushing against your own. you shook your head ‘no,’ lip beginning to quiver beneath his body. his chest pressed against your own as he got closer. he needed to be closer. “he fuck you better? hm? that it?” 

you shuddered when you felt his fingers lower from your hip, trailing circles towards your navel, the slit of your dress that met your upper thigh. 

“go on,” he urged, his voice tense from gritting his teeth. “tell me. tell me, and i’ll stop.” 

you stayed quiet except for the whimper that left your throat when his fingers curled against your panties, a dampened spot ruining the fabric. there was a deep chuckle against your face, lando’s forehead still against your own. you tightened your lips together, not daring a word to spill. 

“tell me, and i’ll let you go party with your new boy.” 

“fuck you,” you bit out, seething with your desire, angered with his jealous antics. 

“yeah? yeah? you want ‘ta fuck me?” there was no way of hiding his cocky grin. it could be seen from miles away, even when his face was millimeters from yours. 

“you’re an asshole,” you heaved, your hips bucking when he began to slide your underwear to the side. your breaths were harsh against his cheeks. 

“must like ‘em mean, then,” he cooed, followed by a deep chuckle. “‘cause you’re drippin’ for me.” you felt your slick seep around his fingers as h grazed the puffy lips of your cunt. your head was thrown back against the concrete wall, smacking against the surface. lando was quick to adjust your head, his fingers tugging into your hair. 

“fuck,” you sighed, finding his pleasures undeniable. he was so on edge from seeing you kissing raphael, that he was lost in his madness. this pent up lust was bursting from its locked away jar, pouring its fury onto you. “touch me, lando. please–” 

with a swift motion he perched you onto the porcelain sink, your head lolling against the mirror, supported by his palm. he tugged you forward so your glossy cunt stained the front of his black pants. the wet spot was pertinent, your face flushing with embarrassment. you were supposed to hate this. why did you love it? 

“‘am touchin’ you, baby.” his middle finger teased you, blessing you with a split moment of euphoria of grazing your clit. you moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “look at me,” his hand tightened in your hair. your eyes flashed open, face to face with his crooked, loving smile. “look at me when i make you cum.”

you nodded, whimpering rapidly. he grinned harder at your desperate, pleading tone. though you spoke no words, he could tell just how badly you needed him. 

“inside,” your begging didn’t cease, especially when he was still refusing to slide a finger inside of you. “please, please—”

your words were cut off when his middle finger curled sweetly inside of you, eliciting the sweetest pleasure you have felt in weeks. the moan you delivered was guttural, deep, and most of all, primal. lando’s dick pulsated in his pants, his fingers twitching at your lewd voice. 

a hand reached out to grip onto his bicep, your head falling into the crook of his neck. you felt undeniably at ease in his hold, despite the hurt that he’s caused you. 

his finger began to slide in and out of you, scissoring you to high hell and back, and you were putty in his hands. moments like these is what he favored most with you, but he would take anything to be in your presence. he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he swooped you up from that asshole’s arms, leaving him shocked and disrespected. lando was keen enough to twist his head over his shoulder when he led you away, watching as raphael’s face contorted with disappointment. it had his jaw tensing, resisting the urge to smirk. 

“come on, baby,” lando’s voice cut through your high, your naval tightening with a hot pressure. “know you’re close. can feel it.” 

he added a second finger, using his thumb to roll over your sensitive bundle of nerves. the stimulation was overwhelming, your throat raw with the carnal moans he drew from your depths. he’d be the only one to hear any of these ever again. he promised himself that much. 

your orgasm was imminent, the coil in your belly snapping with a hopeless yearning you’ve been deprived of for what feels like an eternity. slick covered the palm of his hand, and your eyes had locked onto his. he watched as you trembled with desire, legs twitched around his waist. with one quick move he brought his two fingers to your lips.

you knew what he wanted. 

you’ve never tasted yourself before. but your lips parted, and he lathered your slick over your tongue. you sucked in earnest over his calloused digits, lips puckering, cheeks hollowing. you swallowed, letting your tongue linger over his fingertips.

“now you know,” he whispered, clutching you tight. “why i can’t stay away.” for a brief moment, you thought he was mentioning because of the taste of your cunt. but with the deep look in his eyes, you knew it meant more. you were made for him. both in spirit and sensuality. 

lando spun you around from your seat atop the sink, having you flipped, staring at your reflection in the mirror. you look disheveled, and downright fucked. your feet met the ground, the palm of his hand spreading over the expanse of your back, flattening you to a ninety degree angle. 

“lift your hips for me, love,” you obeyed without second thoughts, rising to your tip toes as he ran his fingers along the underside of your thighs, pulling down the fabric of your panties. they hit the floor, and your cunt went rigid with the cold air. but you heard lando making fast work with his belt, his jeans, and you sifted back and forth. you even turned to look at him over your shoulder, lashes batting unintentionally at the spring of his cock against his lower belly. 

“missed this,” he breathed, saddling his hand at the base of your neck. you pushed into his hold, deepening the connection. 

your exhaustion didn’t impede your ability to get fucked. that was for sure. lando wasn’t going to spare a single effort on your behalf. he was riled, pent up, and now he wanted to see tears in your eyes as you were split open on his cock. it was a promise. 

“missed you.” you mumbled. lando’s hand tightened around the frontal base of your throat. 

“what was that?” 

you whimpered. “missed you!”

“atta girl.” he was pleased with your higher volume, and awarded you by edging the tip of his cock through your folds. you lurched forward, gripping onto the dish of the sink. a deep groan left you, and he gave you a grace period to adjust. but it took too long. you wanted him deep. bottomed out. until there was nothing else for you to give. 

“show me,” you grit your teeth. “show me he’s not good enough.” 

your words seemed to ignite a flame inside of lando that couldn’t be ignored. you felt him huff air, the sensation tickling your spine, and he thrust himself inside of you. forget a grace period, you were going straight to heaven. 

you moaned, his cock stimulating a perverse area inside your cunt that no man could ever reach. lando was out for blood to prove that he was the only man that could truly fuck you. and fuck you he would. 

the sound of skin slapping echoed through the bathroom. your moans intertwined with his mewls, creating an atmosphere derived from both of your pleasures alone. nothing would ever compare to this feeling. how he curved deliciously inside of you, how you tightened so mercilessly around his cock. he’d let himself run dry so he could feel your tight walls each night. 

the pressure of his hand around your throat didn’t relent. with his index and thumb squeezing at every point he bottomed out, you swore you were seeing stars. you were an irrecoverable mess in lando’s arms, and that’s just the way he wanted you. in the reflection of the mirror stared the fading marks that fucker left on your skin. but he was determined to make his own. and it was different that you’d let him. without a doubt, he could bite through your skin, make you bleed for all you fucking cared. 

“who’s fucking you this good?” lando asked, hand tightening briefly for your response. you were lost in your haze, unable to truly focus on his words. your brows furrowed. 

“you,” you said, breathless, clenching onto the sink with all your prospective might. 

“who?” he prodded further, opposite hand coming to rub at your clit. you seethed, breath tightening in your throat. tears burned at your retinas, the skillful work of his fingers bringing you to an oncoming orgasm. lando felt it, and paused his fingers. 

you whimpered, then looked at him in the mirror. he loomed like no man you’ve ever seen. darkened eyes, sweaty hair. fuck, he’s so hot. “you!” 

his fingers returned their assault on your clit, and you could feel the burning heat once more. you grinded hopelessly against the palm of his hand, which he responded as to pinching the bundle of nerves atop your cunt to with more pressure. 

it didn’t take long before you were keeling over the sink, his hand around your neck forcing you to arch before him. with your unbearably tight cunt, he came with you, filling you with hot ropes of cum. the feeling of him warm, vested in your walls brought you a comfort like nothing else. 

lando’s head fell forward with his heaving chest onto the base of your neck. his heart was beating so fast, you could feel it. you lifted yourself from the downward angle of the sink, his hands coming to steady you despite his exhaustion. 

“i lied to you before,” he spoke into the skin of your neck. too fucked out to really process what he was saying, you turned slightly to catch one of his eyes. “you aren’t a favorite.”

you frowned, still confused, heart feeling ripped open once more. 

“you’re the only girl.” 

you turned fully this time to face him. 

“what?”

“you heard me.” you did. that was true. but what you didn’t believe was true, was his words. 

“don’t…” you begged. “don’t play with me anymore, lan…” the nickname rolled off your tongue with ease. “i can’t…i can’t wait for someone who doesn’t…” love, “want me the same.”

lando brushed a stray hair from your forehead. he let himself lean into you. your bodies fit together perfectly. 

“what do you want, then?” 

your voice was caught in your throat. there was a million things you wanted, but there was only one thing you needed. 

“i need you.” 

need cut through his body like wild flower to barley. need was the mending his heart needed. need was the remedy of his uncertainties about you. 

his face upturned into a smile. 

“i can’t do this,” he said, taking a breath. “any of this, without you. need you here, with me,” with his forehead touching yours, you could feel his lashes against your browline. 

“lando…”

he shook his head. your name was soft on his tongue. “please, please, stay with me. i should’ve never left that hotel room. never.” 

your cheeks were wet. but they weren’t from your tears. his. his lip was quivering when you opened your eyes, his own shut as if he were too afraid to face you. 

and instead of answering him with words, you tilted your head up, and let your lips collide with his. torn into shock, lando’s eyes flew open, unbelieving of what was happening. you were kissing him. your lips on his, intimate. you wanted to be intimate with him, not just fuck him. 

his eyes fluttered shut, and his hand came to wrap around the back of your neck. he returned your kiss, tongue eager to explore the cavern of your mouth, and you let him. you had been afraid to let him kiss you, fearful that you would become addicted to this pleasure. 

you were right in your fear. there was never a universe where you wouldn’t be drunk on his tongue, craving his teeth clashing with your own. it was an ensued battle with your mouths, one you weren’t going to relent easily. but he remained victorious and let his tongue run over yours. the two of you were inseparable, body and spirit. 

there was finally a blasted knock on the bathroom door, which had you jumping. lando turned his head over his shoulder, and was quick to drop to his knees to roll your panties back up. 

“like you down there,” you commented from him on his knees. he turned to look at you with a knowing smirk, and kissed the skin of your thighs. when he stood at his full height, he adjusted his own pants, looking presentable enough. 

“beautiful.” he complimented, leaning in for a plethora of kisses. he kissed all around your mouth, your nose, your jaw, before he landed on your mouth.

“i love you,” he blurted out against your lips. you gaped at him and he was worried you wouldn’t feel the same. but the two of you knew this answer for a long, long time. 

your brows upturned. “i love you too.” 

his hand fell on your lower back, guiding you out of the bathroom. “guess you’re my girl now, yeah?” 

you slapped his bicep. “we have a lot to talk about, but for tonight…” you nodded. 

he was happy enough with that answer. 

“gotta let raphael down easy…” you mumbled as lando held the door open for you. 

“oh…!” he said in an exaggerated tone. “that’s what his name is.” 

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[katszumi]

part one but can be read as a standalone!

today’s the day— the six year reunion for all the graduated u.a students. the day bakugou was internally dreading.

he didn’t want to attend, but because of shitty hair, he basically had no other choice. he thought it was stupid, annoying even considering the fact he still works with some of his old classmates.

plus, bakugou was never the type to attend gatherings. he hated the loud noise, busy moving bodies, and the useless small talk people had just to be respectful. none of it was apart of bakugou’s persona, not even his pr managers could change that.

but, he also knows the slight possibility of you being there. he knows someone extended the invite to you, back then every single classmate loved you.

since the night he rudely brushed you off, you haven’t been in contact with him once. his messages still delivered green, and you unable to show on any of his social media. for him, you only existed as a fragment of his memory other than the times you appear on television or the news.

you seemed to be thriving in america. the first year you went, he remembers seeing an article online on how you quickly climbed the ranks in america, the americans instantly adoring everything about you. despite your hero name and quirk, fans began to relate you to a siren, claiming how you were too captivating and powerful to be true. soon, citizens also began to recognize you as the star-spangled siren.

no doubt, bakugou thought it was hilarious. it was something so incredibly stupid. but it was also a reminder that you accomplished your dream. you were a great hero. all of your fears from six years ago were disregarded, and you proved to yourself that you built yourself up by yourself with no support system.

he always knew you were the strongest within the class. maybe that’s why he always felt so weak in front of you. he didn’t stand a chance against you, especially when he finds your figure standing by the bar.

you were messing with your drink, engaging in conversation with mina and ochako. those were the girls always attached at your hip back then.

at first he questions himself whether to squeeze himself in the conversation, or to leave you be. he figured that if you wanted to talk to him then you would’ve reached out years ago.

but before he could act on anything, your gaze meets his. it feels like time on every clock comes to a halt.

he takes in your new differences from the last time he saw you. you grew an inch or two taller, which he found hilarious since you used to pray to be taller. you’re a little more tan; bakugou remembering somewhere in a textbook that the states received more hours of sunlight than japan. you’ve matured more in your face; you were always the girl he found cute. but now, your gazing eyes were more fierce, your pouting lips that he often found himself sneaking glances at were parted, and your newly developed body; your arms were more toned, your body a tad more curvaceous.

enamored wasn’t even the right word to describe bakugou. an understatement even.

it’s all too strange how he felt a pulsation in his chest, his heart hammering from the small moment of eye-contact. he believed that he got over you, coming to terms that there’d never be a chance that you’d talk to him with dancing eyes and a grin on your face like before. but, oh boy, was he wrong.

guilt immersed him. he was angry with himself for treating you like you didn’t matter. everything you said that day, you were right. he didn’t tell you anything related to his emotions, he was avoiding you for weeks, and he was a dick for simply letting you go. he knew all of this, even years ago he realized. bakugou wasn’t the type to go back on his word nor apologize.

but in order for you to talk to him with even a fake smile on your face, he would have to do just that. though, it was you— he wouldn’t mind getting down on both knees, begging for you to forgive him if he had to.

pathetic, bakugou would say, who in their right mind would do something like that? but he would. because six years later, bakugou was still pathetically in love with you.

mina noticed your shift in eye, so she peered over her shoulder, searching the area for what grabbed your attention. it was quick the way she noticed it was him that snatched your breath. her eyes widened for a small moment before turning her head once again.

mina was probably talking shit about him, that was no surprise. even though he and mina got together well, you and mina were attached at the hip; she valued you more than him. he easily read mina’s body language, you must’ve told mina the situation long ago from the way she placed her palm on your arm and rubbed it gently.

unfortunately, he didn’t care if you or mina would be frustrated with his audacity. if anything, everything he was going to do from this point on was because he cared so much about you. so fuckin’ much he’d drain the ocean dry to prove his love to you.

bakugou had only fallen in love twice. once with you and once with a mirror. one, a destructive on-going path without a clear result. one, someone so far-fetched yet still warm and beautiful. someone that eventually in time becomes part of the oxygen he needs to breathe.

the mirror was the first-choice. becoming the number one hero was his only objective, no matter the opportunity cost, he was going to do anything to reach his goal. halfway through, he realized he chose wrong.

there was no point in reaching the goal without you. you were his hands and feet, so why did he expect himself to be okay with the situation he caused?

bakugou hated defeat, he already knows that. but he’d be damned if he allowed you to slip through his fingers once more.

and just like that, his legs are moving towards you and mina. his mind consisted of nothing; he had no words ready for you, no apology prepared. he just sees you and, like always, he needs to be in your vicinity.

as he marches towards you, he realizes that it’s always been like this, him chasing you to his hearts desire. at the beginning, it was a light jog nothing that would cause him to break a sweat. soon it turned into a full-blown sprint, the gap between you and him seeming to increase every day.

before he could muster anything to say, he makes it to you. he keeps his distance from you so you don’t run away, but enough that he can see the pores on your face.

you ogle at him, your face twisted a bit. mostly likely from the surprise of him trudging towards you as if nothing happened. mina rolled her eyes at him as she folded her arms.

“bakugou, don’t be one of those.” mina started.

“one of what?!”

she scoffed. “one of those obsessive guys when they realized they’ve lost a gem because they were stupid as fuck.” mina him a ‘that’s you’ look. “don’t come crawling back now.”

bakugou opened his mouth to object mina, prepared to go off on her. just a week ago, she was chatting it up with him, kirishima, and denki, no animosity found in any of her statements. but since you were here, she supposed she had to play the part as the protective best-friend.

but before he could say anything, you beat him to it.

“it’s fine, mina.”

your voice was still the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. so gentle and euphonious. he wanted to thank the heavens on the earth for allowing him this opportunity again even when he’s a shitty guy. he didn’t deserve you, he knew that, but he couldn’t bypass the overwhelming feeling of yearning you.

he shifted in his position, clearly shocked that you didn’t seem to hate the fact he was standing within your vicinity.

mina also shocked, raised a brow at her best-friend. “you sure babes?” you nodded in response. the pink colored woman leaned into her ear, whispering god-knows what, before walking away with ochako to leave you and him alone.

you faced bakugou fully now, your eyes taking in the subtle distinctions he’s made over the years. bakugou always was one of the strongest in the class, but even now, he developed into a rigorous man. you can tell he’s shaved recently, the small hairs on his chin slowly starting to form. his eyes are more relaxed, seeming more generous.

alike him, you too kept post on bakugou in japan. you’d frequently find yourself searching him on the internet to wonder how he’s doing. just like he told you and everyone else at u.a, he was now the number one hero of japan. he proved to all his doubters that he could do it.

you were proud of him, internally rooting him on from 6,303 miles away. however, externally, you masked a look of resentment for him.

he broke your heart when he pushed you away. you didn’t understand why it was so difficult for him to come clean about things, especially when it came to you.

you had enough of it.

or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself, hoping for your heart to believe it as your mind did.

“hi,” you said. he could tell you were nervous from the way your hand slightly trembled. “long time no see.”

bakugou anxiously chuckled, “yeah.” he instinctively ran his fingers through his hair as he swallowed nothing. “look, i’m not even going to waste any time with this. y/n, i am so fuckin’ sorry.” his tone softened, coming from the deepest part of him. you can’t recall a time where his voice ever sounded so tender like this.

“kat—” you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

“no, i mean it. i am sorry for being a coward. i was a fool for treating you like you didn’t matter to me when that wasn’t the case, it was never the case. you were too good for me and that scared me. i’m rough on the outside, i couldn’t imagine savoring someone so mellow. i’m a pathetic asshole, a bitch, a cunt.”

you reached forward to place your hand on his wrist. “don’t say such things about yourself, katsuki. you are not any of those things.”

“don’t be good with me. i don’t deserve to be treated this way. give me the punishment i deserve for causing you anguish.” he begged. unknowingly, his hands slipped into yours. you could feel his sweat accumulate, his shaky hands.

all of this just for you to forgive him. how could you ever despise him when he’s an emotional wreck in the palm of your hands?

“it’s okay, katsuki. i’ve come to forget about it years ago. you’re one of the best things to happen to me during my adolescence. we were young and we both said things we didn’t mean back then.” bakugou looks at you with a pout. “i forgive you.”

you pull bakugou into a hug, wrapping your arms around him. you almost had forgotten how much bigger his figure was compared to yours until he bear-hugs you.

“how long are you staying until you leave for america?” he asks.

“i was going to wait till the end of the night to share this, but i was never one to hold secrets from you.” you released bakugou from the hug, a smile tugging your lips. “i’m coming back to japan.”

“what? but america… why?” he scrambled for words.

you lightly shrugged, “not my kind of place. i also really missed my home.”

“fuckin’ hell,” his words trailed off. bakugou couldn’t imagine the happiness that was coming from him right now. in his mind, he thanked kirishima for dragging him here. “i’m so relieved.”

you laughed, one that bakugou could tell wasn’t fake. he couldn’t help but to smile. he was finally talking to you, the woman he loved, after six long years. he was unsure if he could survive another minute of you ignoring him.

“so, back then, did you?”

“did i what?”

“back then, did you like me? did i really mean something to you?”

bakugou tried to remember if you were ever this dense? what a stupid fuckin’ question, bakugou thinks.

“you were the first person ever to tell me to have desires and to not hold back.” he explains. “did i like you? y/n, i loved you. every part of you, i loved. hell, i still do.” it seemed easier for him to confess, maybe it was from the adrenaline he was feeling in this moment.

but he didn’t care, if anything he was glad. you needed to hear it just as much he needed to admit it to himself.

“then, let’s start over, katsuki. let’s ditch this place, i know you’re not a big fan of parties anyway.”

bakugou knows all too well, he loves it how you remember the smallest parts of him. he loves your consideration and emotional warmth that you’re always quick to offer. even though, the gates were open for you to leave, you stayed.

he knew that his love for you would last a lifetime and would always welcome you with sweet grace and a humble gratitude.

all he can do is nod in response, hoping to suppress his racing heartbeat.

bakugou takes your hand to lead you to the exit of the party. “my job here is done anyway.”

@b134ch-m4h-ey3z @bsallergy

[pickingupmymercedes]

Damn him - Lewis Hamilton NSFW

Braids down, finger in and that smirk.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities

Also, wrap it before you tap it.

wordcount: +2K

a/n: I might have found my passion for teasing 🤭. Also, the smirk besties, that smirk @lh44girl 🫦

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

_______________________________________

The room was still shrouded in darkness, only the faintest sliver of dawn creeping through the heavy curtains. Lewis was dead to the world, his arm lazily draped over her waist.

She’s got to hand it to him—when he’s out, he’s out, completely unaware that she’s about to disappear from his bed like a ghost.

Gently, she lifts his arm, careful not to disturb him. The bed creaked slightly as she slipped out, the cool air immediately prickling her skin. Her dress from last night lies abandoned on the floor, and she silently cursed the choice of attire.

A body-hugging, zipper-up-the-back number isn’t exactly designed for a swift exit. Still, she’s been through these routine enough times to make it work.

She pulled on the dress, her fingers fumbling with the zipper, and catched her reflection in the mirror. Her hair a mess, wild and tangled from sleep and... well, whatever that was that happened the night before.

There’s a faint smudge of makeup under her eyes, and she can’t help but notice the telltale mark on her neck. Great. She’s got a press conference today, and now she’ll have to figure out how to cover that up.

Professionalism, right?

She glanced back at the bed. Lewis is sprawled out, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He looks so damn peaceful, so utterly unaware of the world.

And for a moment, just a brief flicker, she considered waking him. But what’s the point? This is how it always goes—no strings, no complications.

Besides, there’s a certain satisfaction in slipping out unnoticed, leaving him to his dreams.

She moved to the door, her hand hovering over the knob. There’s a moment’s hesitation, a tiny voice in the back of her mind that wonders if this will ever change—if they’ll ever stop playing these games.

But she brushed it aside. They both know the score. She’s not looking for anything more, and neither is he.

As she stepped into the hallway, she doesn’t look back. She’s done this dance before, and she’ll do it again. The only thing she takes with her is a hair tie around her wrist—probably his. It’s a small, insignificant thing, but she likes having it, a reminder of the night.

She straightened her dress, squared her shoulders, and walked down the corridor to enter the car waiting.

There’s no shame there, no regret. Just the usual morning after, with the usual complications.

But then, complications are part of the job, aren’t they?

By the time Y/n arrived on the paddock it was its usual buzzing ground, the organized chaos of a media day in full swing.

She’s got her game face on, professional and poised, the lingering traces of last night buried beneath a shower and layers of carefully applied concealer.

She was just finished setting up in the media pen, her notes organized, camera crew in place, when her phone vibrated against the table. She glanced down, expecting some last-minute update or an overzealous PR rep trying to change an interview slot. Instead, it’s a message from Lewis.

You have something that’s mine.

Her brow furrowed as she read it, confusion and intrigue bubbling up. What the hell is he talking about?

She quickly scanned her surroundings, half-expecting to see him lurking somewhere nearby with that damn smirk of his. But the paddock is crowded, drivers and team members moving in every direction, and there’s no sign of him.

She brushed it off. There’s work to be done, and whatever game he’s playing can wait.

But it’s easier said than done. The message lingered in the back of her mind, gnawing at her curiosity. What did she take? He can’t be serious.

She barely had time to dwell on everything that had happened since the night before before she has to move again, weaving through the throng of people.

As she rounds a corner, she nearly collides with him. Lewis, in all his casually confident glory, is striding toward her, his eyes locking onto hers with a look that gets her breath stuck in her throat.

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop, but as he passes, he gives her that look. The one that says he’s up to no good, that he’s got something planned.

The smirk on his lips is unmistakable. It’s a promise, a challenge, and she can’t help but roll her eyes at his audacity.

Of course, he’d pull something like this on a day she’s already juggling a million things. She keeps walking, head held high, refusing to let him see how much he’s already under her skin.

Only later, as she’s waiting for an interview to start, she spots him again. This time, he’s not in a rush. He’s lingering, talking to someone from his team, but his attention is split.

She can feel his gaze on her before she even looks up. When she does, he’s already watching her, a little too intently for her liking.

He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then stops, closing it with a thoughtful pout. His hand slips into his pocket, but only his index goes in, tapping the rest rhythmically against his les.

Her breath hitches again. She knows exactly what that finger is capable of, and the memory from last night floods back in with a vengeance.

The slow, deliberate way he’d teased her, drawn out her pleasure until she was a trembling mess beneath him.

She forces herself to look away, to focus on anything else. But the damage is done. He’s got her flustered, her mind racing in directions it shouldn’t be going in the middle of a workday.

She doesn’t miss the satisfied glint in his eye as she turns her attention back to her notes, pretending she’s unaffected. But he knows better. He always does.

Damn him.

Then she’s back at the hotel, settling into her room, the familiar comfort of routine taking over as she edits the final images for the broadcaster. The day has been a whirlwind, and she’s finally finding her rhythm.

She’s halfway through cropping a shot when the phone rings, startling her. The room phone.

She blinks, confused. Who even uses the room phone these days?

“Hello?”

“Your car is downstairs, ma’am,” the receptionist informs her, tone as polished as ever.

“My car?” She’s even more puzzled now. She didn’t call for a car. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s waiting for you.”

Almost simultaneously, her phone pings with a message. She glances down, and her confusion deepens when she sees the name on the screen: Lewis. She opens the message.

Just get in.

Of course. Who else could it be? A sigh escapes her as she gathers her things, tossing her phone into her bag.

Why was she even entertaining him was something her logical side was having serious trouble grasping.

The blacked-out Mercedes waiting outside is a dead giveaway. She slides into the backseat, and there he is—Lewis, sprawled out with that easy confidence he wears like a second skin.

The door barely clicks shut before his hands are on her, pulling her close as the car begins to move. A closed little window the only thing separating them from whoever was on the front seats.

“Lewis, not here” she hisses, feeling his fingers deftly working their way to the button of her jeans.

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Don’t worry, love. The big guy driving us won’t say a thing.”

His fingers are relentless, sliding under the fabric, seeking out her heat. Her breath catches as he finds her clit, rubbing it through the thin barrier of her underwear.

The car is moving, taking them somewhere in the Milan area, but she’s too caught up in the sensation to care where they’re headed.

“You love the tease, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

She bites her lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape. She can’t let him win that easily, not when he’s already got her halfway undone with just a few well-placed touches.

But when he finally slides a finger inside her, she’s lost, her body arching into him despite herself.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, dragging her toward the edge with a practiced ease that only makes her want him more. The pleasure coils tighter and tighter until she’s gasping, muffling her sounds against his shoulder as she comes, her body trembling from the intensity.

But it’s not enough. Not even close. She’s still aching, still needy, and she knows he’s fully aware of it.

“Lewis,” she breathes, her voice a low plea. “I need more than this.”

His laugh is soft, almost indulgent, as if he expected nothing less. “Patience, babe.”

The car begins to slow, and she glances out the window. She can only assume it’s their next stop in whatever he’s got planned.

He withdraws his hand, leaving her feeling achingly empty. But the promise of more, of what’s to come, is enough to keep her on edge, her pulse quickening as he opens the door and steps out, offering her his hand.

“Come on,” he says, that damn smirk back in place. “We’re not done yet.”

As Y/n steps out of the car, the cool evening air wraps around her, a welcome help to the heat still simmering within her.

She takes Lewis’s hand, not because she needs it, but because it’s part of the unspoken dance they’ve been doing for over a year now.

He leads her up a discreet side entrance, the back of another hotel, and it doesn’t take long for her to recognize it.

The same damn place she’d snuck out of this morning, trying to preserve a shred of her dignity. And here she is, to end the day right back where she started it.

The universe’s funny like that.

They move quickly and quietly through the hallways, Lewis’s hand gripping hers with an easy familiarity. The top floor, naturally—because Lewis doesn’t do anything by halves.

When they finally enter his room, he pauses, turning to face her. There’s something different in his eyes, a seriousness that wasn’t there before. But before she can analyze it, he’s speaking.

“I believe you’ve got two things that are mine,” he says, voice low and smooth.

She arches a brow, trying to play it cool even though her heart is thudding in her chest. “Oh…two?”

He steps closer, and she can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “My hair tie you took with you this morning” he says, nodding toward her wrist where the band sits snugly.

She glances down at it, remembering how he’d used it to pull her hair back last night when his hands were too busy holding her in place.

A small smirk tugs at her lips as she looks back at him.

“And you, babe” he continues, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re mine.”

She huffs a laugh in his face, half-amused, half-challenged. She turns from him and sits on the sofa, crossing her legs as she slowly let’s her head fall to the side and her lips pout “Yours? I don’t remember ever saying yes to anything.”

Lewis smiles, but there’s something in his eyes that’s deadly serious. He closes the distance between them, his hand lifting to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Will you, then? Let whatever this is stay in the past and be my partner?”

Damn him.

She was just here for the sex, the fun, the thrill of sneaking around with one of the most recognizable men on the planet. But he’s gone and done it—turned the tables on her when she least expected it.

And of course, she wants to scream to the top of the roof she does. But she’s not going to make it that easy for him.

A slow smile spreads across her face, and she uses his arms to help herself up, bringing her face level with his. Her other hand finds its way to his jawline, her thumb brushing lightly against the beard there.

She leans in, her lips barely grazing his ear as she whispers, “You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that, Romeo.”

And then she pulls back just enough to see the flicker of surprise in his eyes before she leaves a kiss at the corner of his lips.

With a teasing glance, she turns and strides towards the bed by the windows, peeling off her shirt as she goes.

She doesn’t look back until she reaches for the hooks on her bra. Then, with a wicked grin, she glances over her shoulder at him. “Aren’t you gonna help me with that?”

There’s a heartbeat of hesitation, and then she hears him move, the soft sound of his footsteps on the carpet as he closes the distance between them.

Because this is what they do—challenge, tease, and drive each other crazy.

Only this time, the prize is that much bigger.

She can feel it in the way his hands are just a little gentler, his touch lingering a little longer as he reaches for her.

And as much as she wants to hold onto her bravado, there’s a part of her that’s ready to see where this path might lead them.

But first, there’s the matter of making him earn it.

______________________________________________________________

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[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (10)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: as dictated by the results of poll #6, this chapter will include stunt training, clubbing, and an accident. Plus, you've got tub anon to thank for... well... the tub scene :) Oh, and this is kind of 18+. Just a tad.

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Matt and the reader eagerly explore the uncharted waters of their budding relationship. Ewan is booked and busy with the preparation for his new franchise. Will Ewan and his darling even find time for each other, or should they just take this opportunity to let go?

The internet, ever so informative, lets you know that Ewan and Jenna’s arrangement is in its initial stages before he even calls to tell you. 

Their first interview with Josh Horowitz is immediately followed by another feature on the movie set, with the two talking about the pre-production, what they liked about the script, and their chemistry, which according to them, came naturally and did not require much work at all. It was practically the thing they had to work on the least. How lucky. 

A lighthearted reprieve came in the form of a meme that started circulating not long after their interview with Josh. In it, Ewan is caught looking like he's either malfunctioning or deep in a philosophical crisis. The internet ran with it, with captions like, ‘When you realise you left the oven on at home’, to comparing him to an NPC glitching out.

When you asked him about it, he quickly stammered that he simply spaced out. Sure. It was hilarious, nonetheless.

Your publicist Mallory had commented that soon Ewan and Jenna would be obliged to go on pap walks, something that would appear casual and separate from the confines of the project that they’re working on. Something that signals that their relationship is making it into the real world.

“That whole casual ‘just friends hanging out’ vibe they’re gonna push? It’s all part of the gig,” Mallory shared. “Next thing you know, they’ll be taking long walks on the beach or grabbing coffee in some trendy LA spot.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. Even just a little. Sure, you know what the business is like. You’ve been on the same end of that deal just recently, with your own film’s PR efforts. But this arrangement that Ewan has doesn’t seem like the usual short-term fling to drum up buzz. It feels… heavy, like something that might actually stick.

“I’d be lying if I say I don’t find it all annoying, darling, but I try to look at it now as part of the job, you know?” he had said, when he phoned you one evening – his afternoon – to let you know that his stay in LA would be much longer than expected. 

You responded with, “Oh, yeah, I completely understand.” What else can you do? You aren’t together – you don’t have a claim to him, and vice versa. You thought that would make things better – easier – but you’re still waiting for that sense of comfort to kick in.

This is for the best, you would remind yourself every time a new headline surfaces. 

It’s only been a month since you last properly saw Ewan, since that night on the rooftop. In the early days, he messaged every day, called whenever he had a spare moment. But slowly, the calls have become shorter, more sporadic – chalked up to his increasingly busy schedule. Your tones have become more dispassionate – he blames it on his exhaustion, profusely swearing that he misses you so fucking much, but something feels different. 

Your job keeps you busy, with your commitments related to the new season of House of the Dragon, event appearances, and gearing up for the release of your film with Jacob. You are even invited to the upcoming Vanity Fair Young Hollywood Ball, an exclusive party to be held in New York.

And Matt is a more than welcome distraction. 

Matt, who has begun spending more time in your apartment after Ewan’s temporary move to LA. Matt, who brings you flowers that are apparently ‘beautiful, but pales in comparison to you’. Matt, who is unfailingly a gentleman, respecting your boundaries and not making a move since that time on your couch after your first date, when you told him to wait. 

He sits with you by your kitchen counter, in a disarmingly tight white shirt that leaves little to the imagination, one sturdy hand nursing a cup of coffee and the other on the small of your back to support you as you sit on the high stool, and you suddenly don’t want him to wait anymore. 

“Have you decided on what you’ll be wearing to the screening tonight, love?” he asks. 

“Why? Does it have to be pre-approved?” you playfully quip, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Ah,” he nods, smiling, playing along, “of course, of course. You think I’m an easy man to date? You’ve got to keep up with my standards, as beautiful as you already are.”

You laugh, playfully mussing his hair, and he catches your wrist before it drops back on the counter. He says, “I ask because I wanted to match you, so to speak. We’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Oh,” you snort softly, “or you know, like Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

“Funny girl,” he muses, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a soft kiss, caffeinated and warm and Matty. You notice that his hand on your back is pressed firmer – he didn’t want you to slip when you leaned in. 

Charming bastard. He isn’t making things any easier… or maybe he is. 

Maybe he’s it. 

But the moment’s broken by a loud, offended-sounding meow. You look down to see Sansa, staring at Matt like he’s personally responsible for all the world’s problems.

“Hey, babygirl,” Matt croons, extending a hand toward her. Sansa, the biggest diva of a kitten, just gives him a slow blink before trotting off, clearly unimpressed.

“Calling her babygirl isn’t going to make her warm up to you,” you tease.

“She already doesn’t seem to like me,” he replies, scoffing. “Which is a shock, pretty much, how can she not?”

“So humble, Matthew.” You smile at his effortless charm, his easy personality. That’s all you seem to be doing nowadays. Matt is like your personal ray of sunshine. 

“I’ll win her over,” he declares confidently, sitting upright. “Anything for my lady.”

You roll your eyes. “How very Daemon of you.”

“Actually,” he laughs, “Daemon would probably feed her to Caraxes for being difficult.”

“Matthew!”

“I’m kidding!”

Sansa meows even louder, bounding away towards your bedroom. 

“Leave my Sansa alone,” you say, pointing at him accusingly.

He gives you a sly grin. “I will… if you come here and give me another kiss.”

Before you can respond, he slides your stool closer to his with a smooth movement, catching you off guard. You find yourself practically in his lap, his thighs pressing against yours as he waits, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, narrowing your eyes, unable to mask the smile that graces your lips. “One kiss, but only for Sansa.”

“Oh, shush and kiss me already, love.”

The film screening had been a private event, by invitation only from those who worked on the film. Edward Bluemel, Matt’s good friend, is a fellow actor marking his directorial debut with this film. For a first go, it was impressive, gripping from start to finish. Almost as much as Matt’s hand resting just above your knee, his thumb absentmindedly tracing soft circles into your skin.

Your cheeks had flushed when a particularly steamy scene came on the screen, and it might have been the nervous gremlins in your mind, but you swore Matt’s hand inched higher up your leg.

Now, on your couch, his hand is even higher. He hovers over you, his breath heavy and uneven as his fingers tease at the warmth between your thighs, so close to where you’re already aching for him. 

Maybe it was all the dirty martinis you drank at the open bar after the screening, or maybe this was a long time coming. Either way, you want him, and from the way his lips move urgently against yours, he wants you too.

It dawns on you that the tension is no longer something you can talk yourself out of.

He pulls away, and you protest with a mewling whine, your body arching into him. He nearly growls in frustration, the unspeakable sound you just made having a direct line to his hardened cock. With a gentle tug at the nape of his neck, you pull him back down to your lips, but he resists. 

“We have to slow down,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Because we’re about to cross a line that I won’t be able to hold back from, love.”

“Matt – ”

“I understand – ” He licks his lips, letting out a slow and controlled breath. “ – that you want to wait – ”

Your confession comes out slow and measured, letting him know that this is what you really want. “Maybe I don’t want… to wait anymore.”

“Say that again,” he says slowly, his eyes darkening in lust. 

“Maybe I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Maybe?” he whispers, his voice rough, practically pleading.

“Oh, just fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to snap.

He undresses you in record time, ripping off every item of clothing from your body with an eagerness that betrays just how hungry he is for you.

Neither of you even bother to travel to your bedroom. At some point, your entwined naked bodies slip off the couch and onto your plush carpet. 

And you have a heated… What was it called again? 

Oh right – a damn good roll in the hay. 

The water is still warm in your deep clawfoot tub, steam rising gently from the surface. You lean back, head resting against the porcelain, that blissful post-sex daze settling over you. 

Matt slides into the water opposite you, his movements slow, deliberate. His eyes haven’t left you since he stepped in, and you can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin. It isn’t just the remnants of your earlier intimacy – though that heat still hummed in the air between you – it’s something more. Something you can’t name and maybe you’re afraid to, but it tugs at you all the same.

A small smile plays on his lips, the kind that made your chest tighten – half teasing, half dangerous.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and smooth.

You exhale a soft laugh, running your fingers lazily through the water, trailing small ripples across the surface. “I’m not exactly complaining, am I?”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts.” His tone is light, but the undercurrent of meaning isn’t lost on you.

You close your eyes, letting the warm water soothe your tired muscles, but even with the comfort of the bath, you can’t quite escape the one person lingering in the back of your mind. 

Matt isn’t Ewan, but he’s here, his presence steady, his charm disarming. He makes you laugh, makes you feel wanted in ways that are simple and uncomplicated, and maybe that’s what you need right now. Maybe it was okay to let yourself enjoy this, to live in this moment without overthinking what it meant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt asks, leaning forward.

You open your eyes, catching the glint of amusement in his. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous territory,” he teases, reaching for your hand.

“Hmm, maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “You’re too charming for your own good, you know that?”

He chuckles deeply. “I’ve been told. But I like to think it’s part of my appeal.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Cocky bastard.”

He grins, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Takes one to know one.” His hand travels to your leg underneath the water, massaging gently.

“I’m serious, though,” he says softly, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “I don’t want you overthinking this. We’re good, yeah?”

You nod, but there is a flicker of something else in your chest. Guilt, maybe? But Matt is right here, and he isn’t asking for anything more than what you could give, and for now, that is more than enough.

“We’re good,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiles against your mouth, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Good,” he whispers back, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, the sound muffled as he kisses you again and positions you on top of him. You shuffle forward and discover a very obvious indication that he’s ready for round two of rolling in the hay. Or in the tub. Whatever works. 

He looks absolutely enraptured when you ride him, your motions causing tremors in the water. 

And in the sheer pleasure he gives you, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the smell of lavender, you allow yourself to let go.

The event has the industry buzzing - an exclusive event by Vanity Fair celebrating the rising stars of Hollywood. A masquerade party, the notion of which excited you to no end. You’d only read about such in books, in its medieval iterations, all poofy skirts and velvet waistcoats, the whole concept full of prestige and mystery. 

You spent days prepping with your team, the anticipation building until it felt like a living thing inside you. Your dress, a beautiful piece from Atelier Versace, fits like a glove, one side made of draped black sequins shimmering like liquid night against your skin. The theme is Midnight Elysium, and you look every bit the part - dangerous and glamourous and untouchable. 

Your makeup team did an impeccable job. Your eyeshadow resembles a swirling galaxy, a blend of silver and noir. Your lipstick is a perfect nude shade that matches your skin tone and your features.  

But then there was the mask. The final, necessary touch. Delicate black lace that settles over your eyes, framed with gold filigree and flecks of silver – sharp and ethereal at once. It was a piece of art, something you personally commissioned from a local designer in your hometown.

In a room where everyone claims to know everyone, a mask can be more than just a costume piece. It can be a weapon – giving you the freedom to be both seen and unseen. 

Stepping into the nightclub is like slipping in between worlds. Black velvet drapes line the walls, catching the glow of the minimal lighting – gold and silver chandeliers hanging like constellations. The bass from the music pulses underfoot, sending vibrations through your veins. Faces are obscured by extravagant masks, but you are able to recognise some of them if you look close enough. Milly is speaking to someone by the bar, and you remind yourself to pull her aside for a chat later. Timothee is introducing his date to a small flock of people. And Jacob is bounding right for you the moment you make eye contact. 

“There’s my leading lady,” he greets cheerfully, swooping down to kiss you on both cheeks. He’s wearing a metallic silver vest and trousers, along with a white mask that covers one side of his face like The Phantom.

“Wow,” you say, making a show of appraising him, looking at all 6 foot 5 inches of his figure up and down. “You look like a handsome disco ball.”

He laughs, the sound unmistakable even in the bustling nightclub. “And look at you! What are you, a cyberpunk witch? A sleek dominatrix?” 

“Careful now,” you warn him, “or I might just hex you into getting me a drink.”

“Coming right up,” he says, but his attention is pulled by someone calling his name. “Hold on a sec, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.” You let him lead you further into the room, and you’re swept into the rhythm of it all, moving through the crowd as if you belong – because you do. You’re slowly getting used to the weight of eyes on you, but tonight, it feels as if there’s a shadow you can’t quite shake. 

Your personal shadow in a room full of masked shadows. Your skin prickles, an awareness blooming under your ribs. In all the fuss leading up to this event, you hadn’t really bothered to check the full roster of attendees.

After several rounds of conversation, you excuse yourself for a moment and stand off to the side to take a breather. 

And then you see him.

Ewan stands across the room, a drink in hand, his black leather overcoat tailored to perfection. The mask he wears, a sharp cut of black and gold, adds a dangerous air to him. His effortlessly tousled hair sports a smattering of gold embellishments, like streaks of pale blonde hair. You take him in, every inch of him, that mischievous curve of his lips and the glint of his blue eyes underneath that mask. 

It hits you like a tidal wave, like a fucking hurricane, the longing you’ve tried to suppress for weeks. 

You shouldn’t want him this much, not when you both agreed to the break. To keep some distance. His fake romantic arrangement had made sure of that. And after everything, you knew that some separation was what you both needed. 

But seeing him now, looking at you like he’s starving… it’s enough to unravel every careful thread you’d stitched together since you last touched. You want to look away, pretend that this is just another night, that he’s just another fellow actor among the crowd. But the pull is too strong. It’s as if your legs move on their own volition, and you slowly move through the crowd, almost subconsciously drawn to him. 

He steps deeper into the shadows of the club as you approach, disappearing into one of the more secluded alcoves draped in heavy black velvet. No one will see you there. No one will know any better.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, and the music becomes a distant hum. It’s quieter, darker, and for all the trappings of the Hollywood elite, Ewan is far more intoxicating. 

“You’re here,” you whisper, half in question, half in disbelief.

But he’s already moving towards you, his eyes dark and hungry behind the mask. The air between you crackles with an undeniable need – weeks of distance, of longing, building up to this moment. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his body through your dress, and you so badly want to forget that this is a bad idea.

“I can’t stay away,” he says, his voice low and raw, like it’s costing him to hold back. “Not tonight.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, every rational thought slipping away as his fingers skim the bare skin of your waist through the slits in your dress. “We… we can’t,” you manage to say, but even to your own ears, it sounds weak. Oh, who are you trying to fool?

“How can I not? Fuck, how can you look like that and expect me to just walk away?”

You want to say something, something sensible, something to remind him of the stakes. But nothing comes to mind, not when his hand brushes up your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. His other hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. He dips his head down, breathing against your shoulders and your neck, taking you in like a vice. 

“Ewan,” you finally croak. “We agreed not to – ”

“I don’t bloody care,” he cuts you off, his mouth inches from yours. “We agreed to give it some time, sure, but I never agreed to stop wanting you. Besides, I make good on what’s asked of me. I play the part. I deserve to be rewarded, don’t I? And you’re the only prize I desire.”

His words hit you hard, melting any resistance you’d been clinging to. 

“Oh? So… so I’m just a prize now?”

He only smiles. “The only one worth winning.”

Before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you pull him closer and crash your lips into his. 

The kiss is hard, fierce, his mouth feverishly attacking yours. He tastes bittersweet, all hard bourbon and cigarettes. You’re certain that the lipstick your makeup artist painstakingly applied would be wiped clean off. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough.

You break apart, gasping for breath. His lips are slick, shining in the occasional flicker of neon blue and red lights, his mask casting shadows across his sharp features.

A bright flash from the party's official photographer erupts in the corner, thankfully not pointed in your direction. Still, it momentarily shakes both of you back to reality. 

“Come with me.” His hand slips into yours, fingers curling possessively as he pulls you away from the cacophony of the club. You barely have time to react before you’re being led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He pushes open a door, leading you into a smaller room bathed in that same cold, electric blue. Plush seating is arranged haphazardly in the corners, but the space is mostly empty. The low hum of the bass still thrums in the distance, but it’s reduced to a faint echo. The smell gives off cigarette smoke and spilled liquor.

“Smoking area,” he says with a half-smirk, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “I think.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs, utterly unconcerned. “Who cares? It’s just us in here.”

You shoot him a look, glancing back at the door. “Someone could walk in.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, that familiar heat radiating off him like a furnace. “It’s a party, darling. They’re probably wasted out of their minds. And besides…” He taps the edge of his mask, his eyes glinting mischievously behind the black and gold. “The masks?”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “And if someone does walk in?” you ask, arching a brow. “What then?”

He steps closer, crowding into your space, the tension thick between you. “Then they get a show,” he says, his voice playful and teasing, but laced with something darker. 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

“You can still walk away, darling,” he offers, trying to bait you when he knows full well that he already has you hooked. “Or, you can just shut up and kiss me.”

So much for giving it time. Ewan’s lips find yours once more, just as desperate, and you barely notice when he directs you to the seating, your back colliding with its velvet exterior. His low groan sends a wave of heat pooling in your stomach, and you think to yourself, this was a terrible idea. 

Your hands roam, finding the planes of his chest. He smoothly takes off his leather overcoat, revealing his bare torso underneath. The sight of it makes your head spin, and you croak unsteadily, “Ewan… not here, baby, we can’t – ”

“I know, darling,” he croons, his hand cradling your face. “I just wanna kiss you. I just want you… to touch me…” His other hand takes yours and drags it down the firm lines of his stomach, a desperate plea in his eyes. “Please, just – ”

The moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of giggling from the hallway, getting louder. Suddenly, the door opens and in stumbles a pair of girls, one of them you recognise to be Jenna. 

“Oh!” The other girl exclaims, clearly delighted by the situation she’s just walked into. She pulls off her mask, revealing herself as Emma Myers. “We found him! We finally found your date.”

Your heart plummets, right down on the liquor stained carpet.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak, getting to your feet and smoothing down your dress which had ridden scandalously higher up your thighs. “I’m – ”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Jenna says, shaking your hand, not the least bit bothered by the state she found you and Ewan in. “I love your work. I’m Jenna.”

“Oh… thank you – ”

Emma steps in, grinning. “Hi! I’m Emma. I’m such a fan.”

“Oh my god, I should be saying that to you guys!” you blurt, feeling a rush of relief at their easy demeanour. “I love Wednesday.”

They both gasp, and soon the three of you are exchanging compliments like old friends, chatting about each other's work with enthusiasm. Ewan, still seated, watches the scene unfold with barely concealed frustration. He eventually stands, shrugging his leather coat back on, and glances at Jenna.

“One of our producers is here,” Jenna explains cheerfully. “She’d love to chat with both of us.”

Right. Ewan’s her date. The word echoes in your mind, but the jealousy you expected to feel is oddly muted now. 

Ewan speaks, addressing only you, “Darling, will you – ”

“I’ve got her,” Emma declares, looping her arm around yours. “I’ve got so much I want to ask you!” Before you know it, she leads you out of the room like you’ve been best friends for years.

Ewan’s eyes stay on you, full of frustration and yearning, even as he and Jenna follow you out the door.

But you barely see him for the rest of the night.

The party is a blur of celebrities and conversations, but your mind keeps drifting back to that stolen moment in the blue-lit room. Eventually, your social battery runs out, and you slip out of the club early, unnoticed by most. 

Back at your hotel, you peel off your dress and drop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the night replay in your head. The feeling of his hands on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours – it’s all too much.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Ewan One-Eye flashes across the screen.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, but you pick up. His voice is low, almost cautious. “You left early.”

“I was tired,” you reply, voice soft. “The party was great but it was... a lot.” Mainly because of him.

A beat of silence follows, and you wonder if he's wrestling with what to say next. “Are you okay?” You can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, eyes dark with worry. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say, unable to hide the tremble in your voice. 

Another long pause, with only his slow breathing on the other end. 

“I hate this,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, the raw emotion in his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I fucking hate that he gets to have you, and I don’t… and I can’t… ” He cuts himself off, and you hear the snap of his lighter followed by his sharp exhale.

You bite your lip, your throat tight with emotion. You’ve both been so careful, dancing around each other, pretending that you could stay apart.

“I’m flying back to London tomorrow night,” you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. It feels like a confession, like you’re admitting defeat.

“I need to see you before you go.”

“Ewan, we agreed – ”

“Fuck what we agreed!” His sudden outburst takes you by surprise, and you hear the raw need in his voice. “I don’t care about the arrangement, I don’t care about the distance. I just... I need you.”

You want to tell him that you need him too. You want to throw caution to the wind and agree to being together in secret despite the false romance he has to portray to the world. But you can’t. 

“I...” Your voice falters. “We’ll see each other soon.” It doesn’t feel like enough. With a soft sigh, you add on a lighter note, “Alyna still has to kick Aemond’s ass, you know.”

A beat passes, and then you hear his tired laugh on the other end. “Right,” he chuckles softly, the sound both comforting and heartbreaking. “Wouldn’t want to keep the fans waiting for that.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying for casual, trying not to let your voice crack, “someone’s got to put Aemond in his place.”

“Hmm, well if that place happens to be right in Alyna’s arms, I doubt you’ll hear any complaints about the script from me this time.”

You can’t help but smile at his teasing, but it only deepens the ache in your heart.

“Ewan…” you begin, but the words hang in the air, unspoken. 

“I know, darling,” he replies, his tone resigned yet gentle. “I miss you too.”

The training room is alive with the sounds of clashing swords and laughter, but you can’t help but feel a different kind of electricity buzzing in the air. Maybe it’s just the way Matt looks at you, as you rehearse a scene where Daemon helps Alyna brush up on her sword fighting. 

You lunge forward, initiating the first move with confidence, and he counters effortlessly, the blades clashing in a symphony of steel. The practice moves are intense, each swing bringing you closer. His eyes darken with focus as he follows your movements, and for a moment, it becomes easy to forget the rest of the stunt crew in the room. 

“Nice footwork,” Matt compliments, stepping in closer. His body brushes against yours, sending a rush of heat through you. Ever since your night together, he has only been more brazen with his affections. “But you’re leaving yourself open here.” He demonstrates, his sword brushing against your side as he adjusts your stance.

“There,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “feel that?” You swallow nervously, grateful that the stunt coordinator had moved on to Harry in the far side of the room.

“I think I might be too open,” you manage to say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Maybe,” Matt murmurs, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “But I can’t help but want to close the distance.”

As you move through the choreography, you both fall into a rhythm, and almost inevitably, the fight turns into something more playful. You circle each other, exchanging faux blows and laughter, the distracting banter causing the stunt director to approach and get you both back on track. 

Next up, you have to train for Alyna’s pivotal scene where she attempts to mount Caraxes as per Daemon’s command. 

As you practice the mounting technique on the mechanical dragon, you’re hyper-aware of every movement. The crew watches closely, ready to offer guidance. You grip the handles tightly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, and for a brief moment, you lose yourself in the character, feeling the thrill of the scene.

But then it happens. The Buck jolts unexpectedly, throwing you off balance. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself slipping. You try to brace for impact, but it’s too late. You land hard, the pain shooting through your ankle as it twists at an unnatural angle.

There is a stinging sensation too, by the side of your head, and all you think is – oh fuck. The world around you fades to a blur, just as chaos erupts.

When you finally regain consciousness, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. Your surroundings come into focus slowly, and your heart races when you realise you’re in a hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor is the only sound, punctuated by the faint rustle of fabric.

You feel his hand on yours before your eyes even land on his figure, slumped on a chair beside your bed. His head rests on his shoulder, his grip still lightly holding your hand. His brow is furrowed in worry, even in sleep. 

You feel lightheaded, and for a moment you worry that your concussion might be worse than it is, but no. It's just him. 

Then, the sound of your movement catches his attention. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and when he meets your gaze, relief instantly washes over his features. 

“Love… you’re awake.”

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

💌 next chapter

Some notes in the margins...

Well, well, well. Yous were convinced that Matty would get the clubbing scene, helped by the red herring of his dancing video. Alas!

Is that Matty at the end there? Or a certain Mitchelly man? Hmm... one wonders. 💖

Complaints? Refund requests? Please direct your thoughts in the comments section below. I can 100% guarantee a satisfying solution. Or 70%.

Or, you know, bugger it. We're all in this together, better or worse ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[ladykailitha]

Star Child Part 9

Hello!! We find out the name of Eddie’s roadie that spotted the problem at the bar in Part 6. We delve into Steve’s problems a bit. And we meet Steve’s badass lawyer.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8

***

Steve woke up at 6am like he always did. He knew that he wouldn’t be hearing from any of the Corroded Coffin boys until later in the morning but he was anxious to be doing something, anything. So he messaged Lucas that he was going to go for a run and hopped into the shower.

He was pleasantly surprised to see the man dressed for running in shorts and a tank top. Steve nodded appreciatively.

“Just a heads up,” he said, setting his smart watch for the run, “I’ve had a really anxious last couple of days and I tend to run harder to combat that.”

Lucas half shrugged. “I’m game for whatever you’ve got, man. I assure you.”

Steve laughed and started stretching. Lucas did the same and once they were fully stretched, they started off. Steve began slow and ramped up, faster and faster until they had hit a full on sprint.

They arrived back at the house, panting and sweating up a storm.

“Damn,” Lucas huffed, hands on his knees and head hung between his shoulders. “You weren’t kidding about that run. Shit.”

Steve laughed. “I haven’t had someone keep up with me before.”

Lucas stood up and put his hands on his back. “I used to play basketball in high school and college. Until I hurt my knee pretty bad.”

“Made it so you were unable to play?” Steve asked, leading them into the house for water and the AC.

“Actually,” Lucas said, taking the water bottle from Steve, “I fully recovered, but it was the team that had moved on. That’s when I realized it would be the same if I got in the NBA. I’d be traded around like a bad birthday present instead being treated like a person and went fuck that shit.”

Steve nodded and hopped up on the counter. “I used to play sports before I got into the whole singing thing. Originally my dad had me playing three sports to triple my chances of making money off of me. And then realized that he could make more with me as a pop star.”

He opened his bottle of water and took a long drink.

Lucas chugged his all in one gulp before tossing it in the trash. “What sports did you play?”

“Basketball,” Steve said, cocking his head to the side and held out his hand, point to Lucas, “like you. Let’s see...baseball and swimming. Did a couple others like boxing and wrestling in PE, but nothing worth writing home about. But yeah. I made captain of the basketball team and co-captain of the swim. I enjoyed them well enough. But singing, man? That’s it for me. I love it.”

“But you kept it with the sports after you made it big?” Lucas asked.

“Sure,” Steve murmured. “Most hotels have swimming pools and you can always find a place with a couple of hoops for a game or two.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Three fourths of The Kings played on the basketball team in high school, only Jonathan didn’t.”

“My sister was a big fan of The Kings when she was in high school,” Lucas said, leaning against the counter next to Steve and crossing her arms. “Billy was her favorite until she found out he was racist asshole.”

Steve grimaced. “Yeah, that was a PR nightmare, let me tell you.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Lucas agreed. “What are your plans for today?”

“I’m meeting with a top contract lawyer to get my label off my ass,” Steve said, throwing his bottle in the trash can and making it. Lucas raised an impressed eyebrow. “My label is pissed that once this album is done and I go on tour, that’s it. I’m done with them.”

“This the same label that hired security to spy on you?” Lucas asked.

“That’s them,” Steve groused. “My manager made sure the terms were air tight in our favor but they’re trying to wiggle out of it.”

“Bastards.”

Steve shook his head. “You have no idea.”

“What’s the lawyer’s name?” Lucas asked with a tilt of his head.

Steve frowned. “Actually, I don’t recall.” He got up and went to the cork board next to fridge and began scanning for the business card. “Ah ha!” He plucked the card off the board and walked back to Lucas and handed him the card.

“Gillibrand, Farnsworth, and Hayward, Associates at Law,” Steve said. “I’m meeting with Erica Hayward.”

“Yeah...” Lucas said, drawing out the word. “I hope you’re looking for a scorched earth approach to this record label.”

Steve shrugged. “I wouldn’t be opposed. Why? Do you know them or something?”

Lucas winced. “I’d better. Erica Hayward is my little sister.”

*

Steve was relieved when Eddie called from the airport.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve said softly. “Everyone make it out all right?”

“Everything is fine beautiful,” Eddie said. “Chrissy is a certified genius. We actually have two tour buses, one that we keep stored in Evansville in case this one breaks down. So she had the bus haul ass down to Austin and we played a little bit of shell game with Creel’s goons.”

Steve laughed. “That’s fantastic! I was so worried about it, I was about to recommend my security company to you.”

“I thought you were notorious for blowing off your security detail,” Eddie said with a chuckle.

Steve walked out to the swimming pool and sat down on one of the loungers, “Used to. Back when they were spies for my parents and the record label. Got my own company now. They’ve been pretty good so far. Robin wanted someone to watch my back as I drove to LA.”

“And they passed muster, then?” Eddie asked with a fond smile.

“Yeah,” Steve said, laying back on the lounger. “They’re from Indiana, too and not Caifornia but they do have locations all around the country, LA included, of course.”

“Of course,” Eddie said. “But you don’t have to worry on that front, Stevie. My roadies double as security. Trust me when I say no one messes with us when they’re nearby.”

“Okay, Eds,” Steve said. “I hate how Creel tried to come after you guys. You especially.”

“I’ll just sic Mike on him,” Eddie said with laugh. “That bastard is so surly that I’ve seen him stare down a biker gang and win.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked. “He built like a tank or something?”

Eddie laughed again. “No, baby. Mike Wheeler is most definitely not built like a tank.”

Steve sat up in a flash and scrambled to get to his photos on his phone. “Is this him?”

“Why do you have a picture of my roadie on your phone?” Eddie asked, genuinely confused.

“You remember Nancy?” Steve asked. “The ex currently dating my former bandmate Jonanthan Byers.”

“Sure,” Eddie said. “From the Indie Dolls, right?”

Steve hummed in agreement.

“Rumor was,” Eddie continued, “that she didn’t even wait for the bed to get cold before she shacked up with Byers.”

Steve scoffed. “Bitch didn’t even wait for that. She full on cheated on me with Jonathan.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “Mike Wheeler is Nancy Wheeler’s little brother.”

“Fuck.” It was quiet on the line for a moment. “Really?”

“Small world,” Steve said. “He doesn’t like me much, but if he’s your guard dog, I’ll sleep soundly knowing he’s got your back.”

“And I’m glad you’ve got someone watching your back too, sweetheart,” Eddie replied.

Steve looked at his watch and sighed. “I’ve got let you go. I’ve got to get ready for my appointment. Fly safe.”

“Will do, sweet thing,” Eddie said and hung up.

Steve stared at his phone for a moment before he got up and went back in the house.

*

Max was waiting by a black sedan when Steve walked out of his house an hour later. He paused briefly at the bottom step and blinked at the sight. He then shrugged and half jogged to the car.

“Steve,” Max greeted. “We’ll be picking Robin Buckley up and then to your appointment. Lucas gave me the run down of the office and I know where all the exits are.”

Steve nodded and got into the backseat of the car. Max hopped into in the passenger seat. Steve could barely make out the driver.

They got to Robin’s house and she just bounded into the car without missing a beat. She slid into the middle so she could sit next to Steve.

“Now,” Max began once they were both settled, “Steve is my main priority, however I will do whatever it takes to keep you both safe.”

“Roger that!” Robin said with a jaunty salute.

They pulled up in front of a large office building with the names Gillibrand, Farnsworth, and Hayward in neat black letters on the bronze plaque next to the main doors.

Max followed close behind as Robin and Steve walked up to the receptionist’s desk.

“Steve Harrington to see Erica Hayward at 2pm?” Steve said smoothly.

The receptionist typed something on her screen and nodded. “Fifth floor, suite five hundred. Speak to her PA and he’ll let you in.”

“Thank you,” Steve said and tapped the front desk twice.

They walked to the elevator.

Everything about the place screamed opulence and elegance. They exited the elevator and this floor was even more elegant than the ground floor. It was all white marble and brass fittings.

Steve squirmed a little. It reminded him a little much of the home he grew up in. Fancy and faceless.

Robin took his hand and gently pulled him down the hallway to suite 500. She opened the glass door and led the way to the PA’s desk. The office was black marble and mahogany. Steve started tapping his finger against the side of his thigh nervously.

“Two o’clock appointment,” Robin said, “for Steve Harrington.”

The PA nodded. “She’ll be with you in a moment. Her last appointment ran late.”

Steve sat down, but both Robin and Max stood.

“I should have scoped out the place first,” Robin whispered mournfully. “I forgot lawyers like to be intimidating.”

Steve squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, Robs.”

Max cocked her head thoughtfully. “Janice mentioned something about you not being comfortable around opulence and extravagance. I’ve seen her history write-up of you, it’s a little thin on why.”

Robin and Steve shared a glance.

“That’s a story you guys might get if you continue to be awesome,” Robin said. “But it’s way too early for that shit.”

Max frowned. “It really is better to tell your security about all your pitfalls and fears because if you’re afraid of spiders and freak out, our reaction might be a tad elevated for the scenario if you get me.”

Steve made a finger gun and mimicked the sound of gun going off.

“Right in one, pretty boy.”

Robin chewed her bottom lip nervously.

“It’s okay, Robs,” Steve said. “She’s right they need to know.”

Robin threw her hands up in the air. “Fine, I’ll send the file over to Janice.”

Max’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “A file?!”

Steve nodded.  

“Erica’s ready for you,” the PA interrupted.

Steve got up and followed Robin into the office, Max following close behind.

They got into the office and there was the most gorgeous black woman sitting behind a desk that matched the outer office.

She stood up to shake Robin and Steve’s hand before squealing and hugging Max.

“Max!” Erica said. “When is that loggerheaded brother of mine going to put a ring on that finger?”

Max laughed, hugging her back. “The last time he brought it up, I threatened to take out both of his knee caps.”

Erica stepped back and looked at Max appreciatively. “Fair. Speaking of Lucas, why isn’t he here instead of you?”

Max winced. “He was going to.” Erica raised a skeptical eyebrow. “No, really he was. But one of our clients had a break in last night so he was taking care of that until the early hours of the morning. Then he ran with Steve this morning, followed by the debriefing with Janice after about the break in. He barely got to bed an hour before this appointment.”

Steve raised an appreciative eyebrow. 

Erica grimaced. “Ouch. Okay, he’s forgiven this time.” She turned to Steve and Robin. “Please sit. Tell me more about your case.”

Steve sat down and fiddled with the hem of his button down shirt. “This place is very intimidating.”

Erica smiled like a shark. “It’s meant to be.”

Steve shrugged. “If you hadn’t been so highly recommended,” he waved at Max, “and the sister of one of my security detail, I wouldn’t have even walked in. I would have found myself a different lawyer.”

“And you probably would have lost your case,” Erica said returning his shrug.

“Maybe,” Steve said. “But if I don’t feel comfortable with you as a lawyer, how can I trust you to handle my case the way I want it handled?”

Erica frowned appreciatively and nodded. “That’s fair, I suppose. But you have to understand, every single one of the partners at this firm is a black woman that had to claw her way to the top of the food chain. Dismissed, discredited, and disrespected,” she explained, moving to sit down at her desk.

“Patrica Farnsworth is the top attorney in trademarks and copyright law in LA, but because she’s a black woman, she was passed over time and time again for mediocre white men. Ophelia Gillibrand is the top lawyer in town for fair use and transformative works. She even volunteers part of her time to archives for fan fiction. But just like Patrica, overlooked and under paid.”

She sighed. “We are only respected because of how this place looks and is run. But I don’t doubt we’ve lost good clients because of it, too. It’s double-edged sword, but one we have to carry.”

Steve nodded. “You’ve convinced me,” he said with a cheeky smile. “So let me fill you in.”

As Max watched she suddenly knew why they needed to send over a file about Steve’s hangups. Because holy fuck was that some pretty heavy shit he was telling Erica.

Once they were done, Erica rubbed her hands together. “I love cases like these. They’re usually very quick and very brutal. Plus, I think with a couple of days of digging I can get the whole fucking contract thrown out and you can start writing whatever the fuck you want by the end of the week.”

Robin and Steve shared a surprised glance.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked.

“They blackmailed Steve into the contract,” Erica sneered, “holding his past over his head. That’s illegal. And if I’m right, and I usually am, I can get criminal charges brought up against your parents and the label.”

Steve blinked. “Lucas said you would take a scorched earth approach.”

Erica cocked her head smugly. “It’s what I do.”

“Then have at it,” Robin said gleefully. “Carte blanche, money is no object. Have at thee.”

Steve nodded. “Agreed. Take these assholes to school.”

“With pleasure.”

***

Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14 Part 15  Part 16

Tag List:

@bejeweledbaby @eboyawstenn @moonshadows-13 @ohlook-afrog @goodolefashionedloverboi @linkydinky06 @livelaughlexa @spectrum-spectre @cutepumpkin4 @whatthemeepever @gleek4twd @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @novelnovella @celtrose-ish @artiststarme @plasticcrotches  @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @anaibis @nelotegreitic @steddieassheg0es @abstractnaturaldisaster @scheodingers-muppet @tiny-enthusiast @yes-im-your-mom @thegingerrapunzel @milf-harrington @avacrebs @gregre369 @raisedbylibrarians @reverseteehee @lillys-weird-world @deadlydodos @runyousillydetective @justrandomfandomstm @piebook67 @clumsywriter @donttouchmycarrots @fiore-della-valle @idkareallyreallygoodname  @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @ravenpainter @ellietheasexylibrarian @maya-custodios-dionach @child-of-cthulhu @estrellami-1 @nerdsconquerall @space-invading-pigeon

[mythica0]

Shady

🎂:Fop; a new wish

🧁: Dev

🍫: Dale

Summary: After seeing Dev not wearing his shades in public again, Dale decides to try a different way to get the message to stick.

A/N: just like with my last fic, thank you to the anon who had the idea, You Know Who You Are. There is a sprinkling of angst amongst the fluff! Be warned! Also, I know Dale is probably out of character, I don’t care! Enjoy yall! :D

Shady

It was a Tuesday, the sky was slightly cloudy, but the sun still peeked through.

Dev was walking home after his daily meet up with Hazel, just enjoying the fresh air.

He walked into his massive home, and immediately felt off. He couldn’t place it, exactly but he knew something was about to happen. He found out what that was just a minute after, when his father, Dale, stepped out of the elevator.

“Devin. I need to speak to you in my office.”

Dev became nervous as soon as he heard the words. That was never good news. He gulped, slightly frightened of what was to come. He hesitated for a moment, but at his father’s glance, he followed, head down.

Not long after the two arrived back in said office, the walls decorated with egoistic art pieces of the older Dimmadome. Dale sat down in his rolling chair, and waved Dev to sit at the chair in front of it.

“Do you know why I’ve brought you in here today?”

Dev gulped again. “N-no, dad.”

Dale sighed, “you’re not wearing your shades. Again.”

Dev stiffened. He was right; he had forgone his shades for the most part, no longer feeling the need to mask his eyes. But apparently his father didn’t agree. He hung his head, trying to stop himself from crying over something so silly. “Sorry, dad.”

Dale raised an eyebrow. “Are you really? I feel as though you didn’t listen last time.”

Dev looked up nervously. “Am I- am I in trouble?”

Dale looked at his son. Like really looked at him. He was frightened. Nervous. Was his son afraid of him? That was never his intention.. he was going to ground him, but now he felt horrible. He decided to come up with a different way to make the message stick. After all, a son who’s scared of his own dad is not good for PR. (That was definitely the only reason.)

Dale rest his head in his hands. “Yes. But not severe trouble.”

Dev looked up once more, slightly confused but also relieved.

“I have something I want to try, to make the message really stick. C’mere.”

Dev seemed hesitant, but he did as instructed.

Then Dale pulled him into a hug, and as Dev opened his mouth to question, he started to wiggle his fingers at Dev’s sides.

“Huhuhuh- eheheee- dahahahad! Thahahat tihihickles!”

Dale smiled, “that’s the point, Dev. That’s your punishment.”

Dale was slightly shocked at how happy his kids giggles were, they sounded so genuine and bubbly. Dale realized that he’d never heard his son laugh before. In fact, when was the last time he saw his kid smiling at all?

The thought saddened him, and now he was determined to get as many of those smiles and laughs from his son as possible. He lifted Dev off the ground, no longer leaning down for the hug, and put him in his lap, continuing to tickle as he did so.

“Dahahahad, stohohop ihihit!” Dev didn’t mean a word of it. He was so happy and relieved. Not only was he not in much trouble, but his dad was spending time with him! And tickling him, of all things! He squirmed in the hold, laughing brightly.

“No can do, son, I’ve gotta make sure you really remember.”

“Ihim sohohorryhy! Stohohop ihit, Plehehease!” He didn’t mean the protests, but that didn’t stop them from falling from his mouth amongst the tumbling giggles.

“Nope! I’m gonna tickle you as long as I need to~” he teased lightly, it was supposed to be a punishment, but at the same time he could tell the kid was enjoying himself, and he found that he didn’t really mind. He moved from his sides up to his underarms, causing the light giggles to increase in speed and pitch. Dev tried to bring his arms down, but couldn’t do to the position of his dad’s arms in the hug.

“Ahahahaha dahahahaahad! Eehehehahaha!” He flushed bright red, “dohohont tehehease!”

“What’s that? Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing? Does saying silly little words make my son all flustered? Hmm?”

“Ohoho gohohosh-dahahahad! Eehehahhaha yehehes!” he covered his face, unable to contain the embarrassment and excitement he was feeling.

“So that means I should keep doing it then! Tickle tickle tickle~, Dev! listen to those sweet little giggles~”

Dev groaned through his giggles “ehehahaha dahahad cuhuhut ihit ohout! Youhou’re beheheing mehehean!”

“No im not! Thats it, mister,” He threatened playfully. Picking him up and giving him a big raspberry right over his belly button.

Dev squeaked, giggles rapidly pouring out of him, “dahahahahad nohoho! Thahahats soho bahahad!”

“Oh? Is this a super duper ticklish tummy right here? Is it? I think it is~” He teased, this was the most fatherly he’s felt in a long time. He continued to nibble and raspberry the kids tummy, keeping him in a never ending fit of joyful laughter. Then he decided to play into a bit of a role, a sort of playful energy possessing him.

“The tickle monster is gonna eat up all your laughter! Nom nom nom!” He growled, pitching his voice lower.

“Dahahad nohohot thehe tihihckle mohonster! Nohohoho!”

“It’s too late! He’s already here and he’s gonna eat up all~ your giggles! Rawr!”

Dev was in stitches, the silly voice and ticklish jolts being sent through his body keeping him laughing. He didn’t know what changed about his dad in that moment, but he wasn’t complaining.

Eventually, Dale could see that Dev was getting tired, and decided to give him a break, just lightly drumming his fingers to keep him in a state of giggles.

“Are you gonna wear your shades when in school~?”

“Yehehehes, yehehes, plehehease!”

“Alright, then. We’re done here. How about you go take a nap, you look like you need it.”

“Thaha.. that sounds like a good idea.” He hesitated at the door for a moment, before turning back. “..thanks, dad.”

Dale smiled lightly. “No problem, kid. Have good dreams. Don’t let the tickle monster get ya.” He smirked at the embarrassed groan Dev let out

Dev went off to his room, falling asleep almost instantly. Dale contemplated for a moment.

‘’maybe I should do this more often…’

———THE END————————————————

[f0point5]

Okay, I had to work during most of the race which was super unfortunate and I didn't really get to watch the post race interviews until just now and boy..... people talk about media literacy but completely disregard one of Lando's interviews.

Lando Norris. I almost feel like something happened between Mexico and Brazil because his attitude just seemed off. Arguing about positions in the sprint, getting snippy with the reporter asking about Max and the Championship for the millionth time and then everything that was the post race interviews. The clip thats going around with talent and luck IS taken out of context because he was referring to pitting under the red flag. HOWEVER, I wouldn't have used talent or luck but rather say they had a better strategy than we did and it paid off. Lando was the one begging on the radios to pit laps before he did and now he's frustrated that everyone else got a free pit stop. They took a gamble when they pit and it didn't work. Them be the breaks. Lando saying that "they didn't do anything wrong" and "I don't care what people have to say" You do care and thats fine. But just admit that McLaren had a bad strategy. It's fine. That happens to everyone. Then he's complaining that no one agrees with the rule about being able to change your tires under a red flag unless it benefits them. Lando - didn't you win your first GP under similar circumstances with a free pit? Pot meet Kettle. Now in a DIFFERENT interview Lando clearly states that George deserved the win over anyone else and that yes Max drove well but he got a bit lucky. Luck is will always be involved with racing and to lean so heavily into that luck was a big factor in Max's win is a little cringe. Lando did admit he made mistakes but his whole vibe was VERY defensive and just off putting. Get this man PR training and an agent ASAP. Regardless - this man shouldn't be receiving any sort of hate or death threats - no driver should be.

George Russell. George was frustrated and rightly so. You can clearly see in his radio messages he was fighting to stay out to pit under the red flag but was told to come in early by his pit lane which ultimate screwed him over. He just expressed his frustration with the bad strategy call. A much different vibe than Lando.

I feel like it physically pained Buxton to say race winner Max Verstappen 🤣 It was also so frustrating yet slightly funny watching them have to compliment Max after his dominate performance after all the shit they were talking about him in previous weeks.

James Hinchcliffe described it perfectly "Some teams made the right calls at the right time" McLaren and Lando's pit stop was not it.

Buxton, when talking about all the infringements and penalties in regards to the aborted start, said Rules are Rules and Lando CLEARLY broke the aborted start procedure yet he ONLY got a fine and reprimand.... okay we all know if it was Max he would have gotten something worse except Max actually knows the rules so he wouldn't have done it in the first place.

Buxton again saying that it was a good thing the race started earlier with the amount of meetings with drivers they have (for the first time in a while Max wasn't involved 🤣)

Alpine deserves SO much praise. Seeing that whole garage, Pierre and Estie so happy was just just so heartwarming.

I also cannot stop smiling from how happy Max was with this race win. It looked near impossible with how quali went. But boy did he use every piece of luck and talent and pure spite to get that RB20 to P1. 17 Fastest laps to the point where GP was like Max cut it out you've made your point 🤣 It feels like such weight off the shoulders and relief after the last few races. Fingers crossed this momentum can keep up the last 3 races.

I hate McLarens hats. Lol they look like visors with the placement of the black coloring ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Apparently, Williams doesn't have enough parts to fix the cars by Vegas. I don't have a ton of information on this but I saw this briefly on a TikTok from someone who has an in at Williams.

Thank you for letting me rant and getting all that off my chest.

Oh I could talk all dayyyy about those Lando interviews and I did. I think I’ve talked that whole thing to death lol but I just need to reiterate…Red Bull and Alpine made a calculated decision to wait for a red flag. Are they lucky it worked out? Yes. But they made a gamble, they weren’t just sitting there waiting for the race to come to them.

McLaren and Merc made bad calls. And I will introduce my latest evidence of this - they both put on new inters? When the rain was clearly increasing? So they gambled on not having to come back for full wets…what the fuck kind of move was that when Max said you could pretty much drive a jet ski in the puddles on the camber? So not only did they pit and lose track position, if they thought the red flag wasn’t coming surely they should have at least gambled in wet tyres? Sorry but I think they shit the bed there. And what reallyyyy gets my goat about it is that Lucky Lando over there wanted to pit earlier. George at least didn’t want to come in at all but Lando was out there on lap 10 wanting to come in and even the engineers were perplexed. Sir, you weren’t unlucky you were just wrong.

I said I wasn’t going to rant about it again but I couldn’t stop myself because wow those comments were stupid 😂

I don’t know what happened to him after Mexico, he just cracked like an egg. Idk if it was the moment he realised the WDC wasn’t happening or what but he turned up in the paddock like “I don’t care don’t even talk to me who is Max don’t know him WDC never heard of her”. Fair enough bro I get it you’re bored of the questions and I understand why he feels he needs to defend himself but him saying Max has to change his driving like Lando what are you smoking? 3x WDC has to change his driving style because boy with fast car says so? Don’t make me laugh. It’s unfortunate because he came back from autumn break in such a good place and that seems to have evaporated, which is why I say, the paddock is not a place that brings out his most likeable qualities.

If I had to guess, I think Mexico really took him out of it a bit. He said the moment with Max was a “momentum killer” and I think he meant for more than the race. I think he realised that unless he is able to avoid Max entirely till Abu Dhabi he’s a bit fucked because Max will burn every single bridge in pursuit of that championship. I don’t think Lando can comprehend that level of ruthlessness and I think he was like “well wtf can I do now because if I get within 100m of him I’m risking a DNF”. He seemed annoyed but also quite hopeless even on Thursday. He did not seem like he had any confidence in the championship battle after Mexico.

Will Buxton and Damon Hill having to watch that drive…I hope it burnedddd. Damon in the post race with Christian…man was seething. It was like all his Schumacher trauma was playing like a film reel in his head. they’re so unnerved by him. It is delicious.

The Baguettes brought so much to the podium. Those guys in the best cars, they get on the podium and all they’re thinking is they didn’t win, and they’re doing maths in their head for points totals. It was such a refreshing change to see two guys on the podium who were nothing but overjoyed to be there. And the fact that they were so happy to do it together was so touching. You can feel that there is almost like a familial bond between them - complicated but inescapable. Also having them in the cool-down really drove home that the vibes have been pretty off in there for a long time.

Max cooked, fished out, and served in that race. The unadulterated rage simmering in him after that qualifying did something to him. And shoutout to GP because the way he spoke to Max through the race was so spot on. He knew what he needed to hear the whole time, it was like hive mind. Their relationship is something so special. Hearing GP clap over the radio and him betting with Helmut on Max making the podium, it’s too cute. I was worried as hell when he kept banging in those fastest laps though. I was like he’s going to cook the engine or spin to win like in Hungary 22 😭 but as always he knew his limits.

Mclaren’s hats looked better with the numbers in blue. Black is too harsh on that orange and it always looks like a Halloween thing.

Not surprised about Williams. I wonder what kind of conversations they’re having about Albon because since Colapinto arrived Alex has been on fraud watch and I don’t think he likes having a good teammate. Will be interesting to see what happens when sainz arrives

[unusual-raccoon]

rhaenyra wakes up one day and the headlines hit her with: “rhaenyra targaryen’s oldest enjoys himself as a dj in a party in the north. sources say he disappeared for more than an hour and came back holding the heiress’ second son inappropriately”

My baby has the biggest, most beautiful brain 💋. I love this idea! I miss DJ Jace.

Lil ficlet under the cut 😚

A show in Wintertown, that was the last she’d heard before the photos came in.

Jacaerys’ pass time of deejaying was one that she tolerated, just as she had his foray into lacrosse, and fencing, and dressage before that. It was something that would fade. He was a young man and his interests changed with the seasons, however more than any useless hobby, there was one interest she had hoped he would abandon above all else.

Lucerys.

One blink at tabloid photos is evidence enough no amount of time had cooled the dragon’s blood in his veins.

In the photo, Jacaerys stands behind his elaborate DJ booth, handsome face hidden behind dark curls and darker glasses. A premium set of headphones draped around his neck…and Lucerys dangling off of his arm.

Her second born paraded himself about in microscopic shorts and a sheer mesh shirt that clung to matching stainless steel barbells through each pink nipple. His curls were voluminous and mussed just right. Eyeliner smudged and laughing his pretty little head off, a drink in one dainty hand. The other clutched to Jacaerys’ bicep.

Rhaenyra sighed, sliding a swipe of her finger across the screen. Grimaced at the sight of Jacaerys holding a very compromising handful of his brother’s ass. Luke’s hands braced on his older brother’s chest. Telling marks stained in the shape of Lucerys’ mouth darkened on Jace’s neck. Likely a good indication of the hour of partying in which Jacaerys had been unaccounted for.

She could see the very worst parts of herself in her children, the most impulsive self-destructive parts, the cannibalistic parts the only ached to consume it’s own kind.

Quite frankly, she had inherited Jasper Wylde when she gained acquisition of TARG, and wasn’t entirely fond of the man, but she’d have him and legal as well as PR on clean up to mitigate the absolute mess her sons caused.

She’s halfway through writing an email to her head of legal when a message banner pops along the top of her screen.

>>Lucerys: Rain check on dinner this weekend 🙏

A second message is quick to follow.

>>Lucerys: I have SO much coursework to catch up on 😖

Rhaenyra rummages through her purse for the carton of cigarettes she’d sworn off.

She’s blowing out smoke as she types out her reply. Nicotine bleeding into her like a sedative.

>Of course.

Read 9:54 PM

She stubs out the remains of her cigarette, tension easing in her shoulders as she exhaled a stream of smoke toward crown molding scalloped along the ceilings. The filter held between her fingers is dyed red from lipstick worn to a board meeting hours prior.

She taps out another message.

>Love you, sweet boy.

Read 9:56 PM

>>Love you too, mum 🤍. See you next weekend!

She closes her message app for a total of ten seconds before tapping another cigarette from the carton and resuming the conversation, ever one for the last word.

>Tell your brother I said hello.

Read 9:56 PM

She doesn’t expect a reply, nor does she receive one, but in its own way, it is answer enough.

[alittlefrenchtree]

Your last post 👀

Penny for your thoughts??

(I understand if you don’t want to answer, I’m not trying to drag you into any unnecessary drama. I’ve just always appreciated your perspective on things so I was curious about your take on this since it seems to differ from most everyone else that I’ve seen so far. Anyway, love and respect to you whether you post this or not. 🙏)

Hi again !

Once again, thank you for your lovely message, you're very nice. Since i'm here once every 84 years these days, I'm pretty sure no one cares enough to actually create drama but I appreciate you being so considerate 💜

And that being said, it's not even that big of a deal. It's just a bit disappointing. For me, the basketball content was good content, and not only because it's a sport I enjoy a lot and used to play. It was just a good mix of a bit of everything. He actually doing something and not being paparazzied just because he's walking around because he’s so famous and wearing clothes. He was doing something we know he's been genuinely enjoyed all his life. He was doing it with what seems to be some complete random people with not much fuss around (not security, no camera shooting an ad or anything) which always looks good. It doesn't seem like he was "selling" anything. At least it wasn't (at first) about what he was wearing but what he was doing.

All of that ⬆️ was how I received the content in the first place and it felt nice. And opening that GQ link made that nice feeling go away. I'm not even saying it's Timmy (or Timmy's people) fault. I don't care who's fault it is to be honest. If it's just that wannabe kid who jumped on a questionable opportunity, or GQ who thought it was a good idea to make a long interview of someone who has nothing to say (and whom was a very unreliable source (it's literally written on the paper)), or if it's staged by a movie pr team or a personal pr team or anyone else. Scrolling through that void of an interview to find more articles about this non event and what sneakers did he buy right before or whatever made my eyes roll so hard. Not to mention the second hand quotes from Timmy that doesn't sound so good whatever there are true or not.

It reminded me of the story of the girl in the plane. Who had lived a very nice moment with Timmy but kind of ruined the preciosity of the moment by sharing every single second and details of it everywhere (I don't remember if she wrote a thread on twitter or talk to the media but the feeling was the same).

It just makes me sad for people actually. For the ones trying to survive in Hollywood/the famous world and for the ones dreaming to be a part of it not understanding what a shitty place it is.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

Masterpost / AO3

19.

Keeley grabbed a third glass of cava from the tray of a passing waiter, and took a slow sip while she surveyed the room. It was brilliant, this; she was glad she’d come. When Celia, her contact at Bantr, suggested she attend the event to “meet a few people, do some networking” Keeley had felt as nervous as she did excited, with some small, insecure part of her fearing that the other guests would dismiss her as a fraud; an upstart; an ex-model wannabe PR guru.

But everyone she’d met had been perfectly nice and respectful and interested, and had treated her just like a real PR consultant.

Which was only fair. She was a real PR consultant. She’d proved that, too, by setting up several meetings with people who might be interested in sponsoring Richmond, or using the players in their campaigns. All in all, a damned good night’s work, if she did say so herself. (Rebecca had also said it, rather more eloquently and with a staggering number of exclamations points, whenever Keeley rushed off to the loo to text her the good news.)

It might have been a perfect night, Keeley thought, if it hadn’t been for her nagging concern over Jamie (and over Roy, who’d been doing better since he started the pundit gig, but who still struggled to adjust to life outside of the pitch and had taken the whole Secret not-Santa Jamie affair surprisingly hard).

She’d convinced Roy to let her be the one to reach out to Jaime after yesterday’s ill-fated confrontation, but so far Jamie hadn’t returned either her calls or her texts. Well, he hadn’t half an hour ago, at any rate—

Keeley picked up her phone to check, but there was nothing from Jamie. From Roy, however, she had several messages. She opened the conversation, and felt her eyes widen as she read:

Something’s come up and I’m heading back to my place.

Can you come?

I’m bringing Jamie.

Keeley blinked at the screen, and then blinked at it again. The message still said the same thing, compelling her to type out a not entirely unserious reply in a vain attempt to ease her sudden sense of foreboding.

in a body bag?

Roy’s response was immediate.

We’re not fighting.

But he’s a mess and I need your help with him.

Sorry, I know you’ve got that mingle thing.

But can you come?

“Fucking hell,” Keeley muttered, but she was already draining her glass and walking toward the exit. What the fuck was Roy doing with Jamie after they’d agreed it was better if Keeley were the one to talk to him? And why was Jamie a mess if him and Roy weren’t fighting?

And, most importantly of all, how long would the “not fighting” bit last?

She had better get there fast.

---

As it turned out, she must have been closer to Roy’s house than Roy was, or else her Lyft driver was better at navigating London traffic, because Keeley arrived at Tregunter Road before Roy did. She’d no more than let herself in, though, before the door opened again behind her and Jamie, immediately followed by Roy, stepped inside.

Keeley gave a little gasp at the sight of Jamie. There was a small bruise and cut on his forehead, and his eyes were suspiciously red and puffy. Keeley looked to Roy, who hastily shook his head. “Wasn’t me, babe. His arsehole dad stopped by.”

“I fell,” Jamie muttered. He sounded sullen, but the way he was fidgeting with his sleeves suggested nerves or embarrassment rather than resentment.

“He fell because his arsehole dad shoved him,” Roy elaborated.

“Oh.” Jamie hadn’t told her all that much about his dad when they were together, but from what little she’d gained, arsehole sounded about right. She hadn’t known it came with shoving, though. Or worse. “Hey, babe,” she said, walking up to Jamie and reaching out to gently brush a few strands of loose hair out of his eyes, coaxing him to look at her. “You doing all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just… I mean, things with me dad, they’re a bit shit, but I’m fine, you know. It’s just scratches, this, it’s nothing.” He gestured toward his forehead. There were plasters on his hand, she noticed, and was surprised by how angry the sight of them made her feel. Angry, and heartbroken for the deprecating, resigned way by which he brandished them.

Jamie must have seen some of it on her face, because his weak attempt at a smile faded entirely, and he drew back a little, averting his eyes. Keeley’s heart twinged in sympathy.

“Oh, Jamie,” she said, and then, without really thinking about it, she drew him into a tight hug. After a moment of hesitation, he went willingly, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. He was warm against her, solid in the same way Roy was solid, but unlike Roy he gave himself completely over to the hug, melting into her touch as she ran her hand over his back.

“We’ve got you, babe,” Keeley murmured into his hair. It smelled just the way she remembered it, clean and sweet with spicy notes of fennel leaf and eucalyptus from his Aesop shampoo.

It stirred something within her, that smell, and the feeling of his familiar body pressed against her. She smiled, a little ruefully. Pavlovian.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Roy said behind them. “You two get comfortable on the couch.”

So Roy wanted a moment to himself but wanted her to stay with Jamie, then. Fair enough. Keeley wouldn’t have minded the chance to talk to Roy in private, get some more details on what the hell was going on, but she could see why he’d think keeping an eye on the younger man might be a good idea; though subdued, there was a skittishness to Jamie that rather gave the impression he might bolt if left to his own devices.

“Yeah, that sounds good, doesn’t it, Jamie?” she said, releasing him from the hug but putting a hand on his arm to steer him toward the sitting room. “Come on, it’s right through here. And I swear, even though it looks like it’s made for people who hate to feel good, Roy’s couch is actually really comfortable.”

Granted, she hadn’t spent too much time on it, as they tended to stay over at hers rather than Roy’s, but there’d been enough evenings curled up in front of a show while Roy made her dinner in what he termed “a properly stocked kitchen” for her to have brought a few pillows (in shades of grey and dark purple, in deference to the black leather) and a huge, soft, pink blanket (in deference to Keeley’s own happiness). (Roy had narrowed his eyes at the blanket, but hadn’t made any protests.)

Keeley sat down, patting the cushion right next to her. Jamie obediently took his assigned seat, and she didn’t hesitate to tug him closer, until he was leaning on her with his head resting on her shoulder. As she began to run her fingers through his hair, noticing how much longer the strands were than the last time she did this, he gave a shuddering little sigh.  

Jamie had always loved to be held.

They sat like that for a while, talking quietly about a bit of this and that, Armani’s new line and Keeley’s job, while the tension slowly but surely left Jamie and he grew more and more relaxed against her—until the sound of steps in the hallway announced Roy’s imminent arrival.

Jamie made to sit up, seemingly concerned about the other man walking in on him half-draped over his girlfriend, but Keeley tightened her grip to hold him in place. Roy had asked her here to help with Jamie; he could hardly object to her doing just that.

As it were, Roy didn’t bat a lid. “Didn’t know if you took milk,” was all he said as he put the tea tray down on the coffee table.

“Uh, yeah, usually, yeah, but it’s fine without.”

Roy didn’t respond, but added a splash of milk from a small jug to one of the cups and handed it to Jamie, and then gave Keeley another before joining them on the couch.

Jamie lifted his mug to his lips, only to immediately lower it again after the first tentative sip. “There’s sugar in this,” he said accusingly, looking at Roy like he suspected the man of trying to poison him.

Roy looked… slightly embarrassed, Keeley noted with some interest and some amusement. “It’s supposed to be soothing, you prick,” he growled, but without any real heat. “My grandad used to make it like that when I was upset. Your next game isn’t until Saturday anyway, one cup of sweet tea won’t do much damage.”

“Oh. All right.” Jamie tried the tea again. “It’s good,” he allowed. “Thanks. And,” he added hesitantly after a moment, “thanks for, you know, doing this. Letting me be here. I never… I mean, you didn’t have to do that, and I know you were upset about the gifts and all that.”

Keeley looked up, meeting Roy’s eyes over Jamie’s head. He looked uncertain, which was a rare but not altogether unpleasant look on his handsome face. He didn’t say anything but gave her a little nod, go on.

“We weren’t upset, Jamie,” Keeley began, but paused as Jamie snorted and Roy rolled his eyes. “Okay, so Roy was a little upset,” she amended. “But mostly because we were confused, yeah? You never got along with Roy and suddenly you’re doing all these really nice things for him and not telling anyone about it and that’s sweet, you know, but it’s also really fucking weird.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was a bit mad I guess, yeah.”

He sounded more sheepish about it than upset, and Keeley smiled. “Little bit, yeah,” she agreed. Then she sobered. ”And I’m sorry things got weird the other day. I just thought it’d be good for us to talk things through, you know? But, I shouldn’t have tricked you into coming over to my place like that, making you think we’d be working on your brand. We could still do that later, if you want.”

At that, he twisted his head to look at her, a small, hopeful smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure. It’ll be fun.” It would too. Her skills had developed considerably since the last time she’d helped him with his PR, and there was no denying that she felt a tiny, professional thrill at the thought of finding out just what she might accomplish with Jamie Tartt now that she was a bit more experienced. And God knew his brand could do with some polishing, after the Lust Conquers All debacle.

For the first time that night, Jamie’s grin was undiminshed and genuine. “Mint.”  

“Great! We’ll set something up for after New Year’s, then. A proper meeting this time, I promise. Before that, though… think you can explain it to us, babe? About the gifts?”

He looked away from her. For a long time he didn’t answer, just played with his rings while considering, and sneaking the occasional glance at Roy.

Thankfully, Roy kept quiet.

“Yeah,” Jamie said eventually. “Yeah, all right.”

[fireangelsstuff-inactive-2024]

this is random fun for me question but is your star sign a leo

because if it is.... it explains alot...

if you are a cancer, leo, or virgo... it explains so much... because to live in this world where things someone says or does

regardless

your ego is OUTSTANDING !!!!!.. truly.... it needs to be in the hall of fame next to Liberace, and Elizabeth taylor.

IMAGINE to think words someone says correlates to an obscure .... that no one cares about much less Chris... he planned to scam you... you?......

who are you? you think you are more powerful than you are but remember that is for you... people do not live in that world... .... go outside... touch some grass and just cause capt and lovin like you now.. does not discredit you guys were once against each other and they once considered you fucking psychotic.... they wont admit it cause they need all the allies they can get .... but dont think we forgot... before they ran this scam.... you were osctrized for a reason... dont fall back into old habits now ... even the scammers will ditch you again...

Hello anon

Nope not a Cancer like 🐟, a Leo or a Virgo, you apparently don't have the "gift" for that sort of thing so maybe attempt a different hobby

You seem to have mistaken me for someone who continues to give a hoot about what other people on the internet thinks of them, those people burned their bridges with me, not the other way around

I got death threats and so did my kid, I'm here for revenge, and I don't care about the consequences

If you truly give too much of a crap about what people on the internet think of you, maybe you should take a page out of Christophers book and get off of it

Christopher scamming me? Everything about this debacle leads back to him in some way, that's what scares me

Is some of what the scammers said true? Is it someone trying to set him up for something by spreading rumours? Only those people know for sure, I can only speculate based on what I know

At some point around this time last year someone pointed out that the tone of the threads had changed, so I went back and read them, and they were right, it was at this point that I truly committed to tracking things to the point of obsession because something seemed really off to me

Ego, yes let's discuss ego and the way it can affect you when you are somehow associated with someone famous

I'm also glad you brought up psychotic, let's segue

Y'all remember Garbagexo? The font that showed up on the LSA threads claiming to be a friend of a friend of Scotts? Showed text messages that were apparently about what was coming next in the PR schedule, "worked" the TGM premiere, claims to be in the industry,

Weirdly after I texted a number given to me by sidewaysspeace who also claims to have met Garbagexo IRL my phone was remotely locked, much like the scammers tried to do to this one

After I was ousted from LSA I was sent this screenshot, she tried to claim I had gone overseas and was physically stalking the man, I've never been to the states, and I've never met him, I was also blamed for all of the leaks

Gaslight-Manipulate-Scam-Threaten-discredit

Sounds familiar

Here's some of what they sent me on LSA as proof they had an in around the TGM premiere in LA as well as the reference to the story with Jessica Campos posted the day after they told us about Scott attending

And here's what she sent me after everyone went after me

Keep in mind she mentions Sally in those initial conversations so I have no idea if that is also the same Sally that she also claimed to be messaging on IG later on who was also part of the gossip groups and had gotten a selfie with him in London at the TGM premiere on his Birthday

At some point (I don't feel like looking for it because it's on my external HD) they sent me a screenshot of sending a bunch of messages to Scott via the TextMe app, screenshots of the stuff posted to LSA, that they also admitted to making flyers out of that they then spread around the Netflix office in LA, there are a few other fonts also aware of this from being in one of the groups

They were also the "source" for the messages to the Yoga studio in Massachusetts, after they refused to show me the pic they had apparently obtained they really started getting abusive to me in the discord chat via voice chat messages, so I do at least have a sample of their voice, CaptRegina reckons they sound southern

Keep in mind Captregina said that after she had read through the discord chat herself and seen what they had done to me

💜🪽🌟

[novoplata]

Long weekend ramblings.

Welcome to the long weekend!

While I would've loved long weekends such as this while actively juggling freelance jobs, having the extra time on my hands while having nothing much to do feels a bit blah. I will take this time to do some spring cleaning and catch up on my reading. It's the least I can do.

Plenty dreadful.

Being the last two people to leave the office daily, my colleague and I started chit-chatting more this past week. Being colleagues, I ensure I won't let out too much of my personal life unless asked. Nonetheless, something struck me in our last conversation about work. He told me that he's started feeling dread on Sundays for having to go to work on Mondays. It's a feeling that I was so familiar with.

My colleague, who has been with the company for about a year longer than me, started working for the company right after college. He had been interning for the company before, and upon graduation, he decided that he liked it enough to join it full-time.

I told him that personally, I don't think a young person (he's only 24 or 25) should spend too long a time working in his first job. If any, he should've left and looked for other opportunities after the third year. However, I understand that the last two years had been pandemic years, therefore, looking for a new job might not be as easy.

"Go look for a new opportunity!" I told him. "You're too young to be stuck at the same job for too long."

When it comes to life decisions, I believe in trusting your gut feelings. In 2014, I had a job that also gave me the exact sense of dread on Sundays. I only stayed a year before my contract expired and (thankfully) was not renewed. I had another job I hated in 2019.

I only stayed in these jobs for as long as I had because the job had redeeming qualities (like good pay and travel opportunities), but otherwise, feeling dread about a job is never a good sign.

Kookie Jar and grace.

I was clearing up my dressing room drawers when I came across my old ASNB account book. Before they started going digital circa 2017, I used to go to Maybank Gaya Street (also no longer around) to save my money and get my account book updated.

I was checking the updates from 2015 -- the year when I was jobless for a while after my previous contract expired -- and was surprised to see that I had managed to save up RM11k in July. I wasn't employed until April and even then, I had gotten paid lower than in my previous job. There was no way I was able to save so much from my job alone.

Then it hit me: God's grace.

While I was in between job applications sometime in January 2015, I started a Facebook page for my so-called PR business. I called it Kookie Jar Communications & PR. In hindsight, I probably should've picked a better name that would age well and is industry-relevant, but I wrote what I wrote and that was it.

I had zero expectations for this 'company but apparently, it started bringing me unexpected business. I ended up doing the PR for a music festival and a fitness BootCamp and was paid quite handsomely for the jobs. This was even before I started working full-time for another company.

I don't know why I kept overlooking God's grace in my life through Kookie Jar. I suppose, if I had more faith and decided to build on the business as a full-time endeavour instead of a part-time business, I could probably have earned more money through it -- and possibly even hired some staff by now! But instead, I cowered from the stress of having to constantly work hard and having to deal with the uncertainty of late payments.

Two weeks ago, after I earnestly prayed to God about opening up new opportunities for me (He did!), I got an email from someone who had stumbled upon my lowly Kookie Jar Facebook page. He asked if I was willing to conduct a PR workshop for his company. I've never done one before but I said yes anyway.

I still may not get this gig (the company's still browsing around) but the message was clear: God's grace is still active. He will help me if I ever decide to get out of my employment boat and start working on Kookie Jar. It's scary and I'm not sure I'll do it anytime soon, but it's good to receive the reminder that God will offer you His grace if you need it. Especially if you're willing to steward His gifts well.

A life of faith is an exciting one indeed!

[tonysslut]

Second Chances. Chapter 1

A/N: This is something I've been working on for a few weeks now, I have a few chapters already written so let me know if you'd be interested in a full series.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, Cheating.

Word Count: 1.9k

You spent weeks telling yourself it was a lie. Just miserable people trying to get some sort of drama going for a good headline. The paparazzi was brutal, you knew that, but your gut was telling you this was more than some scheme for drama. You saw the way people gossiped about it online, saying how idiotic you were for staying with someone who was clearly not being faithful. You read all the articles, seeing how they would tear you apart.

‘Y/f/n y/l/n and Chris Evans relationship on the rocks?’

‘Chris Evans seen with new a woman, but no Y/n?’

‘Y/n stays with Chris amid cheating scandal.’

When the pictures came out, Chris convinced you it was all a PR stunt, something for more publicity for his upcoming movie. He promised you, you were it for him, there was no one else and there would never be. That managed to calm your nerves for a bit until he asked you to check his phone when he got a notification, you opened his messages and saw it was his manager texting him about how many interviews he had to do at the movie premiere. You slid out of the conversation and felt your heart drop when you saw someone else also texted him.

It wasn’t just anyone, it was the woman he was seen with, the one that kept you up every night because every part of your body was telling you it was something more than what he let on.

“I had a lot of fun last night ;) I hope you’re coming over tonight again?” the message read. You quickly closed his phone and set it back on the counter.

You couldn’t contain your emotions so you excused yourself and spent the rest of the night in your office, processing everything you just discovered. Eventually, you couldn’t hold it in anymore and you let the tears come. Doubling over to control your sobbing so he wouldn’t come in if he heard you. How could you be so naive? It was so obvious what was happening but you openly chose to ignore all the signs. You look down at your engagement ring, feeling sick to your stomach. He broke all his promises, he threw away the life you two had formed. He ruined you.

You decided it was best to just pretend like you didn’t know anything for the night, you needed time to figure out how you were going to handle the situation. Stepping out of your office, you look down the hall and see Chris sitting with Dodger in the living room, completely unaware of anything. Just seeing him makes your stomach bubble in anger.

“I’m heading to bed, I don’t feel that well.” You said from the hallway as you made your way up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

“Okay sweetheart, I’ll be up once this episode is over.” He yelled back.

A wave of emotions washes over you again as you step into your bedroom, pictures of the two are scattered all over the room, only making you realize how much harder this was going to be. Changing into some sleepwear, you crawl into bed and turn to face the wall so you won’t have to see him come in.

A few moments later Chris comes in, his pup's footsteps sounding right behind him. You hear shuffling before the bed dips and he goes to drape his arm around your waist, tensing up, you quickly move away from his grasp.

“Are you okay?” He asks, clearly confused as to what happened. You never turn down his affection.

“Um, yeah. I’m just kinda hot right now.” You say as tears form in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Did you want me to get you anything? Some water?” He says, staring at the back of your head since you refuse to make any eye contact.

“No, it’s okay. Thank you.” You respond, hoping he just drops it and goes to sleep.

“Okay, Good night.” He kisses the back of your head and turns away from you. Part of him feels like there's something more going on, but he doesn’t bother pushing anymore.

Feeling his lips on your head makes the tears fall, you silently cry as he falls asleep. You attempt to do the same but your head keeps running. All you can think about are Chris and her, all the things they did, all the times he went to see her when you stayed home waiting for him. Soft snoring lets you know Chris fell asleep, you turn over to look at him and he looks so peaceful, so oblivious.

You cautiously move out of the bed, careful not to wake him up in the process, and leave the bedroom. Walking down the stairs you decide to just sit outside, maybe the fresh air will help you calm down. You lean down and sit by the pool, tipping just your toes, watching the water ripple. A wet nose nudges your arm and you look over to see that Dodger had followed you. You lift your arm and the dog situates himself so his head rests on your lap, you run your fingers through his soft fur as you stare up at the sky.

You start to wonder where things went wrong, was it you? Did you do something wrong? Did you not do enough? All these questions make your head hurt, you wish you could just silence it for the night. Once again, you’re brought to tears. You don’t even bother trying to stop them, you just let them stream down your cheeks. You look down at the pup and kiss his head, you know you won’t be able to take him, he’s Chris’s after all.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice makes you jump, you quickly bring your hands up to wipe your tears. He comes over and sits next to you, petting the dog who doesn’t bother moving from your lap.

“I just couldn’t sleep.” You say

“Y/n what's wrong? You’ve been acting weird all night,” he says with a hint of concern.

You stay silent, not wanting to do this right now. He grasps your chin to get you to look at him but you flinch and move away, getting up and walking further onto the dock.

“Did I do something? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what's wrong.” He slightly raises his voice.

For some reason that was the last thing you needed before you decided to just come clean.

“You’ve been lying to me.” You say, still not looking at him. You know if you look at him you’ll crumble.

“What?” Chris’s mind races, trying to figure out what you mean. But nothing comes to mind.

“You and her. You’ve been lying. When you told me to check who texted you, I saw the messages, you’ve been lying this entire time.” You turn and look him in the eye as you speak.

His face goes white, losing all its color as his mouth hangs open. He tries to get the words to come out but they’re trapped in his throat. His lack of words infuriates you even more.

“You promised me, y-you said it was nothing.” You ball your hands into fists and put them behind your back to hide the way you're suddenly shaking.

“No, baby. It’s not what it looks like.” He says taking a step towards you but you take a step back to maintain your distance. The small action breaks his heart, he knew he fucked up. He didn’t want you to find out this way.

“How long has it been going on for?” you whisper. He avoids your eyes. “And don’t you dare lie to me.” You raise your voice

“3 months.” He says as he hangs his head in defeat.

His answer felt like a punch to the stomach, 3 months. Your shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth as a sob escapes. Your fiancé was lying to you for 3 fucking months. Chris quickly looks up at you and his heart breaks even more.

“You made me feel like I was going i-insane!” Anger quickly takes over your emotions. “Like I was a shitty partner for ever doubting you! All those work trips and late nights were bullshit weren’t they?” You ask. All he does is stare at you, his lack of response is enough of an answer.

“Oh god. I'm such an idiot!” You crouch down and throw your head into your hands.

“Y/n, just let me explain okay? It meant nothing baby. Nothing. She made me realize that I want to spend the rest of my life with you! I ended it two weeks ago, those messages are one-sided. I haven’t seen her since I ended it. I swear.” Chris immediately crouches down with you but keeps his distance as he frantically tries to explain himself.

“You seriously think saying that makes me feel any better? You had to sleep with someone else to realize that?! Do you hear how shitty that sounds Chris?”

“Wh- No, no! I didn’t mean it like that! Fuck!” He yells as he gets up and paces the dock while running his hand through his hair.

“W-We can work this out, baby. I promise I’ll make it up to you. You have to believe me when I say that I love you! Please, we can go to therapy, o-or we can take a break but you can’t leave me. I need you!” He speaks as he walks in a circle.

You look up at him and notice he started crying, but you don’t seem to care, he doesn’t deserve your sympathy.

“No, you should’ve thought about all that before you decide to sleep with her.” You say in a calm tone. There’s no point in arguing anymore, you already made your decision.

You walk into the house and head straight into your bedroom, packing a bag for the night so you can sleep somewhere else. Chris is hot on your tail, quickly following behind you. Once in the room you grab a suitcase from the closet and start throwing random clothes into it, going into the bathroom and grabbing whatever is yours.

“Baby please! I’ll sleep on the couch, it’s the middle of the night.” He says as he starts to take out the clothes you’ve been packing.

You’ve never seen him like this, usually when you fight he just lets you be. Gives you space and never pushes you like this. Part of you wants to comfort him, but the other part never wants to see him again.

“Chris enough! I’m leaving tonight, with or without my belongings. I don’t care!” You push past him and close the suitcase before he continues to empty it.

You place it on the floor and quickly try to make it downstairs before he manages to interfere again. Grabbing your car keys, you open the front door and roll your suitcase out to the car. You’re able to put it in the car before Chris comes running behind you again.

“Y/n, please. We can work this out. I’ll do anything. Don’t leave.” He pleads.

His words break your heart even more. He ruined your once-happy life, but he’ll have to suffer the consequences of his actions now. You look at him one last time, taking in his features that you once used to admire, but now they just repulse you. Your love wasn’t enough to keep him interested and that hurts more than anything.

“Goodbye, Chris.”

Next Chapter

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

because fuck it why not, right? (read on ao3)

---

When Ingo had woken up in the Highlands, among his few possessions had been an odd bracelet. It was made partially of fabric and partially of smooth glass, with a few bits on the side that clicked in a pleasing way when pressed. Sometimes the glass part flickered when pressed on, but other than that it didn’t do anything, and something in his mind said don’t mess with it, you don’t know what you’re doing, so he put it in a pocket on his coat and forgot about it.

That was, until he stepped into one of the distortions that had been appearing all over Hisui, and it suddenly started buzzing.

He found a patch of grass behind some rocks and pulled it out. The glass part was lit up, writing panning rapidly across it. 73 missed messages from—Missed call from—89 missed messages—3 missed calls—

It went on for quite a while. He stared at it, waiting to see if it would stop.

Above him, the white lightning of the tiny rift crackled.

It landed on a few more announcements of missed messages and calls. Frowning in thought, he clicked one of the buttons on the side to see if it would do anything now.

The text disappeared from the screen, and was replaced with a single message. Attempting to reconnect: Elesa…

“Hello?!” It was a woman’s voice, sharp and a little staticky.

“Hello!” It’d be rude not to respond.

“Oh, Arceus- Ingo, is that actually you? Holy shit- okay, okay- where are you right now?”

He looked up at the distortion around him. “In… the Coronet Highlands?”

“…what? Are- are you in Unova?”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite track your meaning. May… may I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“If this is a joke, it’s not fucking funny, okay? It’s- Arceus, it’s been months, do you have any idea how worried we’ve all been? Just tell me where you are, damnit!”

“As I said before, I’m in the Coronet Highlands. In Hisui.”

“…Who is this?”

“Warden Ingo, of the Pearl Clan. Were you unaware? You used my name earlier.”

“Pearl- oh, wait. Wait, wait. Is this some kind of alternate universe thing? I thought those were localized, but—shit, that makes this more complicated. Ugh, and you’re not even-“

The woman was no longer speaking to him, her voice growing more distant. Above him, the rift crackled more violently and the entire distortion flashed. “Ah, I’m afraid our time may be up. The distortion is fading, and I do not think this connection will last outside of it.”

“Distortion? Wait, Ingo, what-“

As quickly as it had come, the bubble disappeared, and the glass flickered with a rush of static and then went dark again.

Well, that was odd. The strange woman had sounded very distressed through all of it. He hadn’t even gotten her name.

---

The next time a distortion appeared, he laid tracks directly for it. As soon as he crossed the barrier into it, the bracelet began buzzing again. This time he pressed the button on the side without waiting for it to stop.

When the woman’s voice came through again, she was in midsentence, like she’d been speaking before the connection had been properly established. “-there? Hello? Is- is this, uh, the same Ingo as last time?”

“It is. I believe we should have a bit more time than before, as well. As long as this distortion holds.”

“Yeah, you mentioned a ‘distortion’ last time, too, before you got dropped. What’s that about?”

“They’ve been appearing all over Hisui. Small… pockets, I suppose you could say, where space and time do not act correctly. Pokémon not native to the area appear… even some that we’ve never seen before at all. Items, as well.”

“And these things… also create some kind of… connection between us?”

“I suppose? I will be honest, I understand very little about the mechanics of these distortions. I don’t think anyone fully knows how they work, or why they form. Any research we might do is hindered by how dangerous they are.”

“…Dangerous? Are you in danger right now, talking to me?” There was a sudden edge to her voice.

“Oh, please don’t be concerned for my safety. Ensuring the proper maintenance of my tracks is one of my responsibilities as a Warden. I must confirm that the Pokémon appearing in the rifts do no undue harm to the environment or any native species, so I would be present here regardless. Speaking to you is incidental.”

“A… warden? Is that a job, in that- in your universe?”

“That is the position I hold, yes. I am the Highlands Warden serving Lady Sneasler. The protection of her passengers and supervision of this station are also part of my duties.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I… I should probably put you on the line with a, a scientist out in Alola, or something. I’m sure actually speaking to someone from another dimension would be helpful for them…”

There was an implicit continuation to her voice. “…But?”

“How long do you think we have, if you can guess? And—will those things keep showing up? Will I hear from you again?”

“The distortions generally only last for a few minutes at most. From the size of this one, I would guess we’re about halfway through the allotted time before it closes. But, yes, they seem to be growing in frequency, so I imagine we’ll speak again before long. If- if you’d like to continue conversing, that is.”

“I- yeah, I- fuck. Fuck.” There was the sound of cloth shifting, and unsteady breathing, for a moment. The sheer, despairing exhaustion of her tone stilled the automatic chiding language from him. Then, “Yeah, yes, keep calling me. It- it’s really good to hear your voice. Even if you’re not…” she sniffed, and trails off.

“When… we first spoke, you knew my name before I gave it. Do you…?”

Ingo’s heart did a very small, hesitant flip. He wasn’t willing to voice anything, not based on this threadbare evidence, but an unspoken question still hung in his mind, circling around the rift and the way she’d spoken to him at first and her odd manner now: do you know me? Do I know you?

“I… yeah, well. I… I don’t really understand how this, this whole thing works, but there’s some kind of… parallel here, I guess. Between your world and ours, because—there's… an Ingo in my universe too. A… good friend of mine. He sounds like you, has,” she chuckles weakly, “your same way of talking, but he… he’s been… gone, for a while now. Months. We’ve more or less given up on waiting. I- I thought you were him, at first, but…”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s…“

“No, I mean-“ he waved one hand, ignoring that she couldn't see it. “I am sorry. This must be painful for you. Speaking to a stranger with your friend’s voice. It wasn’t my intention to cause you any heartache.”

“Oh. No, no, it’s-“

A snap from the sky above drew his attention away. Lightning itched its way along the barrier of the distortion, signaling a warning. “Ah, our window is closing.”

“Promise-“ her voice started out urgent, getting his attention, but then dropped back into something quieter. “You’re not- you aren’t. Promise you’ll call again?”

“…If that’s what you wish.”

She didn't get a chance to confirm it before the distortion snapped itself up, the air smoothing over the disturbance.

Unspoken words weighed him down. He couldn’t say anything to her directly, but… gone for months, your same way of talking… and she hadn’t specified what gone meant. Was it possible-?

But then there was the thing that had kept him from speaking. If he was wrong—and everything right now pointed to the idea being very circumstantial at best—it would be unbelievably cruel for him to suggest it. He’d be giving her false hope that she’d found her friend, only to have it taken away again. Would be asking her to treat him as a companion when he was little more than a stranger. Would be involving her in his own search for his memories, simply because she had the misfortune to know someone who resembled him.

He wouldn’t say anything. If and when he had more evidence, or if it came up naturally, maybe… but for now—no. He’d keep it to himself.