#i swear this was supposed to be a short post

[horsechestnut]

Baffled by the lack of Dark Knights of Steel fan fic about the Robins. Like, the story is sitting there for the taking!

Dick and Jason's stories can be adapted without really having to change anything. Duke and Steph are a little harder, but a few nudges here and there and you've got your story. Cass isn't in Tales of the Three Kingdoms so we can assume she comes later, but again you just need a few touches to adjust.

But Tim and Damian? How in the world did they get wrapped up with the Robins? Is Damian still Bruce's son in this universe? Does he have latent Kryptonian powers? Is he illegitimate or did Talia and Bruce get married? Was he raised by his grandfather to believe he is the rightful heir to the kingdom, only to run away when it got to be to much?

And how does Tim fit in? Are his parents nobles in this universe, and if so are they dead or did he run away? Does he sneak out at night to help the Robins but slip back into a mansion before morning?

And there are so many little details too! Jason has his white streak, where did it come from? How long have Tim and Cass been stationed in the other kingdoms? Where is Damian at the start of Dark Knights of Steel? What about Barbara, how does she fit into all of this? Are the other Robins a little annoyed that Bruce showed up with Cass and said 'she's one of you now' despite them all being a tight nit group, or did they accept her? What are Kal and Zala's relationships with the Robins like?

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck analysis speedrun: As a hardworking half-foot who grew up poor and discriminated against and had his gullibility taken advantage of multiple times in his early adventuring days, Chilchuck thinks optimism is a dangerous flaw. He’s stressed and strict all the time because his job is noticing details like traps that could get everyone killed before anyone knows it, he takes the lives of everyone to be on his shoulders, and with the way he speaks about it that probably partly reflects how he felt about taking it upon himself to provide for his family too. His life’s always been pretty centered around work and has become even moreso now that his wife left and everyone is independent, and due to past events he’s very iffy with bonding with coworkers. He thinks feelings and job are a disaster mix. Like with his wife or with parties hiring him as sacrifice, being open or having good faith is vulnerability which can get you hurt, so he processes and shows all his stress as anger instead of worry. Doing strict dieting probably isn’t helping the irritability what with hunger, and on top of being a hunger suppressant alcohol might be the main stress reliever he has.

His grey hairs are so earned

[jamiesfootball]

Word Game Wednesday

Tight

Ted smiled, but the expression felt too tight, like pulling a sweater out for winter only to realize it didn’t fit anymore.

“I’m going to level with you, Greg. Reason I’m here is because an old friend of mine used to make it a habit to swing by for his own meetings. Never spoke much about them, and I didn’t want to pry, but I could tell they really helped. So when I heard the news about my–“

Ted fumbled. For all that the English language was full to the brim with eccentricities and curveballs, he didn’t think that any one of them had been made that could precisely capture the Mancunian-shaped space in his life.

“Jamie,” Greg finished for him.

Shoot, maybe it was that simple.

“Yeah,” Ted said wistfully. “My Jamie. When I heard about– anyways, after that I started looking around. Found out you folks had added a night for friends and family, so I thought I’d make like that fella on The Bear and see what’s what. Maybe grab a pamphlet. I don’t know how I got my nights mixed up, but I walked in expecting an AA meeting. I wasn’t expecting this.“

He gestured at the sandwich board, although did it still bear that name if it wasn't loitering outside a sandwich shop?

The board didn’t have an answer for that. What it did have to say, in white block letters, was:

Survivors of Domestic Violence every other Tuesday 7pm - 9pm

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

Buck and Eddie have trouble getting engaged because Buck is going to Chimney for advice, and Eddie is going to Hen for advice. And Hen and Chimney (without consulting each other) tell them not to worry because Hen is 100% sure Buck is going to propose to Eddie, and Chimney is 100% sure Eddie is going to propose to Buck.

So it’s just this awkward standoff every day, where Eddie is waiting...and Buck is waiting...

And Hen and Chimney are in this endless cycle of “What do you know?”-”I don’t know anything! What do you know?”-”I don’t know anything either!”

And it finally gets so stressful that Ravi, being the World’s Best Middle Man, finally goes to Bobby about what he’s been observing (because as the Youngest Child, Ravi observes a lot).

And Bobby just says “I’ll take care of it.”

And he makes a call to Athena...who makes a call to Maddie...who makes a call to Karen.

(suffice to say, both Hen and Chimney gets smacks on the head by their significant others, and Athena invites Buck and Eddie over for dinner).

When Buck and Eddie arrive at the Grant-Nash household (with Christopher), they notice that the inside of house, and the patio, has been adorned with fairy lights, candles,  and flowers.

Athena, dressed much fancier than to be expected for a small dinner, approaches the three of them as they reach the bottom of the stairs and come into the living room.

“Eddie Diaz,” she begins, looking Eddie in the eye “ - do you want to get married?”

Eddie is SO confused. So is Buck.

“Uh, I mean...” he looks over at Buck “...yeah, yeah, I do.”

“You do?”!” Buck exclaims.

“Well, yeah - “

“Well, then why - ?”

“ - Evan Buckley,” Athena interrupts, now looking at Buck. “D you want to get married?”

Buck glances over at Eddie. “Yes,” he says, ”yes, I do.”

“Well, good, cuz we didn’t all get dressed up for nothin,” says Athena. “Out on the patio, all of you.”

Athena ushers all three of them (Buck and Eddie are still confused, but Chris is beaming) out onto the decked-out patio, where most of their loved ones are gathered.

Bobby, dressed to the nines in his formal Captain’s uniform, beckons them to come over to where he’s standing, at the head of the group.

“So, are we doin’ this?” he asks with a smile, as they walk over to stand in front of him.

“They both said they want to get married. and I would assume that meant to each other,” Athena told him.

“ - It does!” Buck, Eddie, and everyone else shouts.

Bobby laughs.

“OK then - dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...”

[misc-obeyme]

Arsenios's story is at exactly 25k words right now. 🙃

I'm sorry, I should be keeping this nonsense to myself but I was just surprised it was such a perfect round number.

Anyway, that's it, that's all I had to say. Good night.

[steinbit]

*dresses Way too light for -8° weather* a hoe never gets cold~ 😇💋

[ace-does-stuff]

friendly reminder that if a fic reads 1/1 on Ao3, that means its a motherfucking oneshot and don't say 'looking forward to the next chapter' when it says the fic is completed

[schpeenor]

WAAAAOOOOWWW… THIS IS LIKE SO INTERESTING..

Heeey I'm back! It's finally time for the full Cakeverse analysis gang!

Ok, so, for a refresher:

There's the Forks, the Cakes and the Plates (normal people), and it goes like this:

Plates are just normal people, the majority of the world population, nothing new here.

Forks: Can't taste and sometimes can't smell either, sometimes they used be able to taste but lost it with age; either way, they can only ever taste cakes.

Cakes: Basically normal people except that they're delicious, everything from them (flesh, tears, saliva, etc) tastes like cake (or other foods if you want). You can't tell who's a cake or not unless you're a Fork that's tasting them in some way.

Now, I have to add some stuff that's really interesting and that the og author said, that we'll be getting into today.

• Forks go absolutely bat shit insane when they taste the Cakes most of the time, that can lead to a lot of things, cannibalism, sex, or (if you're cultured) both.

• Both Cakes and Forks suffer from their own societal plights. Cakes die a lot, and Forks when discovered are instantly pinned as murderers, criminals and perverts, even if they haven't done anything wrong yet.

• Cakes can derail a Fork's entire life, and Forks are like sin and temptation to Cakes.

Now, I want to talk about these because they absolutely fucking vexed me and now I want to make this all of y'all's problem.

「The First Taste」

It's essentially a common rule as said by the author that the Forks go insane after feeling the taste of a Cake, now, let's talk about: Why?

See, Cakeverse is technically an Au based from the likes of Omegaverse, which you can see by the structure being similar to Alpha/Beta/Omega with the three types of people out there. But, in ABO the Alphas going insane is due to a specific event, heats, which are there specifically for reproduction and are said to bring out animal instincts out of people's control, while Forks are based on simply taste, food, and not something as biological.

Of course it's up to the individual writer to an extent, but my interpretation of why Forks lose it when they taste Cakes is more psychological when compared to Alphas in the Omegaverse.

Imagine that you are completely unable to see color, never once have you seen one, you grew up hearing all about how wonderful colors are, you saw others compliment the colors of several works of art, you heard all about the colors of the world around you, but all that you see is beige and grey. Now, imagine that one day you bump into someone, and suddenly you're able to see all the colors, for the first time ever in your life, you can finally experience blue skies and green grass, you can see the same way the rest of the world sees, something that was fundamentally missing from you is finally gifted to you by this stranger on a silver tray.

You're finally complete.

That's the reality of what Forks go through, years of eating tasteless food, seeing people enjoy food wholeheartedly and rant about the tastes, hearing about the differences between expensive food and cheap food, and then suddenly finally tasting cake. Of course they go insane and fixate on it, it's like the final puzzle piece finally sliding into place, something that they've been missing this whole time being manifested with only a taste.

Before, eating was a chore, something simply to survive there was no joy in it, no fun to be found in desserts or snacks, but with only a single kiss the Fork finally feels what it is like to crave food, to want food for the taste.

Cakeverse in nature is oddly psychological, playing with the concept of taking away something extremely core to the human experience, taste. It's inherent and everyone has it, you'd probably feel like a freak of nature if you didn't have something while everyone else has, right?

That's what Cakes bring Forks; normalcy, joy and purpose, it's basically like a shot of endorphins all at once straight into your bloodstream, there's a good chance it'd hit like a truck and fuck you up majorly.

Forks acting rashly probably looks different than when Alphas do the same, because the motive is inherently different, but the desperation is arguably more raw.

A lot can be written on what that reaction would be:

Immediately trying to taste the Cake (kissing, licking, biting), trying to play cool only to strike later (potential kidnapping, manipulation, planning and scheming in general), the Fork can try to resist temptation or maybe the Cake can notice the extreme reaction and run away, maybe the Cake can instigate and bait the Fork to take a bite.

It could lead to fluff, to relationships starting, relationships ending, it could smut, it could be gory cannibalism, hell, it could be both.

Either way, the sheer amount of character study that could be made out of this tidbit alone is insane, and the story concepts don't stop there!

「We Do, In Fact, Live In a Society」

Cakes don't know who they are until it's too late, but I can imagine that in society they'd be treated with a lot of extra care if they are known beforehand, as they are constantly in risk of dying.

Imagine that they'd also be majorly babyfied, the "nooo poor babies that can't do anything wrong, poor helpless and weak Cakes, they clearly can't take care of themselves, they're so vulnerable, don't worry I'll speak for you to protect your honor" would be insane. Any Cake that consensually and willingly gets with a Fork will be doubted if they truly wanted to do it, think nosy people pulling them aside to ask if they're ok and pressing to see if they're abused, think people immediately thinking that Cakes can't consent to anything with a Fork on principle despite them being grown adults.

Online discourse would definitely have people saying "Cakes are minor coded" or some shit, mark my words.

While Forks would be instantly persecuted for everything. Because of something they didn't choose, that was inherited at birth, they now are fully seem as murderers, kidnappers, rapists and just the lowest of the low. People will gossip, people will get defensive, people will cower any time you slightly raise your voice, you're seen as a predator, treated no different than a wild bear. To society at large, you're an unruly dog, and all eyes will be on you forever, watching, waiting for the day that you take a bite.

In a sense, it's almost like any Forks that do commit crimes instantly have a justification to do so, it's expected, really, you're a Fork, of course you'd snap one day. It's both maligned and normalized, everyone expects it and it almost gives Forks a reason to do so. Forever a self fulfilling prophecy.

Now I'm sorry that I'll keep bringing the Omegaverse up, it's just that it's really handy for comparison, but I find it fascinating that in a way, the societal effects of this are a mish mesh of the societal views seen in ABO, but like, in a way that doesn't make me want to vomit.

Can I be so fr with you guys right now? I don't like the societal parts of the Omegaverse, ever since I was a kid in the early hay days of the internet, that always made me uncomfortable, and it's also a bit lazy in a way. The problems in society with the Omegaverse are basically just Sexism, it's misogyny with mpreg, and a lot of fics end up feeling like a Handmaiden's Tale with mpreg. Replace Alphas with men and Omegas with Women and you get the Omegaverse, though it gets a bit interesting since there technically is a built-in "fuck or die" and aphrodisiac system with heats/ruts, but very few writers do something interesting with it.

My problem is that it's always either uncomfortable or outright boring, very little fics do it well and most of the time authors simply choose to side step it altogether, which I completely understand and actually prefer at this point.

I bring all this up because Cakeverse actually brings a lot of interesting concepts up in it's consequences on the world at large, the nature of Forks and Cakes mirrors a lot of real life concepts, but leaves enough fantastical elements that there's still intrigue in what could be explored and seem from authors writing certain details of it.

Would there be Cake support groups? Would there be Fork rights activists? Would there be people who are both Forks and Cakes, like a hybrid type? What are different relationship types seen as in the eyes of society as a whole?

It's all so complicated and the problems are different between the both of them, also, they're evenly split, which is a breath of fresh air.

Now, it's time to get even deeper into this, what are exactly Forks and Cakes relationship with each other like?

「Would You Still Love Me If I Was Cake?」

According to the author, Cakes can derail a Fork's life and Forks are temptation to Cakes. Now, why is that?

Imagine you're a Fork, living your life trying to do what you can with what's been handed to you, probably being discriminated against if you haven't been able to hide it well, when suddenly you taste someone (kiss or by accident, like a shared water bottle), and next thing you know you lose your mind. Your entire world falls apart, thoughts of dreams, future, your own sense of morality, it all melts away like sugar in water because you just experienced heaven and now it's all you can think about.

Someone completely normal beforehand, suddenly driven to obsession with just one moment, an entire life detailed into the unknown because they just had a taste of cake, thoughts being all about one person and their taste, the inability to stop even you're desperate to do so. It's madness, and almost like a tragedy, doomed by their own personal narrative of Fork meets Cake, the Forks turns into a starving beast whether they want to or not.

But Cakes? Imagine you have someone you love, and they want you so badly it drives them mad, imagine kissing the same lips that want to be stained with your taste, imagine putting yourself in the way of jaws that any of these days can close down on you and swallow you whole. You're constantly in contact with someone that could just straight up eat you, consume you whole and leave nothing behind, but your heart aches for them, you present yourself in a silver platter again and again.

Maybe you want to be eaten, to be consumed. Maybe you like being wanted, maybe you enjoy providing something to to others, you made them so happy that it doesn't even matter to you that they are taking chunks out of you, you'll gladly let yourself be torn apart if it means someone else is satisfied.

It's all about the usage of "Cannibalism as a Metaphor for Love™", it's all about loving someone but constantly wanting to eat them into non-existence, it's about to struggle between your brain heart and stomach.

It's about having your cake and eating it too.

The themes, the metaphors, the opportunities are endless and frankly I'm driving myself insane just imagining all of it, the angst also would be utterly fucking insane, imagine you live someone and you eat them, wouldn't you be upset? You loved them and you killed them yourself, with your own hands, their taste is on your lips and you licked your plate clean.

I'm screaming and crying and throwing up as we speak, the number of things you can do here are endless, soooo. . . Let's talk about some of my ideas!

「All My Fanfiction Titles Are Just Songs」

Last post I basically tagged a bunch of fandoms that I wish would use this trope (I'll also be doing that with this post), so now I'm going to showing some of the ideas I had for this AU that I might or might not write in the future, all of which you guys are totally free to use as prompts as well (just tag me on them lmao)

So, going ship by ship:

「Loveit」: Dead Plate fanfic, Vincent x Rody, Fork!Vincent and Cake!Rody. I imagine that the moment Vincent finds out is during the Best Served Hot ending, after biting Rody's ear, his reaction would show instantly on his face and Rody would notice right away. After that it can lead to a lot of things, fighting, smut and cannibalism galore, their relationship would only get more complicated after such a discovery. Hell, you can even have Vincent find out earlier, if you truly want more juicy drama, maybe Vincent will attempt to make Rody into the meal instead of Mason this time? For funsies you could even reverse it, Rody as a Fork would be fascinating to see, him bonding with Vincent that he also can't taste anything, only for him to find out later that he can taste Vincent himself, holy shit the intrigue.

��Eat You」: Death Note, Lawlight, Fork!Light and Cake!L. Imagine Light both having to hide the fact that he's Kira, but also having to hide the fact that he's a Fork, imagine the never leaving stain that being a Fork would be on his own self-perception of perfection, imagine the so called god that punishes criminals also being considered a criminal by default in society's eyes if he's ever found out. Kira selling out his own kind because most criminals would likely be Forks (whether they were rightfully convicted or not), and then comes in L, a detective, a nuisance, Light's equal and a Cake. Maybe Light would find that out later on, maybe while they're playing as friends in college or while chained together, and now L had effortlessly thrown another wrench in his life yet again by default, like they're meant to be opposed by fate itself, where Kira is a Fork L is a Cake. L would likely goad Light on, trying to bait Kira out, by any means necessary, even if it means being eaten.

「Eat You Piece by Piece」: Hear me out, Batjokes. Fork!Bruce having to hold himself back from breaking his own morals due to finding out Joker is a Cake, Fork!Joker only getting deeper into his Batman obsession after tasting a Cake!Batman, Both Forks bonded by not having taste, maybe both are Forks that differ on how they react to Cakes (Joker regularly eating them while Bruce retains his morals and chooses to not hurt them), maybe both Cakes that got here because they were almost eaten (different Batman and Joker origin stories?). The opportunities are all intriguing and promptly end in bloodshed, expect angst and discussions of what is moral, also just so much angst holy shit this shit hurts.

「I Eat Boys Up」: Dungeon Meshi, Labru, Fork!Laios and Cake!Labru. I'm thinking post canon by accident, maybe something like sharing utensils, and I'm going to be so fr with you right now, this story coming from me would be a lot of romanticism through food metaphors and unending smut, feral Laios is my equivalent of heroin and I could imagine him describing Kabru's taste in detail to him while eating him out. But if smut isn't your jam, exploring how Laios and his monster obsession, especially in the form of food, as someone who can't taste would be intriguing, in a story so closely tied to food, you have to wonder how it would all change if the main character couldn't even taste. Also, I doubt Kabru would take the knowledge of him being essentially prey well, so there's that bag of worms to go into if you want.

「Blame Gluttony」: This one is purely self indulgent but like, Re:Zero with any ship, Cake! Subaru and Fork!anyone else. Imagine Subaru's world doesn't have this Cakeverse nonsense at all, but the world he's transported to has, imagine how scary it would be that one loop he suddenly finds out that he's essentially universal prey here (maybe in the second loop with Elsa), imagine the weight of all the things that already are trying to kill him along with the fact that he's also got a new thing to worry about? Maybe instead of just the rabbit loop, there's now multiple loops where Subaru is eaten alive, maybe there's loops where his dear friends themselves are eating him. Can you imagine if Emilia was a Fork? If he found out after the kiss of death and she commented on the taste of his lips as he was dying, if it came up again after their kiss, Subaru having to tackle with his love and heart belonging to someone that would one day eat him whole. Imagine the witch not longer just wants to touch his heart or kiss him, but she also bites him when he tries to tell the secret. Imagine maybe Rem is also a Fork, imagine that his death by her hands also involved her tearing into him chunk by chunk. What if Otto was a Fork, what if Reinhard was one? Seriously all the opportunities are equally traumatizing and I'm living for it!

Honorable mentions include: Persona Shuake and Shuada (Fork!Protags and Cake!Detectives) for the optimal mutual murder extravaganza, Okegom DSP Satanivlis (Fork!Ivlis and Cake!Satanick) for a rare case of role swapping, South Park Kyman (any way works tbh) for mutually assured destruction, Slay the Princess (Fork!Princess and Cake!Birb) because themes, Soukouku (Fork!Dazai and Cake!Chuuya) for making canon even worse than it already is, frankly any investigrave game would be peak here, Hannigram for obvious reasons.

But that's all I have for now, so, what have we learned here?

We learned that: I'm mentally ill and you need to write about the Cakeverse NOW.

[justevelynnnn]

Don’t fight it

Pairing: Viltrumite!fem reader x Mark Grayson

Summary: You’re a secret viltramite on earth. After Nolan abandoned his post and couldn’t complete his one mission you stepped in, trying to convince Mark, but you couldn’t convince him to join the right side so now you two have to fight. But what happens when you fight your boyfriend and the adrenaline rush leads to something other than fighting?

Warnings: Smut 🔞, Fighting, swearing, reader is a female, reader gets her nose broke

A/N: I wrote and edited this in a day😭 I just had the idea pop in my head and I just had to get it out.

“Mark.”

“NO.” Your boyfriend runs a hand through his hair. “God…literally fuck you.”

It was a hot day. You stood there with your arms crossed, starting to sweat through your tank top now. The heat was making this even more irritating. It had been about a week since Nolan left and it was right before his fake funeral. You decided to confront Mark outside his house…maybe try to convince him yourself to join the cause. Nolan clearly was a failure at that, oh well, but now it was your turn.

“Mark, stop that. You know I love you. You love me. This is for a good cause!”

“Shut the fuck up, seriously. First, my dad….now YOU?”

He steps towards you so you step back a bit. You don’t want to fight him. You’ve known him for years. He’s never yelled at you, got aggressive…anything. You’re not too shocked by the reaction though..sure, the timing could’ve been better, but now has to be the time. Nolan is a dirty fucking traitor who ran away because he KNEW you were coming for him for not doing what he was supposed to. And if not you then the others.

It was his idea after all. To get Mark to fall in love with you and slowly convince him to help take over the planet. His words to be exact actually was he got distracted with Debbie, had a child and became attached…and obviously so; but you ended up falling in love with Mark too. Not part of the plan. It was embarrassing to admit really but it is what it is. You cared for him, but god, why couldn’t he just open his stupid eyes? The Viltrumites just want to help. It’s the humans fault if they get killed trying to resist. Right?

“Listen to me… We just want to help. Surely, Nolan explained that to you, right?” You say reaching a hand out but Mark promptly slaps it away.

“So, WHAT?! You guys just want to kill people.” He spat, face reddening and his chest rising and falling quickly.

“No one wants to kill anyone. But..”

“BUT NOTHING.”

“Mark-” you’re cut off from him shoving you harshly. So harsh that you stumble back a bit.

You instinctively get into a fighting stance, but no…no you don’t want to fight him. Anything, but that please…

“What? What? Huh?! You’re gonna beat me to a pulp too?! Push me through a moving subway too!?”

“Please, stop Mark. Please, I don’t want to do this.”

Another harsh shove. It’d be one thing if you were a regular human girl, but you assumed him knowing what you are now changed things. He started to float in the air. No suit, just the clothes he showed up in. A white tee and gray sweat shorts.

You stare into his eyes almost pleading, slightly confused by what he’s not understanding. If he cared so much about these….people, then why not allow the Viltrumites to step in and help this race get stronger?

You only arrived here from Viltrum about 10 years ago. You didn’t age much since then but you still appeared middle school aged. After you were found and adopted by some random couple you were soon enrolled into Mark’s middle school. That’s how you met him and eventually how your “parents” met Nolan and Debbie.

You could tell instantly this was Omni man. He’d been here for years so they sent you to see what was up. Mark was almost a splitting image of him and you immediately put two and two together even at your young age. Saying he was embarrassed was probably an understatement when you revealed yourself to him one day when you were “13”.

Nothing was the same since that day.

Nothing.

You genuinely did not want to hurt Mark, but the way his fists were balled up and his teeth were gritted,….

“Mark-”, you started once again.

“Shut. Up.” His scarred lip curled into an intense frown now. This was it. It was too late to convince him to stop. He continued with, “I’m not going to let ANYONE conquer my planet. I don’t care about viltrumite anything! I don’t care if you guys are trying to “help”.”

You didn’t respond. What could you say? It was clear he wasn’t going to be convinced anytime soon. You sighed and balled your own fists.

“I guess every couple fights at least once, huh?” You sighed. It was really more to yourself, but you almost forgot Mark had just as good ears as you.

Immediately, “What!? You think this is funny?!”

You didn’t get to respond as he soon launched towards you, landing a punch to your gut. You struggle and gasped as it was unexpected. It wasn’t enough to leave a mark or anything. You knew that. It wasn’t Mark’s style to kill, especially when it came to anyone he cared about.

But, did he really just do that? Oh, Mark…

And so it begins. You spring into the air pulling him by the shirt. You were unexpectedly more angry than you thought. If only you could get him to actually fucking listen for once. And something about him saying this was his planet….ugh. He doesn’t understand how weak and useless these people are to space.

You flung him to the ground once you were high enough. He had fiercely thrashed and clawed against you while in the air, tearing your shirt a bit in the process but never striking you again. He still cared. Maybe he didn’t want to fight either.

He landed with a loud thud with a huge puff of air immediately followed.

“We don’t have to do this.” You yelled once more. “Don’t fight this…”

No response. You couldn’t see him through the smoke that came from the landing as it hadn’t cleared completely yet but you knew he wasn’t dead.

Then, a yell as he again rose from the smoke and attacked you once more. He’s throwing punches you can easily dodge, grunting and yelling like he’s giving it all when you know he’s not. He’s weak but not…this weak.

You block his punches, dodge, land a couple of your own… you were a skilled fighter of course, but Mark despite hardly training was just as good.

The air was thick with fury and rage as you guys are just spinning and fighting in the air now. One punch landed you right in the face with a sick cracking noise from your nose following soon after. Ouch.

He broke your nose…

He actually broke your nose.

You both briefly stop for a moment. A hand instinctively raising to your nose to see blood leaking and covering your hand. Your eyes flicker to Mark as you see him hesitate. He doesn’t move, but behind that still an angry expression was a hint of concern. You smiled through the pain which only forced the confusion to show more. You push him back to the ground once more once you realized he was caught off guard enough.

You landed next to him in the street as he sprung up once more and you two started fighting and wrestling once more. You knocked him over a couple of more times, getting swift jabs in on his sides, but he keep getting up just as quick. Blood from your nose splattered everywhere landing on the ground, on yourself and Mark as you keep throwing punches and even some kicks. You tackled him and pushed him through his living room window (thank god Debbie wasn’t home to see this) and you landed with him in his lap, your hands pressed on his chest.

“You ready to listen?” You panted. Blood still dripping from your nose on his chest. You ignored the pain catching your breath hoping he’d stop. He’s pretty bruised up now, wasn’t this enough?

He didn’t respond but he just stared into your eyes catching his own breath. You almost started to admire how he looked underneath you until he quickly started to push you off of him, succeeding and quickly reeling his hand back. You blocked it just in time standing and started throwing your own punches his way repeatedly.

You two knocked into furniture violently. He backed into the cabinets causing Debbie’s glasses to fall and loudly shatter behind, and around him with some shards flying and slicing you. You tripped over a potted plant at one point trying to dodge a punch and once you landed on the ground he was immediately straddling you now.

You’d push him off if he wasn’t so pretty and literally your boyfriend who you weren’t supposed to fucking love in the first place. His hair stuck to his face as it was covered and dripping with sweat, a black eye was slowly forming which you felt a bit guilty for and his lip was now cut again. He panted once more as his hands wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to choke you but…enough. Enough to turn that adrenaline into something else.

A moment passed again. The universe must be saying something for you both to end up in this position over and over. And Mark must be saying something because you see him getting hard through his shorts. You guessed his adrenaline was going somewhere else too.

And, Jesus, did he look hot all sweaty and angry above you like this. Your sweet silly Mark, now suddenly the complete opposite.

You struggled a bit, almost still wanting to fight until he muttered darkly, “What? It’s like you said, don’t fight it…”

You watched as the anger in his eyes slowly turned into lust. Dangerous lust. Watching as he bit his lip, and muscles flexing as he tightened his grip ever so slightly. You let a moan slip and it was over.

He leaned down immediately to kiss you. His lips were still soft just like before but now with that irony taste of blood. Something about him was just so addicting. The way he growled as you reached to grope him through his pants, the way his grip tightened more so now you did struggle to breathe… the way his tongue fought yours violently like he was trying to eat you. Like he wanted to taste your final breath.

When he let go you gasped for air. You weren’t weak so no time soon when you were going to signal him to let go but a part of you also enjoyed the thrill. He only let go to fling off his shirt and yank his pants down his thighs. You almost froze eyeing his physique especially glistening like this with his sweat.

“Take your fucking clothes off.” He says harshly staring you down while simultaneously stroking himself. His tone and behavior slightly caught you off guard as you froze, and he snapped you out of it quickly by grabbing your face with one hand fiercely and barking, “Now.”

You start pulling your tank off your head as he pulled your shorts off, soon following your panties.

“Why does your underwater have the fucking viltrumite symbol on it?” He snickered eying the damp fabric. He proceeded to wave it in your face but all you could see was his muscles flexing in his arms, veins popping. Adrenaline was still rushing through your own body, but you could tell the same was for Mark.

“Some of us actually appreciate our heritage.” You spit back smirking. You wished deep down you wore something more attractive though.

“All of you are so weird.” He said spitting directly on your cunt. You flinched and fought back a moan as he promptly started to slowly finger you right after.

“You can barely fight, what makes you think you can fuck?” You try to say it with confidence, still slightly passed at him but more at yourself for allowwimg this to happen. Instead it comes out airy, filled with need because he’s fingering you with two fingers now with his thumb pressing your clit.

“Says the virgin.” He laughed dryly.

Now you’re more pissed. You told him that as a secret. Who does he think he is?

“What makes you thin-”, you start but you’re cut off by him roughly kissing you once more, and at some point he bites your lip, drawing blood. He licks it before you do.

He muttered a “shut up” as he kissed down your neck quickly and impatiently. At some point he stopped fingering you, and you almost whined at the loss. He pulled away to lick his soaked fingers clean with his tongue, moaning as he stared into your soul. You almost take this chance to his him again, which you actually do, but he stops you and swiftly flipped you over so you’re on all fours now.

A calloused hand pushes your face down before you try to get up, and another hand pressed down on your back forcing your arch a bit more.

“Don’t fight it.~” He says almost mockingly. You groan feeling him as he lined his tip against your entrance.

“Stop….saying that. If you’d just listen for once-”

“Nope.” He says that as he pushed his full length into you. The stretch forced a long lengthy moan out of you. It hurt so good.

Mark wasted no time moving either, groaning himself as he thrusted slowly. It was almost like he was savoring how your walls felt around him. It took you a minute to get used to his size, especially being inexperienced.

“Fuckk.”, He groaned deeply.

His hands grip each side of your hips as he steadied himself. Sweat dripped onto your back side now as he hovered above you. You felt your ass ripple each time his hips met it and his hands tighten as you playfully squeezed him. Hearing his breath hitch each time gave you a thrill once more.

Until he started pounding you harder and deliberately aiming for your sweet spot. You didn’t think he’d find it so fucking quick but oh he did. It wasn’t long before you were seeing stars. At this point you’d knew you wouldn’t last long at all in this position.

Then, Mark flipped you over once more, pushing your thighs by your head and forcing you into a mating press. Strangely, you felt very exposed suddenly as he stared at you like you were a piece of meat. You reached to attack him once more until he harshly grabbed your wrist, brows furrowed and a growl escaping his throat once more before he started fucking you again.

“I’m not gonna stop until you say you won’t take over Earth.” He spat slightly whimpering.

“Guess we’re gonna—fuck—be here awhile, h-huh?” You smiled up at him.

He didn’t respond. He just fucked you harder now. Angrier. One hand was around your throat with another on your hip holding you in place. It was almost like he had done this before.

This lasted awhile. Only the slick, sloppy sounds of skin meeting and desperate noises filled the damaged living room. You were lucky you two ended up on a rug of all places. Your thighs were slick and covered his lower half with juices. Blood still ran a bit from your nose down your face, your bitten lip now swollen.

At some point he was fucking you so good your hands reached around his back and just scratched. He whined but kept going, and going, and going. It was almost like he was pissed. His hand tightened again so you could barely breathe and you were getting closer.

And him rubbing your swollen clit wasn’t helping. Your mind was spiraling and your limbs felt like putty. He leaned by your ear, messy damp hair falling on your shoulders as he kept muttering sick, lewd things into your ear about how he was going to fill you up until you beg him to stop. How soon you two have your own viltrumite child. How you felt so damn good around him, so tight and warm….

All of it simply sent you over the edge as you shook violently. You never felt this much pleasure in your life. Never. You almost couldn’t see with how good this orgasm was. You sounded like a broken record as you came around him, scratching his back once more. He kissed you again, damn near eating all your moans and whines.

You didn’t come down from your high for 5 minutes and all the while Mark still fucked you.

“Ready to join my side?” He said simply, thrusting slowly chasing his own orgasm. You were getting overstimulated and kept quivering...but viltrumites do not back down from missions so easily so…

“Never.”

“Okay, suit yourself.” He chuckled as he picked up the pace once more. He proceeded to pick up your discarded underwear and shove it in your mouth to “keep you quiet”.

Deep down you knew there was truly no convincing him. And deeper down you didn’t care.

[trashytracktales]

GIRL DONT HOLD BACK

WRITE THE LANDO NORRIS HELMET SMUT

Finders keepers | LN⁴

🟢 summary ──── A moment of boredom turns into a game of control and restraint, with Lando pushing boundaries neither he nor his girlfriend expected on such a busy day.

🟢 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🟢 rating ──── explicit

🟢 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, semi-public setting, soft!dom Lando, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, overstimulation, messy finish, Lando low-key losing it.

🟢 word count ──── 3.3k

🟢 date ──── Mar. 4, 2025

🟢 a/n ──── This one has been HIGHLY requested after one of you guys sent in this ask, so I shall deliver. I hope you enjoy it as much as you imagined & can’t wait to hear your thoughts 🤍

Also, yes. This is the second one-shot of the day, because I ACCIDENTALLY posted this Charles Leclerc piece earlier. It’s very short and I was supposed to post it after this one OOPSIES get greedy & go check it out. Thank you, love you all 💋

THERE IS HARDLY enough room for more than two people in the driver’s room. A physio table is pushed against the wall, a couple of chairs sit tucked under a desk covered in notes, post-its and water bottles, and a row of plastic shelves is holding some race suits, a change of clothes and toiletries, and a spare helmet. There is a faint scent of fresh rubber and overall newness of the place in the air that blends with the smell of rain, and something so distinctly Lando, a mix of his cologne and fabric softener.

She has been waiting for hours now. Day two of testing in Bahrain is dragging, and even though she loves watching her boyfriend hit the track, the long hours spent doing nothing are starting to wear on her. She finished reading three books in two days, rewatched her favorite TV show, and scrolled through her feed until the app informed her that there were no new posts.

She sighs, running a hand over the edge of the desk before deciding to tidy up a little. Not that there’s much to clean, since McLaren keeps these rooms nearly spotless, but at least it gives her something to do. A few minutes later, the post-its are arranged on the wall by color, the documents are organized in chronological order, and the water bottles have found a new home, crammed under the table.

Out of curiosity, her fingers brush over one of Lando’s new helmets, freshly designed for the pre-season testing. It’s sleek, predominantly black with neon streaks and intricate models running along the sides. On impulse, she lifts it, feeling its surprising weight before slipping it over her head. The padding presses snugly against her ears, muffling the distant sounds of mechanics still at work in the garage.

She can’t help but feel a vague claustrophobia surrounding her, but the feeling isn’t necessarily bad. On the contrary, it gives her the impression of safety, even if it inhibits her other senses.

Grinning to herself, she pulls out her phone and angles the camera for a selfie. The reflection in the visor catches the glow of the overhead lights, giving her an futuristic look. She continues to snap a few more photos, adjusting the tilt of her head, until a blurred figure appears in the background of her screen.

“Having fun all by yourself?” Lando’s voice is amused yet he sounds tired, and before she can turn around, she feels his arms wrap around her waist from behind. He leans in, lips ghosting over her shoulder in a lazy kiss.

She huffs out a laugh, nudging at his arms, “I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared me.”

Lando chuckles, hands splaying over her stomach, thumbs brushing absentminded circles through the fabric of her shirt. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to catch you playing dress-up with my stuff.”

“Finders keepers,” she says in a singing voice, making Lando chuckle again.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“It looks cool,” she admits, “Therefore, it makes you look cool.”

Lando squeezes her a little tighter, “That mouth on you,” he teases.

The girl giggles, “Am I wrong? Also, you should’ve knocked, by the way,” she continues, reaching up to pull at the visor so she can actually see him.

“I should knock on a door that has my name on it?”

“Yeah, you do!” she sounds revolted, “Especially when you know there’s a lady waiting for you inside.”

Lando’s gaze darkens ever so slightly as he takes her in. She looks like a mirage under the dim light of the small room, her curls coming untamed from under his helmet and her eyes so bright and filled with love, looking back at him.

He nods with a boyish smile, “I’ll try to remember that next time.”

Maybe it’s just exhaustion making his eyes so heavy-lidded, the lingering adrenaline from a long day fading into something softer. But when she catches him staring, Lando has the same soft gaze he does whenever they sit on the couch and he’s about to doze off; he looks unintentionally hot like this, worn out but content.

“Alright, racer boy. Can we go now?” she asks, pressing back against him slightly.

Lando sighs, reluctant. “Not yet. I still have a couple of hours to go. Gotta go over the data with the engineers,” his fingers tighten briefly on her hips before he steps back. “You can head back to the hotel if you’re bored. I’ll get you a car.”

She pouts, “It’s not as fun without you.”

That wins her another chuckle, but this time, there’s something else in Lando’s expression. His gaze is shamelessly dragging over her with an intensity that makes her pulse stutter. It’s only now that he really registers that she’s wearing his helmet, his name and number stamped all over.

She’s worn his clothes before — his hoodies, his merch, his team’s attire — but this feels completely different. It makes his mouth dry and head spin, and he might be exhausted, but suddenly, swallowing the lump in his throat, Lando realizes he’s so turned on.

“Then stay,” he encourages her, “I have half an hour to decompress before going to debriefing. I’m sure we can find something fun to do.”

His suit suddenly feels tighter, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He swallows again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he exhales slowly.

“Is that so?” she challanges him. “Something in mind already?”

He runs a hand through his curls before reaching for her again, “Maybe,” his voice is low, amused but laced with something indulgent. His fingers skim her waist, tracing the hem of her shirt as he tugs her closer. “You’re pretty inspiring.”

She tilts her head slightly, the visor still lifted so he can see the teasing glint in her eyes. “Well, that’s new,” she laughs. “But I was just messing around.”

Lando hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

She moves to take the helmet off, but his hand catches hers mid-motion.

“No, leave it,” says Lando, thumb grazing over her knuckles. His breath is warm when he leans in, his next words spoken directly against its glossy material. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”

A shiver rolls down her spine, and it quickly goes south, right between her legs. It makes Lando grin subtly, then he reaches for the visor, pulling it down with a definitive, loud click. At that, her world narrows in an instant, and the limited view somehow makes every touch and every breath between them more intense.

Lando walks her back until she’s perched on the edge of the physio table, her pulse hammering as she watches him, excited, but mostly curious about his plans. They have thirty minutes, so his movements aren’t rushed in any way. Quite the opposite. They’re almost lazy, but there’s something precise about the way he reaches for the zipper of his race suit.

He rolls his shoulders, loosening up, then adjusts the height of the table so that when he sinks to his knees in front of her, she’s exactly where he wants her to be. Patiently, his fingers trail up her legs, making slow work of the button on her jeans. There’s no hurry in the way he peels them down, taking her underwear with them in one go, but the moment he gets rid of them, there’s a shift in his demeanor.

Lando exhales sharply, his large hands splaying over her thighs as he looks at her, half-lust and half-serious. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he says, a hint of mischief curling around his words. “These walls aren’t real, and anyone passing by the door can hear us blink.”

There was a little giggle stuck in her throat, but now she barely has time to react before his fingers part her, his touch light at first, just exploring while he preps her with the dexterity of a man who did it countless of times before.

Her breath catches at the first slow stroke, her thighs tensing as he traces circles where she’s most sensitive. The first sound she makes is barely a whisper of a whimper, that Lando trained his ears to hear, since is muffled inside the helmet.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, “Is that my cue?”

Before she can answer, Lando leans in.

Initially, his mouth is warm and merciful. He licks into her with a sort of tamed hunger that’s out of his character, savoring every little shift of her hips, every shudder she tries to suppress. Even so, it sends her a clear message: even though his energy is low from the long day, his need to taste her is anything but.

The world outside their room hums with noise — faint conversations, the occasional shuffle of footsteps, the distant whir of power tools in the garage. But all she can focus on is the way he’s lapping at her clit, the slick sound of it embarrassingly loud in the small space, her own whimpers barely contained behind the visor.

Lando chuckles against her, the vibration making her head tilt back slightly; the weight of the helmet forces her to let her head fall against the wall, which positions her even better in front of him.

“Gonna have to be quieter than that,” he teases, slipping his fingers between her folds, pressing just enough to make her squirm.

She barely manages to shake her head, her breath ragged. The visor fogs up as a result, which forces her to close her eyes, since her sense of sight is officially useless.

Lando looks up proudly, fingers pushing deeper as he settles in, more than happy to test her limits. He knows how to curl them just right, the wet sounds obscene in the stillness of the room.

His free hand grips her thigh like he’s starved, holding her open for him, his name echoing softly inside the helmet — muted yet desperate. He feels the way she gets even more aroused with each passing second, coating his fingers with every slick stroke, her body responding to him exactly as it does every single time he takes over.

Startled with new sensations experienced in the dark, she brings a shaky hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill out, only to realize, all over again, that she can’t. A frustrated whimper escapes instead, the same hand scrambling for something to support herself. Finally, her fingers clutch at the edge of the table, but it’s useless; her hips are already rolling against Lando, chasing more.

“Mhm,” he hums, his voice shallow. “Getting so wet for me, should’ve done this ages ago. Why didn’t we?”

She gasps, trembling on the edge and so ready to agree with him, but then Lando stops, and the loss of his fingers is almost unbearable. Before she can think, a loud, frustrated moan slips past her lips, making him laugh at her impatience.

She’s too gone now, drunk on the feeling, and the weight of the helmet is definitely not helping. Not when she’s melting under his touch, making it hard to move, and pretty much do anything but stay there, waiting. Aching for more.

Lando watches her for a moment, dark-eyed and smirking, already hard just from seeing her like this, her body so pliant and responsive under his hands. He pulls himself out with one hand, stroking lightly, and with the other, he grips the edge of the helmet, forcing her to look at him.

“Alright, baby, I’m serious. No more of that, okay?” asks Lando. “If someone hears us, it’s gonna be bad. And we don’t want that, do we?” he continues, watching her gathering all her strength only to nod slightly. “That’s right. The second I hear you moan, I’ll have to stop.”

Even Lando knows it’s a lie, but he had to say it, just in case.

She swallows, nodding again as best as she can, her pulse a frantic rhythm against his fingers when he drags his hands down her sides, holding her still. Then, with a precise snap of his hips, he buries himself inside her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The force of it sends a shudder through the physio table, the legs creaking against the floor. She barely has time to adjust before he thrusts again, deeper this time, pressing her body into the table like he’s trying to mold her into it. Her thighs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, desperate to keep him there, to keep him buried inside her where she needs him most, the weight of him, the pressure and the friction maddening.

Lando swallows a moan, but some of it manages to slip past gritted teeth, “Fuck, you look—” he cuts himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. He doesn’t even have words for it. The way she feels around him and the heat of her pulling him back in every time he dares to pull away, it’s enough to make his mind go blank.

The table shifts again, inching against the floor with every thrust. She grips at the suit still clinging to his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, but there’s no escape from the way he’s driving into her, every drag of his cock making her shake beneath him.

“Lando…”

He knows. He feels it too. The way they’re teetering on the edge of something dangerously intoxicating, and the way they’re doing that together.

His hands tighten on her, his next thrust shoving the table another inch to the side. “Shit,” he breathes, voice husky with restraint. “Hold on, love. A little more, yeah?” He grips the edges of the table and snaps his hips forward again, watching the way her body reacts to him. “Fucking hell,” he spits, eyes dark as he watches her fall apart under him, little by little. “Keep me in, baby. Like that.”

She clings to him without hesitation, like she was made for this, for him. He’s marking her and he knows it, his fingers moving back to her waist, digging into her soft flesh. Lando’s name is all over her, in ways that only he can see, in places only he gets to touch. And the way she lets him, makes his head spin.

In the haze of it all, a sudden, foreign thought crashes into him like a gut-punch: her name next to his. It’s ridiculous, completely out of place in a moment like this, but it paralyzes him for a second. Until his body reacts on its own, fire spreading through his veins. He leans forward, caging her in, his thrusts becoming sharper, more desperate. His forehead presses against the cool surface of the helmet for just a moment, grounding himself, before he pulls back and looks at her.

He can barely see her eyes, wide and glazed over, but it’s enough. His fingers tighten on her hips as he slams back into her, dragging her flush against him, letting her feel every inch of his length. The sharp noise that the table makes underneath them is lost in the delicious sounds of their bodies moving together, of their heavy breathing, of the desperate way she silently whimpers his name like she wants to keep it on her tongue forever.

He’s spiraling, drowning in the heat of her, in the thought that she lets him take her like this, lets him ruin her for anyone else.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough.

Her hands fly up instinctively, grasping at the helmet, knuckles turning white as she tries to steady herself against the overwhelming feeling of him.

Outside the room, voices pass by again, too close, and Lando clenches his jaw, fighting his own demons as he’s forcing himself to stay quiet.

Luckily, she’s close. He can feel it in the way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes as she tries her hardest to stay silent. Inside the helmet though, her breathing is shallow, small cries coming out of her parted lips.

“Come on, pretty girl,” says Lando in a demanding yet soft tone. One of his hands clamps around her neck, guiding her into each thrust. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

Lando doesn’t slow down one bit, rolling his hips in a way that he knows it drives her wild. As a result, her body tenses, trembling as pleasure overtakes her. A choked gasp echoes inside the helmet, and Lando smirks, watching her unravel. He’s so utterly captivated by the way her walls tighten around him and the way her thighs quiver in his hands, as if she can crumble if he’s won’t be careful. It’s almost too much for him, but Lando manages to pull out just in time, watching as her release coats his throbbing length, as she shudders through the aftershocks.

“Yeah,” he breaths, running a hand up and down her thigh. “Such a good girl, baby. Let it all out.”

She slumps back against the table, panting inside the helmet, her body overly sensitive. Keeping his eyes on her, Lando gives himself a few slow strokes, exhaling hard through his nose; he’s so close it’s painful.

“You okay?” he asks her, his voice as hoarse as if he screamed for hours at a concert.

Slowly coming back to her senses, she exhales sharply, “I’m good,” she manages and, before she gets the chance to ask him the same question, Lando slaps her thigh in order to catch her attention.

“Down on your knees, then. Come on,” he rasps, guiding the girl to her knees, his patience wearing out quickly, as he tilts her chin up with two fingers.

The glow of the light catches on the sleek surface of the helmet, and something about it — about her like this, still catching her breath, still his — makes his stomach flip.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the edge of the visor as he grips the helmet gently. “Obedient little thing.”

She doesn’t speak — can’t, really — just watches him through the darkened shield, completely at his mercy.

Lando’s breathing stutters as he pumps himself faster, the tension coiling tight in his core. “Gonna make a mess of you, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically. “Right there on my—”

He barely manages a breath before the orgasm crashes into him, blinding and all-consuming. His grip tightens, a sharp groan breaking free as heat pulses through him, spilling in thick streaks across the dark visor. Each of his breath is shaky, his mind fogged with pleasure and a sudden possessiveness.

She stays still, letting him ruin the helmet just like he ruined her, and the sight leaves him dizzy.

His fingers twitch as he pushes sweat-damp curls from his forehead, exhaling a laugh, wrecked and breathless. The sound of it fills the space, mixing with the muffled hum of voices just beyond the walls. But all Lando can hear is the quiet, pleased sigh that leaves her lips, her fingers scratching against her thighs, as if she wants to touch him, as if she wants to taste him.

His stomach clenches at the thought, the aftershocks leaving him lightheaded, wrecked in a way he’s never felt before. He exhales sharply, looking down at her, at his helmet, at what he’s done.

Then, Lando’s fingers are flexing against her head before he finally loosens his grip, running a slow thumb over the mess he’s made.

“Hell,” he pants, still catching his breath. Then, softer, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Might have to fuck you like this more often.”

She exhales a quiet, amused breath, tilting her head slightly. “Guess that means I’m actually keeping it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[silversurfersx]

media duties | f1grid

part 2

f1 grid x driver!reader [smau]

summary: in which the reader tries to escape her media duties

faceclaim: jamie chadwick and random people I found on pinterest

warnings: fluff, swearing

___

___

liked by user, user, user and others

f1gossip: williams driver y/n y/l/n was seen entering the redbull garage. Is redbull looking outside their junior team for a possible perez replacement?

view comments

user: y/n I'm telling you, this isn't a good idea

user: that would be so cool

user: slow your horses redbull, the seat's still warm

redbullracing: this is news to me

yourusername: same

user: what about yuki and liam

user: and isack

user: I don't think she's got the pace

user: how the fuck is she supposed to have the right pace in a williams user: the right talent finds the pace anywhere yourusername: that's deep man user: y/n cheering on her own hate comments, lol

___

alex_albon posted a story

[caption: netflix I've found her]

yourusername: betrayed by my own teammate, I can't believe it 🥺 alex_albon: if I have to do the netflix stuff, so do you yourusername: max and oscar put all this work in to help me hide and you ruin it all😔

___

"Y/n what do you say about the redbull rumours?" The interviewer asked, stopping you in the media pen.

"Which one?" You asked, pretending to be clueless. It was a little joy of yours to give short answers to media personal. You didn't really enjoy interviews, but you understood your duties, but that didn't mean that you took them serious. You were in f1 to race, not to entertain interviewers.

"The ones regarding your possible move to redbull, leaving williams." The interviewer continued.

"They're not true." You plainly answered, grinning at the interviewer. A short glance over to your pr officer told you that she didn't support you content-less answers.

"What were you doing at redbull then?"

"Hiding."

"From?" The interviewer seemed to be more annoyed with each word.

"Netflix. They're filming for drive to survive." You answered the frustrated interviewer, giving into better worded answers.

"And you don't want to be filmed." The interviewer asked and you shook your head chuckling. "No."

___

The crowd was screaming all around you as waved at them from time to time, your eyes were focused on them but kept switching over to the front of the wagon where the interviewer was speaking with Lando. You didn't dared to walk up front, because you knew then you would be in immediate eyesight of the interviewer to pick you.

When Lando seemed to finish his talk you stepped further behind Fernando who stood beside you and looked at you with light amusement. He himself wasn't the biggest interviewer fan and tended to stay in the back. You seemed to have bonded over that.

"Don't make eye contact, Fernando, I think Lando is done." You muttered stepping behind Fernendo, hiding from the eyes up front. You crouched down slightly and Fernado aided you by carefully stepped forward to hide your body.

"They're looking at Geroge, I think you're clear." He muttered looking at you.

Leaning around Fernando you watched as Geroge stepped forward to be interviewed.

"I think Geroge is gonna be the last interview." You said standing back up.

"Great. We escaped once again." Fernando chuckled and you joined.

___

liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1, lewishamilton and others

yourusername: yacht, brother, nephew. life is good! ⛵🧑🏽🧒🏼🌼

view comments

alex_albon: james has been calling you nonstop

yourusername: I don't have my phone alex_albon: how are you posting the pictures then? yourusername: my laptop alex_albon: you have been taking those pictures with your laptop? 😐🤨 yourusername: yes.

user: is she hiding out on her yacht?

user: is netflix looking for you again?

yourusername: yes

charles_leclerc: where is my invitation? Alex wanted to see the little man too

yourusername: she can come, auggie misses her too😊 alexandrasaintmleux: ahh I can't wait 🥰 charles_leclerc: what about me? yourusername: gotta ask auggie yourusername: he says to bring lec if you want to come charles_leclerc: sure 'he' 🙄

williamsracing: james wants us to tell you that you get a strike if you keep putting off his calls

yourusername: 👍

user: she really gives no fucks

user: not when she knows that netflix is involved

___

"Hello?" You finally picked up James' call, after a few too many unanswered calls made you feel bad for not answering. Putting on your most innocent voice, you hoped he wouldn't be too mad.

"Y/n, where are you?" James asked his voice urgent and stressed. You grimaced at the tone, swearing internally.

"Home in Monaco on my yacht. Why?"

Jame groaned on the other side of the line. "Y/n, Netflix has been standing in front of your flat for an hour. You were supposed to be filming for them."

"Why, I didn't agree to them filming me at home. Only that it's okay if they follow me during races." You argued, clearly remembering those conditions.

"They didn't have any footage of you during the races, so they wanted to film a little segment with you in monaco." James argued. "I told you about that and asked if that was alright and you said 'yeah, yeah, alright'."

You frowned thinking back if he you did agree to that. And deep in a memory you pushed away you did remeber agreeing.

"Fuck!" You muttered. "What do I do?"

You knew that you couldn't escaped them now, you had your duties, whether you liked them or not.

"I'm gonna call the director and explain the situation and you are gonna go back to your apartment and just do a few hours of filming, after I promise to try to keep them off your back. Just please try to do this this once."

"Okay, I will, sorry James. Thank you." You muttered feeling bad for the stress you had caused the man and if filming a bit of dts got them off your back, you had to push through. "But only in my flat, I don't want them filming my family."

"Alright, thank you. I know you don't like the media, but it is important, I need you to understand that." James insisted

"Yeah, and I'm sorry again for pushing it off. I gotta go now, bye." You muttered.

"Goodbye." James replied.

You hung up and groaned. Why did you agree to Netflix in the first place?

The sound of your nephew on the top deck brought you out of your thoughts and made you step up the stairs.

"Well off to hell."

___

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maxverstappen1: did they get you yourusername: yes😔

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[shellshocklove]

hot 'n' heavy | joel miller

pairing/AU: mom's friend from work!joel miller x female!reader

summary: hiding away in your room during your mother's annual work party, your mom's friend from work, the handsome joel miller, finds you in a compromising position.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! swearing, age gap (reader is college age), use of pet names, pwp, smut, f!masturbation, dom!joel, daddy!joel, manhandling, oral (m receiving), degradation (slut), pussy spanking, unprotected sex (don't do it!), creampie, no use of y/n

a/n: this is just something short and smutty. i debated not posting this tbh since it felt a little simple and not as detailed + with no plot, but it's been so long since i've written anything at all so i'm gonna look at it as a win that it's something lol

main masterlist / ao3 / fic updates

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

"Fuck… Is this really what ya want, sweetheart?"

Joel's voice was barely a whisper, something deep and gravely as he let his thumb skate over your cheek. It was depraved how gone you were already: half-naked on your knees before a man you barely knew, your eyes half-lidded from his touch, and your panties soaked through with your arousal.

You shouldn't be doing this.

Joel worked with your mother. He wasn't technically her coworker – a fact you'd cling to tomorrow when the reality of your actions would settle in – he was a contractor the company she worked for used for most of their projects. That's why he was here tonight, in your childhood home, attending your mother's work party.

You hadn't planned on visiting this weekend, didn't really plan on it for the foreseeable future either, but the devil herself (your roommate) had basically kicked you out because her army boyfriend (ugh) was visiting. With no place to go, if you didn't want to spend this month's paycheck on a last minute hotel room for two nights, you'd ended up going home.

Technically, and you'll forever be hung up on the technicalities of this situation, you were supposed to be studying at your desk in your childhood bedroom… not getting caught in bed masturbating by your mother's coworker.

To say getting caught had been embarrassing was an understatement. That he'd seen the glistening of your arousal on your fingers when you'd quickly retracted your hand from your panties and seen the porn video flicker over your phone screen… was even worse. But the fact that he was the most gorgeous man you'd ever seen, was definitely the worst part of this situation.

"'m sorry, sweetheart," he let out an embarrassed chuckle, like he couldn't believe what he'd walked in on, "I was just lookin' for the bathroom."

"It's at the end of the hall," you peeped out.

"Right… thanks," he said, his hand still lingering on your door handle.

A beat passed, and your eyes locked with his where you could glimpse something darker clouding them. It ignited something inside you, played the strings of the arousal still settling inside you, and sparked a hint of bravery in the pit of your stomach.

"You can use my bathroom if you like?" Biting down on your bottom lip, a lilt of innocence coated your words.

Something like a smile twitched over his face, and his grip on the door handle tightened slightly as he seemed to weigh his options. A loud choir of laughs could be heard coming from the back yard, and like the sound had made the decision for him, he stepped inside your bedroom.

"Through here?" he asked, pointing to your open bathroom door.

"Yes," you nodded, putting on a sugar coated smile across your face. When he'd closed the door after him, you weren't thinking straight; the lingering arousal from earlier drove your actions.

What was his name again? Something starting with J… John? James? No. Joel– Joel Miller.

Removing your hoodie and exposing the ribbed tank top underneath you remembered how he'd introduced himself to you at the start of the night. He'd been early, and your mother had forced you to say hello right before you'd sought refuge in your room for the rest of the night. His hand had engulfed your own as he'd shook it, calloused hands rough against your skin, and the friendly wink he'd given you as he'd introduced himself had had a swarm of wings fluttering in your tummy.

Pushing the covers away your heart was beating out of your chest as you heard the toilet getting flushed and your sink turn on. This would either be the worst or the best decision you'd ever made.

When he stepped out of your bathroom you sat up a little straighter and pulled your knees coquettishly to your chest – innocently, but with intent. Joel's eyes followed the movement and you knew he could see the wet spot where you'd soaked through your panties.

He didn't say anything for what felt like an eternity– he only watched you, his jaw tightening before the deep bass of his voice broke across the silence, "Y'know I work with your mother–"

"Technically you don't," you cut him off, a teasing smirk coating your lips.

Joel huffed out a short laugh. "I don't?" he challenged with a raise of an eyebrow.

"No," you shook your head slowly and spread your legs apart.

Joel's eyes were nothing close to subtle as you exposed yourself to him. "You shouldn't be doin' this, sweetheart– d'you know how old I am?"

"I don't care," you sighed, and let a hand glide down your body, your fingers toying with the elastic band of your panties.

"Clearly," he remarked, his voice strained.

Slipping your hand into your panties, your fingers found your clit where you started to press down in tight circles. Hitching out a small breath your eyes never left Joel's, and you watched as his whole body stiffened.

"Sweetheart," he warned, his voice stern as he stepped closer.

"Please," you breathed out, fingers still working your clit.

"Please, what?" he pressed, stepping so close to your bed now he could reach out to touch you.

"Please…" you pouted, making Joel let out a deep groan, "Want you to fuck me."

"Fuck– you're dirty baby," he whispered, and the way his voice seemed to get deeper and deeper made you rub your clit even faster.

"You have no idea," you whimpered as you looked up at him as innocently as you possibly could through your lashes, but you knew he saw right through your little ruse when his hand locked around your bare knee.

One sweet little plea was all it took for him to snap, and in one quick sweep Joel had you on your knees in front of him. The straps of your tank top had fallen off your shoulders from his manhandling, exposing the top of your chest. Your hands moved with haste then, fingering the buckle of his belt and pushing it through the loop.

"Fuck… Is this really what ya want, sweetheart?" Joel asked, his hand finding your cheek and letting his thumb skate over your skin.

Looking up at him through your lashes you nodded into his hand. It felt insane to admit it, but there was nothing you wanted more in this moment than him; a man you barely knew, a man too old to be even close to appropriate, but it only turned you on even more.

Over you, Joel's eyes had darkened into a stormy sea where rough waves of arousal crashed against his irises. Staring into your own eyes, Joel's jaw tightened and then popped. "Fuck… undo my belt, sweetheart," he ordered and let go of your cheek.

Wasting no time your fingers pulled his belt from the loops and popped the button of his pants. Through the fabric you could feel the way his cock had hardened, and you couldn't help but lean in closer to press open mouthed kisses along his clothed length.

"That's a good girl," Joel sighed, as the comforting weight of his hand found the back of your head. You couldn't help but sigh at the praise and a rumbling laugh tore through his chest at your reaction.

"You liked that didn't you?" he coaxed.

Turning your face to the side, you pressed your cheek against his clothed cock while you looked up to find his eyes. If your panties weren't soaked through with your arousal and your whole body tingling with excitement, you'd be embarrassed. But in this moment, Joel's teasing only made you wetter.

"Please," you begged, wide-eyed and pathetic with arousal, "please, I need your cock."

Joel's hand found the back of your neck where he gripped it, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make a point.

"Yeah, sweetheart? Need to be fucked nice and hard by a real man, huh?" he mocked, his voice laced with fake pity. Before you could whine out an answer he let go of your neck with a small push. "But first…" he grinned and leaned back, fishing out your phone from your sheets, "let's see what's made you this fuckin' needy for m'cock."

The video you'd watched, before he'd walked in on you with your fingers down your panties, were still playing silently on your phone. Still on your knees for him, you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment when his eyes widened and a small chuckle left his lips.

Holding your phone an arms length away from his face, he read out loud, "'Big Dicked Daddy Creampies Needy girl'– that's what you want sweetheart, need to get fucked raw and filled up with cum?"

"Yes," you nodded, eagerly and desperate, your cunt so wet it was starting to hurt.

"Yes, what, sweetheart?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrow, "let me hear ya say it f'me."

"Yes… Daddy?" you tried, and a satisfied smile spread across Joel's face. Throwing your phone back on your bed, Joel's fingers undid his zipper.

"Now take my cock out– c'mon," he ordered, almost impatiently.

With fingers shaking from excitement, you looped them through the elastic band of his underwear and pulled it down along with his pants, revealing inch by inch of his thick hard cock. Leaning back on your haunches you tipped your head back slightly to avoid his cock hitting you in the face.

Freed from its confinements, you wasted no time wrapping your hands around him.

His cock was thick with a throbbing vein running down to the base where a patch of dark and silver wiry hair met his happy trail. At the tip of him a pearl of precum had started to bead, and mesmerized you leaned forward to place a soft kiss to the thick head.

A deep noise rumbled in Joel's chest at your action, and his hand fell back to rest on the back of your head again. "Spit on it, baby–" he sighed and pushed your head a little closer, "C'mon, stroke that spit in."

Tipping your head back slightly, you met his eyes while you gathered a blob of spit in your mouth and spat! Your spit dribbled over the shaft and over where your fist struggled to meet around him, and with slick slow movements, you started to stroke his cock.

"Thaaaat's it," Joel groaned, "just like that."

Shifting your weight on your knees you sat up a little straighter as you jerked his cock in a slow steady rhythm. Your spit made the glide go easy, and above you Joel let out short deep groans with every tug on his cock. Leaning in a little closer, you lined the tip up with your mouth, but before you wrapped your lips around him, you hesitated.

"C’mon, sweetheart, nothin’ to be afraid of,” he soothed, the hand at the back of your head pushing you forward towards his cock, “I know you wanna taste.”

With his encouragement, you closed your lips around the tip of his hard cock – tasting him, finally, for the first time. Running your tongue around the sensitive head in slow circles, you teased the underside of him as you hummed, closing your eyes with contentment.

"There you go," he whispered, "S'good, baby."

Encouraged, you took him deeper into your mouth, testing your limits as the hefty length of him made room for himself inside your mouth. You couldn’t fit him all inside, gagging as the head of him hit the back of your throat, and forcing you to pull back with a cough.

"You're alright, baby," he cooed, stroking the back of your head as you recovered through gasps of air.

Never known to be a quitter, you pushed him back down your throat again a second time. Dropping your jaw and relaxing your throat, it was easier this time, and soon you were bopping your head on his cock. In your mouth you felt his cock grow even harder, and soon enough Joel met your mouth with small thrusts of his own.

Hushed rambles of praise fell from his lips. A sweet symphony through the wet sound of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Snot ran from your nose and mixed with the spit dripping down your chin while tears started to travel down your cheeks in salty rivers. It was dirty, and wet, and so so hot. Pulling off every once in a while when you needed air, you flashed him a wet smile before he was back in your throat again.

Through your open window, a sudden loud cheer came from the garden and startled you. Accidentally you pushed him down too deep, gagging yourself on his cock. Gasping for air you quickly pulled off his cock.

"I know," he cooed, two large palms wiping at the spit around your jaw, "You did so well, baby."

"N-need you to touch me, Daddy," you told him with pleading eyes, your voice raw and used.

"Yeah?" he coaxed, "Bend over then, sweetheart, let Daddy see you pussy."

With a strong hand wrapped around your bicep, Joel helped you on your feet. Unsteady like a newborn foal, he pushed you down on your stomach against the edge of your twin bed. His hands found your ass where they rubbed soothing circles over the muscle, before you felt him split your ass cheeks apart to put your clothed cunt on display.

"You're a little slut aren't you, sweetheart?" he asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice, "You're so fuckin' wet f'me and I ain't even touched you yet," he laughed.

But there was nothing to laugh about in this situation.

A second later Joel pulled your panties to the side, exposing your wet cunt to him and let a harsh spank come down on your folds.

With a whiny cry, your whole body jerked at the impact. A prickling pain mixed with your burning arousal, and even with practically no stimulation, you felt right on the edge already.

One strong hand gathered your wrists behind your back as you felt the weight of him over your back. "Shhh," he hushed into your ear. With his other hand he guided the wide head of his cock through your soaked folds, slicking himself in your arousal. "Listen," he commanded, "y'hear how fuckin' wet you are?"

He gave you no room to answer him as he pushed the head past your entrance, and filled you up with his cock in one rough jerk of his hips. Instead, what came out of your mouth was a surprised moan.

"Bet that felt good, huh? That pussy's finally filled up like she needed?" Joel cooed into your ear.

Nodding your head, your cheek pressed tightly to your mattress, you managed to croak out a satisfied, "Yes, Daddy."

Pleased, Joel pulled out slowly before he slammed back inside you again, splitting you open on his cock as he made you take it. He felt so big inside you, that heavy pressure of him hitting the deepest parts of you just right with every kant of his hips. Moaning unabashedly, you let him fuck you hard and fast, guiding your body back against his cock with the grip of his hand around your wrist.

"'f your mother only knew what a fuckin' slut you are, baby," he hushed out under his breath between jerks of his hips. "The door's not even locked– anyone could walk in on you gettin' fucked."

Lost on the feeling of his cock inside you, a fire ignited in your belly at his words. You felt yourself get even more turned on at the thought of getting caught, of exactly how exposed you'd be if someone were to open your bedroom door at exactly this moment.

"Don't worry your pretty little head 'bout it– I won't tell," Joel told you, emphasizing every word with a harsh thrust.

Pushing himself as deep as he could, his balls slapping against your clit, a deep moan rumbled from deep in his chest. Your own moan got stuck in your chest as he grinded his hips against your ass – making sure the tip of his cock rubbed against your g-spot – before he resumed his rhythm.

"You're makin' such a big mess on my cock, sweetheart… it's drippin' down my balls," he grunted, "That turn you on? Getting caught gettin' fucked by an old man?" he chuckled.

"P-please," was the only thing you could manage between your breathy mewls, "I-I'm c-close."

"Yeah, I know, baby, I know. Can feel you squeezin' me so fuckin' tight– so perfect for this big cock," he praised.

Shifting his grip around your wrist, he snuck his other hand between your legs where his calloused fingers found your neglected clit. Pushing down on it in rough circles, you let out a squeal at the new stimulation.

"I know, I know, sweetheart, " he cooed, "I know you want to come all over Daddy's big cock– come while I rub this little clit."

"Y-yes," you moaned, his hips slapping harshly against your ass as Joel brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. Tears had started to darken your sheets with a wet patch as you heaved for breath. You were right there, right on the edge now.

"You want my cum don't you? Want it inside?" he grunted the question in your ear.

"Please," you hiccuped.

Above you Joel’s groans and moans got louder, as he sped up his rhythm.

"Fuck, baby, 'm close– come f'me now, come for Daddy," he commanded, and with the kant of his hips and a flick of your clit, you came around Joel's thick cock.

Arching your back off the mattress and kanting your hips, your body shook as you rode through your high. Above you, Joel’s movement had become even more erratic, thrusting himself deeper and deeper before a loud groan vibrated through his chest.

Pushing himself deep inside you, Joel came inside you. A warmth filled you as he emptied himself, filling you and coating your walls with his spend.

"That's it– take that fuckin' cum," he rambled, forcing your hips to stay flush against his thighs.

As both your highs started to slowly fizzle out, Joel slowly pulled back and pushed his hips back in shallow thrusts, making sure to give you every single drop of his cum. Sensitive from your orgasm, the pressure of his thick cock inside you was almost too much, and with a small whine you pulled away.

"No-no-no," he said, his hands tightening around your hips, "Stay right there just a little longer f'me baby– good girl."

Satiated, you released a breathy sigh into the mattress as you felt a tiredness wrap itself around you. Joel's hands loosened around your hips, instead he rubbed soft circles over your skin, before he slowly pulled out and snapped your panties back in place.

For a beat you didn't move, but the metal sound of Joel's belt buckling had you turning over on your back. The lamp on your bed side table casted soft warm shadows over his face as you watched him put himself back together again.

"You okay?" he asked you, his voice low but warm – all his rough teasing gone now and replaced by the friendly man you'd shaken hands with for the first time only a few hours ago.

"More than okay," you smiled, "I can't believe that actually happened."

Your words pulled a chuckle from his chest. "Wouldn't mind if it happened again," he smiled.

"Me neither."

........................................................................................................................

i hope someone out there liked this little fic. i'd love to hear your thoughts either in a comment or as an ask! <3

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Shut Me Up

Summary: years after falling out, her, Aemond and the friend group take a summer trip to their Dornish villa, where real intentions make themselves known | word count: 9.2k | warnings: smut, choking, hair pulling, spanking, enemies to lovers ish, swearing, mentions of marijuana use, fingering

A/N: didn't mean to post this on the Mitchelly man's birthday but here we are. A little smutty number in celebration of my seasonal depression cured. And for this fic let's pretend they're all not related, mmk

She thought it'd stay in the group chat, like most of their holiday plans.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for some, it had somehow materialised into a long weekend away on the white sand Dornish beaches. Her bank account was not particularly happy, but the promise of endless sun, cocktails, friends and fun, would just about make up for it, she supposed.

As the only one with a credit card that wasn't maxed out, she rented the hire van for the six hour road trip it would take to get to the villa. She tried, often, to persuade Baela or Helaena into driving. But the former insisted on doing her makeup in the passenger seat for the first leg of the journey, and the latter, well, she'd likely be handing out the space brownies in the back seat.

So it was decided, in the end, Baela would pick up the second half of the drive. She prayed, for the sake of her deposit, that the roads were clear.

The force at which Rhaena threw her overnight bag at her nearly knocked all the wind out of her, “fuck me, Rhae, the hell is in this thing?”

“What? I need to bring aftersun, painkillers, first aid kit, blister patches—”

Baela snorts, brushing past her anxious twin to stuff her bag in the boot of the van, “Rhaena’s brain doesn't know the difference between having a gun to her head and being unprepared.”

“At least you pack lightly,” she smirks, raising a brow, trying her best to shove the luggage aside to fit.

Jace was quick to follow out, his flip flops unabashedly falling to pieces, clad in khaki shorts and a white shirt. She'll never get her head around what Baela sees in him. Sure he's funny, attractive, but he dresses like he's done it in the dark and it's still the early 2000s.

She watches as Helaena and Aegon squabble for the house keys to lock up, having hosted Jace, Baela and Rhaena the night before in preparation for the trip. Luke and Daeron, as fun as they are to have around, are too young for a trip like this. And it's probably for the better anyway, knowing the history between Aemond and Luke. The incident that nobody really dares to talk about.

Helaena beamed, eyes tinged pink from either sun or something stronger as she clambered into the back of the van in a boho white dress. There was an easy air about everything. An excitement that cut through the humid air that billowed off the concrete pavements. The sort you only get from going on holiday.

And Aegon, well.

He's Aegon.

He winks, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes, “hey babe.”

“Absolutely fucking not, Aegon. Get in the van.”

He feigns disappointment, “you're breaking my fucking heart.”

“You'll live.”

Aegon snacks Helaena's arm to budge up a space and plonks himself right in the middle seat, stretching his legs out only to annoy Rhaena in the seat in front.

“Who's ready for a road trip!” Helaena squealed excitedly.

Baela laughed, glancing back over Jace’s arm that was around her shoulders, “are you high already?”

“Excuse you, I am perfectly sober.”

“She's high,” Rhaena added, barely looking up from her phone.

She bit back a laugh, and was about to ask where the last passenger was, always late but hey, reliably late. But he appeared before she had the chance to utter the words.

Aemond.

He walked towards the van with the usual effortless arrogance, duffel bag shoved over his shoulder, silver hair pulled into a lazy knot. He was dressed in all black because of course he was. Even if it was nearly 40 degrees Celsius and hot enough to fry an egg on the kerb.

To be fair, she'd not seen him in a while, so she looked him up and down, and he was, if not a little bit taller than the last time she saw him. And the scar that lined through his brow, through his eye and down his cheek was almost silvery in the midday sun.

Aside from that, he was still the most raging twat she'd ever met.

For the slightest second, their gazes met, but he was first to look away. No smirk. No greeting. Just the cold, unreadable calm. 

“Here he is, our favourite brooder,” Aegon laughed.

Aemond exhaled through his nose, sighing into the last seat at the very back and tucking his bag between his feet, “shut up, Aegon.”

Aegon grinned, clapping him on the shoulder, “Gods I missed this family dynamic. It's so fucking healthy.”

She pretended to instead be interested with how to turn the headlights on and off, even though she wouldn't need them on the six hour drive. Boot closed, engine roaring and everyone, well…nearly everyone, squealed ‘let’s go!’.

The inside of the car smelled like sun cream, salty crisps, and whatever questionable concoction Aegon had decided to mix into his oversized tumbler. The air-conditioning was on full blast, fighting against the relentless Dornish heat.

Helaena, currently high as hell of a ‘brownie’, was sprawled out like a sun-dazed lizard, arms stretched above her head, blinking lazily at the passing scenery.

Aegon chuckled, “how many did you eat, Hel?”

Helaena giggled, “like…one and a half. But they were big,” she raised her fingers like she was measuring something ridiculous.

She looked in the rear-view mirror as a car behind them overtook them on the dual carriageway, and caught eyes with Aemond, who had his noise cancelling headphones on. The blue of one eye and the misty grey of the other made her heart leap as they clocked on hers, however briefly. And Baela certainly noticed how hard she gripped the steering wheel.

Aemond looked largely the same, lean but built, sharp features, all arrogance albeit silent. And though his hair was tied back, a few strands were loose. And she hated that she noticed.

It had been years since the falling out.

It was a terrible mix. They were teenagers. Had a bit to drink, when the tolerance was horrific. Followed by a very public argument at one of his family gatherings that ended in her calling him a ‘pretentious, controlling asshole’. And well, the rest was history. They existed whenever the friend group got together, each too stubborn to force the friendship group to adjust to their spat, but she avoided him all the same.

For the record she still thought he was all of the above.

The drive was quiet but long. And between Helaena's spaced-out ramblings, Jace’s terrible choice in music and Rhaena complaining she needed to pee, Baela took it upon herself to find a service station to stop up. And as soon as the handbrake was up, the doors flew open and they all rushed out like a chaotic clown car act.

The station was nothing special, some off-brand fast food places and a tiny shop for snacks and drinks. But it would do. She hopped out the drivers side and down the side of the van, bristling when Aemond climbed out his side and they brushed shoulders.

He smirked, “relax, I'm not going to bite.”

All she could do was shake her head and throw a face of disgust that Baela certainly didn't miss, “are you two still at it?” she asked, amused, “this has been going on for years. Honestly impressive at this point.”

She rolled her eyes, watching as Aemond stalked off behind Aegon to the shop, “I don’t have the energy to argue with someone who thinks he’s better than everyone else just because he reads philosophy books and drives like he’s in a Fast and Furious movie.”

Aemond didn't go inside, he leaned on the wall, stoking up a cigarette, the lazy smoke dwindling from his lips into the hazy Dornish air. She hated the way he was just so effortlessly nonchalant, like he belonged in an black and white movie.

“You’re staring,” Baela said, voice laced with amusement.

She tore her gaze away, scowling, “I am not.”

Baela hummed knowingly, “suuuure. You know, if you just fucked it out, all this tension would be gone.”

She choked through a sip of water, “Baela—”

“What? I’m just saying,” she shrugged, smirking, “I mean, I don’t even think he hates you as much as you think he does.”

She scoffed, “please. We’ve been at each other’s throats since we were kids. Aemond thrives on making my life miserable.”

“Or,” Baela drawled, “he thrives on getting under your skin because he likes your reaction.”

She rolled her eyes, but her face felt hot, was she getting a sunburn? “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Fine, fine,” she relented, then, casually, she added, “by the way, I heard he and Alys broke up. Months ago.”

That made her freeze.

Baela watched her expression closely, like she was waiting for a reaction. She forced a neutral shrug, stuffing her hands into her pockets, “and?”

“And,” she smirked, “you’re pretending you don’t care.”

Did she care? Really?

“I'm going to pretend we didn't have this conversation.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Baela laughed without a care as Rhaena bounded back up to them with a handful of snacks. Aegon and the rest weren't far behind.

Aegon groaned, “thank the gods I was about to gnaw my own arm off.”

“I don’t know how you’re hungry,” she replied, eyeing him, “you inhaled half a bag of crisps like ten minutes ago.”

“I'm a growing boy,” he winked. Making the others gag.

Mercifully, nothing more was said on the matter. She simply graced the spot where Baela had been sat, had her snacks and let her drive the rest of the way. Rolling down her window, she let her hand rest out of it, the warm, dull air flowing through her fingers. Blissfully ignorant of her nemesis in the back seat.

She knew their dad was rich but Viserys’ obnoxiously sized villa was so endless it bordered on ridiculous. It was perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the endless blue stretch of sea, with a white, sandy beach sprawling at the foot of it.

The villa was no eyesore either. It's sunbleached patios, white stone walls and glass doors all reflected the shimmer of the sunlight on the water. And despite having the literal sea at your feet, the pool sat beneath the balcony, wide, deep and perfectly maintained.

Viserys Targaryen never did anything by halves.

Aegon whistled, “fuck me, I knew the old man had money, but taste?”

Helaena pushed by him, bag in tow, “I get the biggest room!”

“No you fucking don't—” Aegon called, running after her like a child.

She stretched her legs, hopping out of the van and inhaling the warm, salty sea air. The view was ridiculous, and a natural staircase made of stone led down the side towards the private beach.

Baela nudged her arm, “this is amazing.”

She nodded, “despite the company, this trip might be bearable.”

Aemond, audibly, trudged past with his duffel bag, lazily making his way into the villa with a smirk as if he'd heard.

Yep. Bearable.

Everyone was too exhausted to do anything but dump their bags in their rooms and laze around the pool. That, and raiding the kitchen for all the food.

By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, everyone had found their spots and Jace and Aegon were already three beers deep and failing to pot anything at the pool table. She had found herself with the girls poolside, nursing a bottle as they dipped their feet in the cool water.

“We're all waking up early for the beach,” Rhaena declared, loud enough for Aegon to groan.

She laughs, the water rippling around her legs, “what are we doing swimsuit-wise? Practical or hot?”

“Hot.”

“Hot!”

Rhaena and Baela answered simultaneously.

“Hey I've seen you in the bikini, you'll give someone a heart attack,” Baela grinned.

“Shut up.”

Maybe it wasn't heart attack worthy, but the bikini certainly was something. It had honestly felt like she'd lived a lifetime since last seeing herself in swimwear, the seasonal depression had done no favours there. But now, looking at herself in the mirror, she nodded and pulled her hair away from her face, lathering herself with sun cream before attempting the blazing Dornish midday.

“Gods, if I were gay,” Baela whistled from where she sat on the bed, a dark blue translucent shawl tucked over her shoulders.

She rolled her eyes with a snort, “please, you'll be gushing in thirty seconds about how Jace looks in knee length shorts.”

“Hey. Knee length shorts gets some girls going, okay?”

Rhaena scoffs, white streaks of half-rubbed in sun cream glazing her cheeks, “just you, sis.”

Yep, definitely just you, she thinks.

She'd underestimated the beach. It was gorgeous, idyllic, in fact there weren't enough words. It was just secluded enough to feel private, and nobody wasted any time in making use of it. 

Some jumped head first into the waves, tackling and splashing. Aegon had brought with him a garish purple lilo, which Jace found great pleasure in flipping over occasionally, dunking Aegon and whatever drink he was holding into the turquoise water.

Even Aemond, who usually abstained from these sort of activities, had shed his shirt and waded lazily into the water, the sun somewhat reflecting off his sun-cream glistened skin.

She hated that she noticed.

Even more, she hated the way the water made his hair a shade darker, how the drops of water ran down his chest—

No. No. Nope.

She leaned back on the sun bed, pushing her hat over her eyes, willing the image out of her mind as quick as it had come. And the first day passed quickly. She'd dipped in the sea, yes, but not the boyish, rowdy behaviour that the boys and even Helaena were sporting. Most of it was spent lounging, relaxing.

Burning.

Gods, a lot of burning.

By the time night-time had rolled around, her shoulders were pink, mirrored with a dusty line across her cheeks and nose. The ticklish sensation hadn't kicked in yet. That was tomorrow her’s problem.

Right now, all she needed was a nice cold shower and peace.

And peace she found. The villa fell into an easy, relaxed quiet. Somewhere down the hall Aegon was giggling drunkenly, Baela was probably spooning Jace and she could fear the faint sound of TV through Helaena's bedroom.

She padded barefoot across the cool tiles, pushing open the balcony doors that graced one side of her room. The breeze crept in, welcome and warm on her skin, just enough to let in the salty scent in the air.

She mindlessly rubbed the back of her neck where the bikini top had made its tan line. Or what would eventually be a tan line anyway, right now it looked more scarlet. Staring out, the flickering lights of nearby villages blinked in the distance, sparkling along the peninsula where the villa sat atop.

The reflection of the lit pool below caught her eye, and she felt her throat tighten at the sight. Swimming, in the dark and illuminated only by the cool lights beneath the water, was Aemond, cutting through the water with lazy, practiced strokes.

He was alone. Quiet. And ashamed to say he looked good.

The thought came before it could be stopped, but once it was there it took root, and an immediate scowl crept to her face at her weakness. 

His bare shoulders gleamed under the tempered light, lean, toned frame moving through the water with a silent grace. The water had made his hair slicked back, revealing the cut of his jaw, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Aemond ran his hands over his face, leaning back with a sigh to dip his hair back into the water. Her heart nearly leapt through her chest as his gaze lifted to her on the balcony, catching her watching him.

Shit.

Her stomach twisted, heat crept up her neck and it absolutely wasn't sunburn. She could do nothing more than just pretend she wasn't watching him, so she turned on her heel, and slid back inside her room, holding the balcony doors shut with her heart rate going a mile a minute.

She could feel his gaze as she shut the door. Could imagine his expression too, smug bastard. 

Mouth suddenly dry, she pulled her shawl around her tighter and made for the kitchen, needing something to take away this aftertaste. Grumbling and sighing, she scolded herself, barely even at the cupboard before she spotted him.

He was standing by the fridge, bottle of water in hand, in nothing more than the shorts he was wearing to swim resting low on his hips. His hair was still damp, but some bits curled around his face, and she hoped he hadn't seen the way she noticed the slightest ‘v’ that disappeared below the waistband.

He turned, perfectly calm, as if he hadn't just caught her staring for the second time in ten minutes.

“Can't sleep?”

She crossed her arms, looking off, “needed water.”

He laughed once, breathy, and threw the water he was holding to her, which she caught with her other hand as it slipped through her fingers. 

“Thanks.”

The moment stretched. 

She only watched from her periphery as Aemond grabbed another from the fridge, and twisted off the cap. She had luckily resisted the urge to watch him bring it to his lips and down half as if he was parched.

No sooner had she bought the bottle to her own lips.

“You keep looking at me like that.”

She nearly choked on her water.

Her fingers tightened around the bottle, crinkling under the pressure as she turned to glare at him. “Like what?”

His eye flickered, taking her in with slow, assessing amusement. “You tell me.”

Her breath hitched, and she hated that her body betrayed her, the way her thighs tensed slightly, the way her fingers curled. Aemond noticed. Of course he did.

She rolled her eyes, masking the heat creeping up her neck, “you’re delusional.”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his water, his smirk never fading.

“Sure,” he murmured.

Rolling her eyes came naturally, “I still don’t know why you even came on this trip.”

Aemond raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She scoffed. “Because you hate me.”

He tilted his head, considering her, his smirk turning thoughtful. “And what gave you that idea?”

She drained the bottle and crushed it with her palm, annoyance brewing, and she saw the amused quirk of his brow, “oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’ve spent the last few years acting like I’m the most insufferable person in existence?”

“You're not insufferable,” he chuckled, “maybe a bit, actually.”

She blinked, “excuse me?”

He shrugged, “I never said I hated you.”

She let out a dry laugh, “right. So all those times you went out of your way to argue with me? That wasn’t hatred?”

“I think you’re confusing hatred with enjoyment.”

She stomach flipped. No. Nope. Absolutely not.

She pointed a finger at him, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

That tone. That fucking tone. The one that was both amused and knowing, the one that made her face heat up against her will.

Aemond tilted his head, his voice dropping just slightly. “If I hated you,” he said, “I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

She stared at him. The smirk had slipped from his lips. The teasing tone gone. Fuck. 

There was something in his gaze that was something else entirely and she wasn't sure she wanted the flip of her tummy to tell her what it was. She swallowed hard. And before she did or said something stupid, turned on her heel and left to the sanctuary of her room.

And he let her.

A lazy morning was needed for most to sleep off the sunburns and drinks, but for her, she needed the lie in just to avoid running into Aemond as much as possible.

So with the day ahead, they'd decided to go to Sunspear Old Village, a collection of independent restaurants, shops and bakeries. The drive was short, but the difference between the villa and the sprawling village side streets was immediate.

The atmosphere was exciting, sunny, citrus and salt, vendors calling out for customer's attention. Markets lined the stoned path, freshly baked goods, colourful fabrics and handcrafted jewellery.

She and Baela lagged behind, a large sunhat on both their heads to shield from the unyielding sun, taking their time weaving through the stalls, oo-ing and ah-ing at the various Dornish wares.

One particular stall was everything she liked. Handmade jewellery of all golden hues, one worker was moulding a ring into shape and another was placing stencils against thinly laid gold and striking it with a mallet.

The one she liked was a small, golden sun pendant. Dark gold. Delicate and yet striking despite its simple design. The metal was hammered in small indents, and she marvelled at the craftsmanship with her fingertip over the surface.

“You should get it,” Baela insisted.

She tilted her head, “hm, I could but…don't really need it, and I didn't exchange enough money.”

“Since when did you need an excuse to buy jewellery?”

She grinned at Baela, glancing back at Aemond and Helaena as they toddled behind. The taller man had his hands in his pockets, sighing as his sister dragged him into yet another stall. 

She swore she caught his gaze on her, for a split second.

Baela was too observant for her own good. “You are so fucking obvious.”

“What?”

“I heard you two talking last night.”

She nearly choked on air, “what the hell, Baela—”

She snorted a laugh, pulling her sunhat over her eyes, “I wasn't eavesdropping! I just wanted a glass of water when I heard—” she straightened her back, puffing out her chest, “you keep looking at me like that.”

She gasped, smacking her arm, “Baela!”

She laughed, dodging herr second hit. "Oh, come on! That was the most tension I’ve ever heard in my life. I thought you two were about to—"

"Don’t. Even. Finish. That. Sentence."

Baela just smirked, eyes twinkling. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

She huffed, opening her mouth to fire back–

A flash of white and gold hurtled between them, and Helaena, her dress swishing around her shins, beamed up, “look!” she exclaimed, vibrating with excitement as she presented a gold charm in her palm, “it’s a scorpion!”

Neither of them could hide their amusement. 

“Hel, of all the things to buy,” Baela smirked.

Helaena just grinned, unbothered, “scorpions are lucky,” she said matter-of-factly. 

She laughed a little, half in amusement and half because it must be nice to see the bright side of everything, “of course you’d find something weirdly meaningful.”

Hel clutched it happily, “I’m going to put it on my keychain.”

She exchanged looks with Baela, who simply shrugged. Helaena was Helaena.

And then, as if she could sense the conversation she had just interrupted, she tilted her head at her, blinking dreamily. “Are you flirting with Aemond?”

And all it took was Baela barking out into fits of laughter for her to roll her eyes, pretend those words hadn’t just come out of Helaena’s mouth and jog forwards to Rhaena instead, who mercifully was blissfully unaware of anything going on with the aforementioned Targaryen.

She and the girls had taken it upon themselves to bring down some food from the kitchen as well as the fire pit, nestling it into the sand and pulling their shawls over their shoulders to stay off the chill once the sun had dipped with the temperature.

Aegon, as expected, was putting on a show. The moment the flames came to life, he thumped his chest like a deranged caveman, grinning wildly, waiting for laughter that never came.

Baela, unimpressed but entertained, simply lifted her phone. Flash. Click. Post.

Aegon froze mid-motion, the colour draining from his face. “Baela. Delete that.”

She smirked, tucking her phone away. “Nope.”

“I will literally die if that’s on the internet.”

“It’s already on Instagram.”

With a loud groan, Aegon flopped backward into the sand, arms outstretched in defeat. Baela only grinned, her attention shifting to the half-empty bottle beside her. “Oh, fuck, we’re out of vodka.”

She nestled herself closer to Jace, clearly not intending to move.

From across the fire, she scoffed. “I’ll get some, you lazy fuckers.”

Aegon half-heartedly saluted, “brave of you. I wouldn’t make it up those stairs sober, let alone drunk.”

He wasn’t wrong. The private staircase leading up to the villa was steep and unforgiving, and this was, what, her fourth time climbing it today? With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself up, the warmth of the fire lingering against her skin as she stepped away from the group.

By the time she reached the top, she paused, catching her breath, turning toward the horizon.

The sea stretched out endlessly, dark and gleaming, with a sliver of gold and baby blue still clinging to the edge of the sky where the sun had disappeared.

I could get used to this.

Even if she had to endure him.

Shaking the thought away, she slipped through the villa doors, heading straight for the kitchen. It was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the night settling around her. She barely made it three steps before a voice cut through the silence.

“Thirsty?”

She jumped, nearly knocking over a glass. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she spun around, eyes landing on Aemond. He stood near the counter, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable, except for the faintest trace of a smirk. But it wasn’t just the way he looked at her that made her pulse jump. It was how he looked.

His silver hair was damp, strands curling slightly at the ends, still clinging to the warmth of a recent shower. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, just a pair of low-hanging black shorts, his skin catching the dim glow of the kitchen lights, casting shadows over the sharp lines of his stomach, the cut of his collarbone.

She swallowed, gripping the vodka bottle a little tighter than necessary.

He was insufferable.

He was annoying.

And yet–

“Didn’t take you for the helpful type,” she muttered, turning back to the cabinet, refusing to look at him for too long.

A quiet chuckle left his lips, “I wasn’t waiting for you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Her jaw tightened. “Didn’t say you were. Just stop lurking around waiting to frighten me, would you.”

Aemond leaned against the counter, watching her with that same unreadable expression. She didn’t know what he was looking for, what he was waiting for, but it was irritating. She set the vodka bottle down on the counter with a dull thud, crossing her arms as she turned to face him fully. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get from this.”

“From what?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely, “you know exactly what. You’re acting like we never fell out. But we did, Aemond. You should hate my guts.”

Aemond resisted the urge to outright laugh. The truth was, they had never fallen out. Not in his mind. Oh, they had argued. Gods, had they argued. She had called him pretentious, insufferable, a controlling asshole. He had thrown words back just as easily, his own cutting remarks meant to frustrate her, rile her up, get her to fight him harder. 

He liked that she didn’t hold back, that she met him blow for blow, insult for insult. Still does.

Aemond exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, “you’re still talking to me.”

She scoffed. “Like I have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

Something in her chest twisted at that, but she refused to let it show. She rolled her eyes, reaching for the vodka bottle and tucking it under her arm. “Whatever game you’re playing, Aemond, find someone else to play it with.”

She left the kitchen without another word, gripping the vodka bottle tighter than necessary as she made her way back down the endless stone steps to the beach. The sea breeze hit her as soon as she reached the bottom, cool and briny, doing little to chase away the strange heat in her chest.

You always have a choice.

She scowled, shoving the thought aside as she rejoined the group, dropping the bottle into Baela’s waiting hands. “There,” she muttered, sinking back onto the blanket, pulling her shawl tighter around herself. “Now stop making me do all the work.”

Baela grinned, already unscrewing the cap. “You’re a hero.”

The fire burned low, casting a warm glow against their sun-kissed faces, flickering against the edges of the waves. She barely noticed Aemond’s arrival until he was lowering himself onto the sand a few feet away, silent, as always, but technically, next to her.

Unlike earlier, he had thrown on a loose button-down, the top few buttons left undone, revealing a sliver of tanned skin and collarbone. His silver hair was still damp, stray strands falling over his sharp features. He looked completely at ease, like he belonged in the firelight, the shadows playing over the angles of his face.

Stop that.

Baela poured out shots, handing them around. “To questionable decisions and even worse hangovers.”

Jace groaned. “We are so fucked tomorrow.”

The alcohol burned, but she welcomed it, letting the warmth spread through her veins, dulling the tension in her shoulders. One shot became two. Then three.

And then, somewhere between Aegon trying to wrestle Jace into the sand and Rhaena doing drunken cartwheels again, the conversation took a sharp turn.

“Oh, I know what we should talk about,” Aegon declared suddenly, tossing an empty bottle into the sand.

Baela groaned. “If you say kinks, I swear to the gods—”

“Kinks.”

Jace put his face in his hands. “Fucking hell.”

Aegon smirked, completely unrepentant. “Come on. We’ve been drinking. There are no rules. Let’s make this interesting.”

Rhaena laughed, shaking her head. “This is already a terrible idea.”

Baela smirked. “Fine. But you go first, since you brought it up.”

Aegon leaned back on his hands, completely unbothered. “Easy. Hair pulling, spanking, and—”

“Enough.” Jace groaned. Helaena fake gagged, shaking her head.

One by one, everyone went around, rattling off their preferences with varying degrees of amusement or reluctance.

And then it was her turn.

She hesitated. “Pass.”

Baela raised a brow. “No passes.”

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders, acting unfazed. “It’s not even that interesting.”

“Then it should be easy to say,” Baela countered, smirking.

She took a sip of her drink, then, with a casual shrug, said, “Choking.”

It wouldn’t have gotten such a reaction if it were anyone else, but Aemond, fucking chuckled. She turned her head sharply, only to find him watching her, smirking slightly, his gaze dark with something unreadable.

“What?” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended.

“Nothing,” he grinned behind the bottle he was nursing.

“No, go on, what’s so funny?”

Aemond tilted his head, studying her, his smirk growing the slightest bit sharper. “I just don’t think you’d let someone get their hands on you like that,” he murmured.

Her pulse spiked.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the heat of the fire, maybe it was just him, but she felt it, the way the air shifted, the way the space between them suddenly felt far too small. Luckily, the others swiftly got bored of their verbal sparring. A small relief. But it made her feel at least like everyone wasn’t zeroed in on what they were talking about.

She scoffed, leaning back and burying her palms in the sand, “and you’re an expert.”

“I don’t think you’d let someone do it properly.”

Despite the crackle of…something, in the air. The alcohol had not only made her wavy, but braver. And she met his gaze with her chin up, “and you think you could?”

Aemond exhaled a quiet laugh, setting his drink down beside him. 

“I don’t think. I know.”

Her lips parted, something thrumming hot under her skin, crawling up her spine. She pushed it away quickly, her eyes lazy and challenging, “yeah right, as if–”

Her lips snapped shut when she felt it, unhurried, his hand curling around her neck. Not tight. Not rough. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to make her breath catch. Her entire body went rigid, heat pooling at the base of her spine, her pulse hammering against the cage of her ribs.

His fingers rested lightly over her throat, long and steady, the faintest pressure applied in a way that was taunting. Testing. Aemond watched her reaction carefully, his gaze dark and focused, thumb resting just below her jaw, brushing over the sensitive skin, feeling the thrum of her heart at her pulse point. She swallowed, and he felt it.

His lips curled slightly. "See?" His voice was low, smug, dangerous. "That's how you'd want it."

Her breath was shallow, a sharp contrast to the cool sea air around them. She willed herself to react, to do something, anything,  but her body wasn’t cooperating.

Aegon groaned loudly, “gods, just fuck already.”

The spell snapped.

Aemond pulled away, slow and deliberate, and she ripped her gaze from him, shaking herself back to reality. "Shut up, Aegon," she muttered, rolling her eyes, though her voice was noticeably weaker.

She glanced around, seeing that most were preoccupied. Thank the gods for vodka. But even as the conversation shifted, as Aegon moved on to some other stupid drunken tangent, her body still felt the ghost of Aemond's touch. Still burned with it.

She stole a glance at him beneath her lashes.

He was still watching her.

By the time they all stumbled back to the villa, buzzed from the alcohol, sunburnt from the day, and far too aware of the tension still crackling between her and Aemond, she knew she was in trouble.

Everyone was dispersing into their rooms, peeling off damp clothes and sand-covered swimsuits, muttering about showers and food. And her shower was swift and much needed, though the lukewarm water stung slightly at the red patch on her shoulder blades. She threw on a long shirt to sleep in to keep the sensitive skin off the sheets.

A soft knock though, froze her. In her gut, she already knew it was him. But it wasn’t gratifying in the least when she opened the door and confirmed she was correct. He leaned against the doorframe, as if he had all the time in the world, still wearing the loose linen button down shirt and shorts, though it was only now she noticed the chain sat at his throat.

She sighed, exasperated, but with a dull, needing ache she didn’t want to admit, “what do you want, Aemond.”

Aemond exhaled a quiet laugh. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, kicking the door closed. She stepped back automatically, breath hitching.

“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice dark and even, like he already knew she wouldn’t.

The words balanced on her lips. But the heat between them was too thick, too heavy, and the ghost of his touch still lingered against her throat.

So she didn’t.

And the second she didn’t tell him to fuck off, she knew she was losing a game before it even started. Aemond crowded her as she backed up, almost casually, but there was nothing at all casual about the way he was looking at her. The way he was closing this distance as if he could predict how it would end. There was intent in every movement.

She echoed herself, “what do you want, Aemond.”

His smirk was expected but still made her stomach flip all the same, “I think we both know the answer to that.”

The air thickened, wrapping around her like smoke, suffocating. She should stop this. She should push him away. She should. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed perfectly still as Aemond reached for her, tilting her chin up with two fingers.

"Say it," he murmured, and her eyes flickered to his mouth as he uttered the words.

She swallowed, throat dry. “Say what?”

His thumb dragged along her jawline, slow, teasing. "That you want me to touch you."

Her lips parted, a breath escaping. Humiliation and arousal tangled together, tightening in her chest, her stomach, lower.

She hated him. She wanted him.

And that was exactly why she finally whispered.

"Touch me."

His smirk disappeared, the fight leaving him. And then he did.

His lips crashed against hers, swallowing her gasp as his grip tightened around her jaw, backing her against the door. The force of it made her lips part, and Aemond wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He kissed her like he was claiming something, like he’d been waiting for this, waiting for her to give in. His tongue brushed against hers, demanding, teasing, and the moment she kissed him back with the same hunger, his hand wrapped around her throat. 

Not hard enough to cut off air, just enough to remind her that it was there.

A soft, desperate sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Aemond smirked against her mouth, pulling back just enough to murmur, "So you do like it."

She glared at him, breathless, dizzy with want. "Shut up."

His fingers tightened, just slightly. Her pulse jumped and she tugged him back to her by his shirt, back to her lips, Aemond groaned, deep and low, before pulling back and flipping her around, her front pressed against the door, his chest flush against her back. Even like this, she could feel him strained against her backside, and it only made her want to push her hips, see how far she could push him too.

His hand slipped up her shirt, on the bare skin of her stomach, and she froze and melted at the same time. She felt him exhale against her neck at the touch, before sliding the tips of his fingers against the waistband of her underwear. 

"Tell me you want it," he murmured against her ear.

Her breath came out shaky and she hated it, “Aemond—”

His fingers slipped lower, teasing, hovering exactly where she needed him. "Tell me," he repeated, dangerously patient.

She clenched her jaw, her body already thrumming. “I want it.”

Aemond’s chuckle was dark and satisfied. "Good girl."

His hand slipped beneath, past the barrier of her underwear, and the moment his fingers met her slick heat, his breath caught. Her lips parted, choking on air it seemed, her eyes slipping shut as he took his time.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice rough, "so fucking wet."

She bit her lip hard to stop herself from making a sound, but then he pressed his fingers against her clit, slow and deliberate, and she shuddered.

“Don’t be shy now,” Aemond murmured, lips grazing her neck, his other hand coming to her jaw to tilt her face towards him.

She nearly whimpered when he circled his fingers against her, slow, teasing, in complete control. The pressure was just enough to drive her insane, but not enough to push her over the edge. And then he did something dangerous. His hand tightened around her throat at the exact moment he slipped a finger inside her.

Her knees buckled.

"Aemond—"

Her body met him with infuriatingly little resistance, and Aemond seemed to revel in the warmth of her, how tight she seemed around one digit alone. And she just knew he was thinking about something else. How she might feel around him.

He groaned, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eye dark, jaw tight, lips parted like he was barely holding himself together. “You’re fucking perfect," he muttered.

Then, without warning, he added a second finger. She gasped, pressing back against him, his name slipping past her lips in a breathless, wrecked moan.

Aemond grinned, pressing his lips to her shoulder, her neck. "That’s it," he murmured. “Take it.”

Pressed between the door and Aemond was an unfortunate predicament. Unable to move, she could only stand there and take it, his long, deft fingers pressing up into her forcefully and crooking forwards, searching for her sweet spot with an almost obsessive attitude. But equally, so close to the door, to the hallway outside, she had no choice but to press her lips together and be quiet, despite his wish for her not to be.

He wanted people to hear.

She felt the slow, forceful grind of his fingers deep inside her, not thrusting in and out, but pressing, pushing, curling, rubbing against that spot that made her body tremble, made her breath hitch. Aemond moved his fingers in deep, slow circles, stretching her from the inside, coaxing out pleasure with cruel precision. Every shift of his hand sent shockwaves up her spine, her walls gripping around him tight, desperate, needy.

His thumb dragged against her clit, matching the pressure of his fingers inside her, not flicking or teasing, pressing down firmly, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

"Fuck—" the word tore from her throat, raw and uncontrolled, her hips jerking forward into his touch. And at the friction against his aching arousal, he almost whined.

But Aemond hummed, pleased. “Good girl.”

His voice sent heat licking down her spine, pooling low in her stomach. Her head fell back, her body tightening, burning, spiralling toward something devastatingly sharp.

"Aemond—" her voice was wrecked, breathless. He groaned, like hearing her like this did something to him, like it unravelled him, too.

His hand at her throat tightened slightly, tilting her head back as his lips grazed her jaw. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”

She could only nod, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel. The pleasure coiled tighter, deeper, spreading outward, her thighs trembling around his hand. Her body snapped, shattering apart as waves of pleasure crashed over her, raw and consuming, making her shake in his grasp.

Aemond groaned at the feel of it, his fingers working her through it, slow and deliberate as her walls fluttered around him, her body pulsing, clenching, trembling.

She barely had a second to catch her breath before he was moving. Grabbing her like a sack of potatoes and throwing her on the bed, wrenching her underwear down her legs, and forcefully flipping her over onto her stomach.

And then.

A sharp crack of heat across her backside.

Aemond must have felt her jolt, must have noticed the way her breath hitched, the way her thighs instinctively squeezed together. “Don’t be so surprised,” he mused, positioning her exactly how he wanted. 

He leaned down, lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, his voice dark with satisfaction.

“Girls who are into choking are into much more than that.”

Her stomach twisted, her breath catching both at his words and his manhandling. She glanced back, catching his hands as they worked his shorts open to free himself, rendering her mouth suddenly dry. It was all so quick, she barely got a good look at him. He tugged her hips up slightly, the fat head of his cock parting her sensitive folds and began to push inside, and then she forgot how to think entirely. A wrecked sound escaped her throat, muffled by the sheets, her body already soaked, stretched, ready for him after his ruthless teasing.

He filled her completely, every inch stretching her open, the burn of it making her eyes squeeze shut. Aemond groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck, still so tight,” he rasped, pulling back before slamming into her again, rough and unforgiving. The force of it sent her forward onto her elbows, her breath punched from her lungs. Starting out in this position, she felt every bit, the way his cock bent inside her, as if sculpting her to the shape of him.

It was filthy. Brutal. Perfect.

His fingers dug into her flesh, his pace relentless, punishing, as if he wanted to ruin her for anyone else. She let out a desperate, breathy moan, her body giving in, taking everything he gave her, arching back into him. And when she did, Aemond let out a low groan, sliding a hand up her back, over every notch of her smooth spine, trailing along the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling into her hair and tugging.

A ragged gasp tore from her throat, her scalp burning in the most intoxicating way. She clenched around him, and he felt it. His grip tightened, pulling her head back just enough to make her spine arch beautifully, her mouth parting in a silent moan.

Aemond groaned at the way her body reacted to him, the way she clenched around his cock like she was trying to keep him buried inside her forever.

“Oh, you really do like that, don’t you?” his voice was low, rough, laced with something dark and possessive, her hair wrapped around his long fingers.

She barely managed to choke out a sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, but it only spurred him on. His grip in her hair didn’t falter as he snapped his hips forward, fucking into her harder, deeper, rough enough to make the headboard slam against the wall. She shook beneath him, unable to do anything but take it, absorb every brutal thrust, every sharp pull of her hair that sent electricity racing down her spine.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” he murmured, his pace never slowing, his thrusts hitting deep, over and over, dragging her closer to that edge.

She could only nod, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets, at nothing.

She whined as he released her hair, his arm sliding around her waist to pull her up to him, dragging her up onto her knees with her back flush against his chest. Her head lolled back against his shoulder as his hand slid over her stomach, pushing her back onto him with every deep, punishing thrust. 

“Aemond,” she gasped, barely able to form words, her voice breaking.

He groaned at the sound, at the way she tightened around him, pushing his hand lower, rubbing slow, firm circles over her clit.

And that was it.

Her body snapped, pleasure crashing over her in violent, uncontrollable waves, her moans raw and shattered as she came around him, clenching so tight it nearly sent him over the edge too.

“Fuck,” Aemond gritted out, his thrusts turning desperate, chasing his own high as her body milked him.

He buried himself deep, his jaw tight, breath ragged, before he finally let go, groaning her name as he came, spilling inside her, holding her still as he filled her completely.

For a long moment, the room was silent, nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing, the crackling of the sea breeze through the open window. Aemond’s grip eased, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his breath still unsteady.

Slowly, he pulled back, completely out of her, his hands sliding down her hips, making her shiver at the loss of him. He pressed a quick, lingering kiss to her shoulder before pushing himself up, reaching for his lowered shorts and pulling them back over his hips.

She lay there on her stomach, face pressed into the pillows, trying to process what the fuck had just happened.

And more than that , what it meant.

But before she could let her thoughts spiral, Aemond flopped onto the bed beside her, stretching his long limbs out, one arm tucked beneath his head.

It was almost too casual, too normal, like they hadn’t just spent the last hour fucking each other senseless. She turned her head, staring at him, trying to read the subtle curve of his lips, the way his gaze flickered to her like he was waiting for her reaction.

Finally, she spoke, voice hoarse from overuse.

“So…what now?”

Aemond let out a low chuckle, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “That depends. Are you going to keep pretending you hate me?”

“You should be the one pretending to hate me. I was convinced you despised me.”

“Hate you?” He glanced at her, sharp, amused. “I never hated you.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You, though? You’ve been trying very hard to convince yourself that you do.”

Her stomach flipped, and she groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking his arm with it. “You’re a dick.”

Aemond caught her wrist easily, his grip firm but playful, tugging her just enough to pull her closer. “Careful,” he murmured smugly, “you might make me think you actually like me.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real fight behind it.

Lying back down, she stretched, her body already sore, knowing she was going to get it in the neck from the others tomorrow.

“Oh gods, they’re going to be unbearable about this,” she muttered.

Aemond just grinned, clearly unbothered. “That’s tomorrow’s problem.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He gave a lazy shrug, running a hand through his messy silver hair. “A little.”

For a second, Aemond propped up, fishing something out his pocket. 

“What are you–”

Her voice died on her lips the second she saw what laid in his palm. The sun shaped, gold pendant she had seen at Sunspear Market earlier that day stared back. The dark gold glinted against her eyes, and she tentatively reached out to touch it.

“You—”

Aemond shrugged. But she could see he was trying to play it a little cool, to stay off the embarrassed flush to his cheeks at such a sweet gesture, “I saw you looking at it.”

She hesitated, but she was more shocked. She hadn't honestly expected something so nice, especially from him, as hard to read as he was. Such as right now. He was so composed. As if he hadn't had it in his pocket all day, waiting to give it to her.

“You bought this for me?...”

A silly question in hindsight, but she was too floored to ask anything else. And she didn't even need his reply truthfully.

Still, Aemond smirked, propping up to watch as she ran her finger over the metal, “I did, but…”

She looked up, her heart constricting, “but?...”

Aemond bit back a nervous smile, “you can wear it…if we give this a chance,” he says, vaguely gesturing between them.

Her breath caught. Not because it was unexpected, he had been pushing her in this direction all night, all trip, maybe even longer than that. But hearing him say it so simply, so confidently, so Aemond, sent something warm and unsteady rippling through her chest.

She glanced away for a second, fingers brushing the pendant absentmindedly, before letting out a slow breath. “And what exactly is… ‘this’?” she asked, her voice softer than before.

Aemond tilted his head, “this,” he murmured, “is me saying I don’t want to pretend I don’t want you anymore.”

Gods, he was good with words when he wanted to be.

Her lips parted slightly, but before she could say anything, his expression shifted, turning just a little sharper, a little more amused.

“And also, I’m realising one of my kinks might be you calling me a pretentious asshole.”

Before she could stop herself, she burst out laughing. It was unexpected, light, breaking the thick tension in the air.

“Maybe you are a pretentious asshole,” she managed between giggles.

Aemond hummed, leaning closer to brush his lips against hers, “hm, you keep up, don't you.”

She couldn't stop smiling, her cheeks hurt. And Aemond's fingers brushed her skin, reaching for the chain of the necklace, “let me.”

Lifting her hair, she raised her chin so he could clasp the pendant around her neck, the gold sitting elegantly against her chest. He hummed in appreciation and she swallowed, a shiver running down her spine at the barely-there touch.

“Shall we celebrate.”

She raised a suspicious brow. Celebrate.

A bark of laughter threatened to break out.

“Celebrate how, exactly?”

The dark looks returned to his gaze, and she gasped as he maneuvered atop her, his hand bunching up her shirt around her hips. “With you, wearing nothing but that pretty little necklace I just bought you.”

Her stomach tightened. And her body responded before she did.

And judging by the smug look on Aemond's face. He noticed.

She woke up sore, in the best way possible.

The sheets were tangled around her legs, her body still buzzing from the night before, and when she shifted slightly, the cool press of gold against her skin reminded her of exactly how they’d celebrated.

Aemond had already left the bed when she woke up, thank the gods, which meant she had enough time to collect herself before inevitably facing the others.

Black bikini, sandals slipped on and she was out straight away, her hair still tousled from how rough Aemond had been with her the night before.

Helaena, Baela, and Rhaena sat sprawled out on their towels, sunglasses perched on their noses, drinks in hand. They looked far too entertained. And they knew. Oh, they fucking knew.

“So…” Baela drawled, adjusting her sunglasses as she turned toward her. “You had an eventful night.”

She rolled her eyes, dropping onto the sand beside them, already regretting coming down here. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rhaena scoffed, hiding a smirk behind her drink. “Oh, come on.”

Helaena, as dreamy as ever, blinked up at her, tilting her head. “You’re glowing.”

Baela snorted, finally pushing her sunglasses onto her head so she could look at her properly. And then, her gaze zeroed in. She grinned. “Oh my gods, you’re wearing it.”

Her stomach dropped. Shit.

Baela pointed at the gold sun pendant resting delicately against her collarbone, shining in the morning light. “So, Aemond buys you jewellery now?”

She groaned, tipping her head back against the sand. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Rhaena smirked, twirling her straw between her fingers. “Not a chance.”

Helaena giggled, “I knew you didn’t hate each other.”

“Oh, I still hate him.”

Baela barked out a laugh, “so that was a hate fuck, was it?”

Rhaena snorted into her drink, nearly choking on it.

As if completely uninterested, Helaena excused herself, grabbing an empty tupperware as a beetle flew into the reeds by the stairs. Classic Hel.

Rhaena cleared her throat, “so…was it good?”

“I'm not talking about this.”

“Oh, so it was good,” Rhaena mused, eyes twinkling.

“I hate all of you.”

Baela leaned in. “You know what they say. The quiet ones are always the worst.”

Rhaena thoughtfully. “I bet he was really intense about it.”

“Oh, definitely. Control freak. Probably took his time—”

She groaned, “oh my gods, can we please change the subject?”

Helaena returned, beaming, a freshly caught beetle in her tub, “well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm happy for you.”

She peeked up at her through one squinted eye. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be happy about your brother getting laid.”

Helaena simply shrugged, smiling. “You make him less grumpy.”

Her only saving grace was that the guys were too far out in the water to hear any of this. Jace and Aegon were already trying to drown each other, waves crashing around them as they wrestled.

But Aemond stood farther out, water lapping at his waist, arms crossed, watching the spectacle with mild amusement.

She had no doubt Aemond suffered the same treatment this morning. Hounded with questions and easy ribbings. But unlike her, Aemond could silence any incessant question with a pointed glare and a well placed ‘fuck off’. 

As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned, his hair sticking to his face. She watched his gaze drift to the necklace that sat snug at her collarbone, and then back up to her eyes, the faintest smirk on his face.

Maybe the rest of this holiday wouldn't be so bad.

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[5sospenguinqueen]

Please, Please, Please | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary:  What do you do when your ex-girlfriend moves on with another guy? Become needy and pathetic. But, when the guy brings you to tears, Max knows it's his time to save you from further heartbreak.

Warnings: barry keogan (i couldn't find any other men with her that worked), swearing, toxic relationships, pathetic max 

Requested: yes by many of you on the previous part 

Faceclaim: Sabrina Carpenter (she was used on the last one and yes, she's used a lot but I stole her song and her job so I'm also stealing her face)

F1 Masterlist

prev. || next.

part 4 will be the last part so it may seem a bit rushed but i didn’t plan anything else. sorry! these just seem to be getting worse as well, so i’m also sorry about that 

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maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by danielricciardo, liamlawson30 and others

maxverstappen1 a good effort from the team to start on the front row tomorrow 💪 let’s keep pushing tomorrow 🇺🇸

6,633 comments 

user1 twitter is claiming that max and kelly broke up

user2 okay but i actually can’t function until i know if max is free from kelly once more

user3 max please tell us if you and kelly have broken up

user4 i need max and kelly to be done forever this time 

user5 is it true that you broke up with kelly?

→ maxverstappen1 yes. now can we focus on the race

→ user6 @/yn_ln this means you can give him another chance 

→ user7 why would she want to after he ran back to kelly

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yn_ln just posted

liked by mclaren, actorbf and others

yn_ln surprise! if you have any questions, you can refer to my new single please, please, please 💋

13,850 comments 

user8 the two of them are so cute 

jennaortega i’ll give you all the kisses 

→ user9 i wouldn’t. not with all the men she goes through

→ oscarpiastri whoa now, there’s no need for that 

user10 don’t get me wrong. i’m loving all the new music. but my heart can’t handle all the new layers to this drama 

landonorris okay, little miss hollywood. that music video just proved you’d never do well in a film 

→ yn_ln oi, i act better than you do, mr hilton 

→ hilton we’d be happy to have you both

user11 ew, so she went from a hot motorsport driver to a subpar actor?

user12 wait, what? this wasn’t supposed to happen. she’s gone off script. max is single now, they were meant to be getting back together 

→ user13 she’s not his back-up plan. plus she’s way out of his league 

user14 don’t you think you might be putting strain on her new relationship? i doubt her new guy likes to see everyone preferring the old guy 

→ user15 hopefully that means he’ll leave and we can get her and max back

user16 has anyone checked on max?

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yn_ln just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, verstappencom and others

yn_ln how to lose a cake in 10 minutes 

16,334 comments 

alexandrasaintmleux the most beautiful birthday girl 

→ francisca.cgomes this dress is going to live rent free in my head 

→ yn_ln thank you for letting me show you both twenty different dresses

→ alexandrasaintmleux just wish you were taller so we could steal some of them 

→ yn_ln can’t believe you’d do this to me on the day of my birth 

→ oscarpiastri technically your birthday is tomorrow. this was just your birthday party

→ yn_ln thin fucking ice, piastri

user1 guys guys guys. verstappencom liked this. i repeat verstappencom liked this

→ user2 okay but that’s not max

→ user1 but it’s an advocate for max so 

landonorris dicaprio wouldn’t want you anyway. you’re too short

→ yn_ln i’ll make my boyfriend fight you 

→ landonorris i’m not scared of your polly pocket boyfriend

→ mclaren you can’t say stuff like this publicly, lan

→ user3 i swear none of them actually like her boyfriend 

→ user4 showing their support for max. he’s the only person who matches her beauty 

user5 no but the hand in the dress is somehow cute and hot 

→ user6 not with that guy. it should be max 

redbullracing happy birthday to our favourite popstar

replies

user7 what do you mean she had to pay for her own birthday meal on her birthday because her boyfriend wouldn’t

→ user8 not even wouldn’t but flat out refused 

→ user9 streets are saying it’s because he’s broke. not exactly like he’s raking in the job offers 

user10 so this man is lucky enough to get a chance with THE y/n l/n, then he refuses to pay for her dinner, and then he yells at her?? all on her birthday???

→ user11 he’s punching above his weight and clearly that angers him

→ user12 especially with the way she looked in that yellow sparkly dress today 

user13 someone clearly isn’t very smart. she writes a song for him - the first one she’s written recently that isn’t about max - and he does exactly what the song asks him not to do 

→ user14 how dare he try to embarrass our queen by yelling at her in front of so many people

→ user15 i’m starting to question if our girl does have good judgement. how could two men do this to her? 

→ user16 definitely doesn’t have good taste

user17 the audacity to yell at her in a restaurant of people, and then continue to do so after you were asked to leave because you were yelling at her

user18 and if i said i saw max verstappen pass them in the street, stop and turn, and start defending her, then what?

→ user18 he was literally yelling at this man whilst holding a crying y/n behind him, and rubbing her arm soothingly 

→ user19 we’d say you’re full of shit and have no tangible proof 

→ user20 this could be true because he was hanging out with charles and some of the drivers. and i just know alex sm got on the phone to her boyf and begged him to send the love of y/n’s life to save her

→ user19 pics or it didn’t happen

maxverstappen1 posted a new story yn_ln posted a new story

landonorris replied to maxverstappen1 i recognise the birthday girl's dress

landonorris replied to yn_ln who’s the 3rd person 👀 → wait why wasn’t I invited

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sorry if i missed anyone. it wouldn't let me tag some of y'all

[lanymme]

i think a lot about how people within the arknights world think about things like horns, ears, and tails as body parts.

we know beeswax's whole thing where she has model-beautiful horns and a bunch of horn care products and gives other operators horn care tips.

it's treated like hair, right? like she has a hair care hobby? and good for her and all that.

right? right.

okay, but tails.

the thick tail/thin tail factions in acahualla are in the same vein as people talking about what kind of butt is best, right? people talk about tails like they talk about someone's thighs or butt?

right? we agree on that?

so tomimi's prodigious tail would be seen by people on terra as like. equivalent to her having a ludicrously big ass? yes? like that's what we're supposed to take home from her up-from-behind E2 art?

do you think people on the landship talk about her with the same kind of hushed awe as, say, utage?

"i swear to god it's true, there's a 4'7" archosaurian girl who's no less than 50% tail walking around rhodes island, you've gotta believe me" is a phrase that has definitely been spoken by at least one short-term oripathy patient upon returning to their community, right? like we can agree on this?

imagine with me if u will. a hobby artist on Rhodes Island--perhaps, for example, known terminally online loser and partially closeted 2chan poster kirara--on her tablet designing a ditzy, clumsy OC who, oops! just can't stop knocking things over with her big, fat tail! and then posting it to her pixiv account, getting clowned on by people on the intercity net for drawing exaggerated unrealistic female bodies, and making a bunch of vagueposts on twitter about how riajuu can't appreciate an otaku's understanding of true beauty, only to step outside her room for the first time that week so she can go to medical for a routine oripathy checkup where she witnesses doctor gavial's goth yandere shortstack childhood friend knock a bunch of expensive equipment off a table and get spanked repeatedly on her IRL hyper tail, and then she immediately starts crying tears of blood.