#it is the ultimate comfort read. the ultimate comfort watch.

[duchess-of-mandalore]

If Filoni were smart, he'd make Satine Kryze a main character in the new Maul: Shadow Lord show and I am 1000% serious.

We know Maul stole Satine’s portrait from Sundari. We see it in his lair in Rebels, where he sets up a kind of shrine which includes Satine's portrait and the Darksaber Maul used to kill her. We also see that he has scrawled "KENOBI" on the wall in the Mando'a script.

It's implied that Maul physically attacks the portrait. He slashes Satine's throat (over and over), which suggests that the need for revenge against Obi-Wan that he had hoped would be satisfied by killing Satine still resides in him.

He also scratches out her eyes, which doesn't make a lot of sense until you remember that in the Rebels episode "Twin Suns" Maul. was originally going to be plagued by visions of Savage and Satine while he goes mad in the Tatooine deserts. Filoni pretty quickly cut this for time (boooooo), but it makes the fact that Maul scratches out Satine's eyes make sense because it suggests that he still feels Satine watching him.

(The place Satine occupies in Maul's mind is also suggested by an earlier script/storyboard of Maul and Obi-Wan's final showdown. If you can't read the chicken-scratch, Maul's line is, "I took your master. I took your beloved ... I will hunt down whatever ... no ... whoever it is you are protecting and take them as well.")

But the thing is, it doesn't make sense if Maul is only seeing these visions because he's dying of dehydration or heat stroke in the desert. It only makes sense if Maul was having the visions of her long before he ever went to Tatooine.

So imagine Maul ... fresh off his defeat on Mandalore and acclimating to a new galaxy ruled by the Sith he'd hoped to defeat. The criminal enterprises he pursues will surely tie back to the crime syndicates that he helped form alliances with for Pre Vizsla and Death Watch.

Maul's amassing power (and apparently training a padawan) but all the while ... popping up at the most inopportune times, is the Duchess of Mandalore (whom no one else can see, of course) either standing serenely in the background and (in Maul's mind) silently judging him for all of his criminal dealings, or perhaps even interjecting her own opinions, most of which are reminding Maul of how wrong everything he is doing is.

Just imagine how funny the bickering would be:

"You could trust your lackeys more if you treated them as allies instead of slugs to be trod upon. Perhaps you'd even find a friend." "Go away. Or if you won't, at least shut up." "Domination will never make you feel whole, and strength attained through intimidation is hollow." "You know nothing of strength. I killed you." "You didn't do a very good job."

At the same time, perhaps Maul recognizes that Satine's voice in his head is a call to the Light that he has always rejected. How she was at peace before her death and how he could have that peace too, if only he would turn from the path of revenge that he thinks is the only way.

The tragedy is that Maul would never be able to listen to Satine, even if a part of him wants the peace she offers. Her presence instead drives him to the place of insanity we see in Rebels and ultimately to Tatooine, where he is (mercifully) put out of his misery by Obi-Wan.

His enemy comforts him, showing him the same love that Satine has always promised is possible, but with his last words, he still holds on to the belief that vengeance is coming (for both him and Obi-Wan).

His eyes close, and in the last shot we see Satine (the last manifestation of Maul's conscious mind? An apparition? A Force ghost?) still watching over him as he lies in her beloved Jedi's arms.

[americanwh0rerstory]

Hey, so I have a request. Can you write Pre-Cult Kai and it's like the dating years, getting married, having kids with the reader etc. If you're comfortable with that. I love your work!

His Girl

Pre cult!Kai Anderson x f!reader

SUMMARY: headcanons and little snippets of life with pre cult Kai

WARNINGS: pure fluff and references to nsfw. Ooc Kai, haven’t watched cult since September

REFERENCES TO NSFW, NONE EXPLICITLY WRITTEN

A/N: a kai request? For me? Awh shucks you shouldn’t have 🥰 I love writing Kai he’s so fun, I’ve never written much pre cult Kai though

DATING

He never believed an incel loser like himself would ever get with someone as amazing as You

He treats you like a queen. His queen. He’s shy, awkward, but he tries to be sweet

Eventually he shares with you what he and winter would do on the internet (yk all the trolling stuff?) but only if he knew you wouldn’t start to hate him for it.

Very rarely he’ll ask winter for advice, but most of the time he’ll check various forums and blogs. Or just ask reddit

Snippet

> my girlfriends birthday is tomorrow, what do I do?

He writes while you sleep, clicking the post button before setting his laptop off to the side. He looked down at you, sleeping beside him and he couldn’t help but play with your hair while waiting for replies. He took in the sight of you: how peaceful you look, how your breathing was soft and nearly inaudible, the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

Ping ping ping

The laptop. He had some replies.

Chocolate and flowers. Basic but simple

Dick her down

Take her on a date

He read through the replies, most of them seemed to be helpful, some weren’t in the slightest. Ultimately he decided on a movie date. He meticulously checked every movie showing at the cinema, trying to decide which one you’d enjoy the best. He brought popcorn, chocolates, and a pair of promise rings for you both.

He didn’t want to lose you

MARRIAGE

The proposal was awkward but sweet. He probably fell when trying to get on one knee, and he nearly dropped the ring box, but it was impossible to say no to him

He proposed in the basement during a movie night.

He helped you plan the wedding, but he was pretty clueless about it all.

For once, he didnt seek the internet for advice. He wanted to pick his own outfit, it was HIS wedding, and he didn’t want others getting involved

It was a relatively small wedding: your family + winter. But it made the two of you happy so it didn’t matter

Snippet

His hands trembled as he looked in the mirror, making final adjustments to his suit. He never anticipated that he’d get married, let alone to someone as perfect as you. It still felt surreal to him all these years later.

He tucked his shirt into his trousers, adjusted his lapel, and pushed his hair out of his face. He wasn’t ready, physically he was but mentally he wasn’t. But it was nearly time

————————————————————————

He stood at the alter, palms clammy from nerves while he gazed down the aisle waiting to see you. And once he saw you, his breath involuntarily hitched. The dress fit you like a glove, your hair had a beautiful braid in it (the braid’s relevant later just go with it), and you looked like the epitome of beauty.

He swore he fell in love all over again from seeing you look so perfect; he finally had his wife. His queen.

HAVING KIDS

Kai never expected to have kids, he always hated the idea of having a kid.

Upon finding out you’re pregnant, he was there at your beck and call to make sure you was okay

If you had a girl, he’d learn the same braid you had on your wedding so he could style her hair

Either way, he doesn’t want to be like his dad. He won’t let himself become that sort of parent

A/N: I hope this is good for you! I didn’t have many ideas for having kids, but I can try to expand on it in a separate fic/hc post

KAI ANDERSON TAGLIST: @urmomsg1rlfreind @alittleobsessedbitch @marchsfreakshow

[thecallofmidnight]

10 things for 10 people you'd like to know better!

Thanks for the tag @dreamer-329! It's always so fun to participate in these fun little tag games 😆

Last song: She Keeps Me Warm by Mary Lambert. It's on me and my girlfriend's shared playlist 💕

Last book: A Spindle Splintered by Alix E. Harrow. Queer fantasy books? HELL YEAH

Last movie: The Mummy (the one from the 90s). I'm super fucking gay but everyone in that movie is HOT

Last TV show: Friends! It's my ultimate comfort show and I like to watch it before bed

Favorite color: I love a deep, dark purple that's almost black. And any similar shade of red, green, and blue

Sweet, savory, spicy: I really love savory and spicy! I like sweets too but savory is where it's at

Relationship status: taken my the most amazing, beautiful, adorable, and goofy person in the world @taralouthatsyou 😘😘😘

Last thing I googled: a local Chinese restaurant because your girl is hungry

Current obsession: BOOKS!! I'm always reading something and books make life so much better

Looking forward to: days spent with my girlfriend, walking around gardens that are finally in bloom, and my birthday!!

Tagging: @taralouthatsyou @solarianloverboi @casperthefuckinghost @thequeerlibrarian and anyone else who wants to do it (I don't even know 10 people on here 😅)

10 things for 10 people you'd like to know better! (11 in my case 🤔)

Tagged by @moprp - aww thanks girl, you’re so sweet! I really enjoyed reading your answers and getting to know you better.

Last song: Red Wine Supernova —I listen to so much different shit yet I listen to this at least 6 times a day still. Chappell woman, what have you done to me?!

Last book: I Am Enough by Marisa Peer

Last movie: Luca - my kids see to it that I watch nothing but Disney/Pixar these days. (Who am I kidding? I secretly love it! I think I love family movies more than anything else. I guess @divinemissem13 was right. I’m just a big marshmallow.) But at least it wasn’t Toy Story for the 999,999th time this year.

Last TV show: Brooklyn 99 🤣

Favourite colour: Royal purple

Sweet, savoury or spicy: love all 3 but I gotta go with spicy, like me 🌶️

Relationship status: Ehhhhh…moving on.

Last thing Googled: “Bubba’s Sulky Lounge 80s night” lol

Current obsession: Brenda/Sharon - that will never change!!!

Looking forward to: finishing my long ass fanfic, so that I can live my life again. I need to clean my house, plan my trip to Disney World, put away my winter clothes, and see my friends again before they forget I’m alive!!! 😩😱🤣

Tagging @sine-qua-noon @caitylove @divine-feminine-etc @dixoonn @stillokaynextcrisis @vaticanomenon @themostpowerfulmagicofall @madamairlock @xlittlerubyx @dreamer-329 @battlestargalactispam @csquare

Tagging a lot of the same people as you, moprp. Though I don’t expect anyone to reply. That rarely happens anyway. lol

@divinemissem13 I don’t need to tag you but you’re welcome to play. I just want to emphasize the distinction that I know you better than most people know most people. 😜💜

[wienerlicious]

sure the economy sucks and i can't afford a house or kids but at least i was born at the perfect time to be the target demographic for twilight

[arainesque]

haunting ur inbox just to say that 'first impressions in the past tense' george is autism coded level nine thousand and i love him

ur always welcome to haunt my inbox friendly ghost (spirit/anon/fellow human) (especially with insights to things in my fics!!! I think it's so interesting and I love hearing how people interpret things!!). ❤️

He kind of is isn't he??? I didn't actively have it in mind when I wrote it but I can definitely see it now that you've pointed it out. Also the overwhelmed-but-doesn't-know-why, perfectionist, anxious traits for George kind of run through all of my fics?!!!

You've opened up a new can of worms here, thank u for dropping by. (we LOVE fictional George 🥺❤️)

[jinxvex]

♱ use me. ♱

(councilor!sevika x freeuse gf!reader + this was a rq so thank you anon!) </3

cw: nsfw content!!, tiny daddy kink, freeuse!!, dom!sevika, sub!reader, degradation, praise, roughness, cervix fucking, doggy, vulgar language/dirty talk, hair pulling, you just wanna b used, + she holds you down/makes you take it! tiny bit of breeding…

you've prayed for times like this—waiting for the day sevika would finally snap and take advantage of having you so dear and close to her. you’re so eager to please her and you’re unashamed. so willing.

your urges grow every day, you see how she comes home stressed and tired after a full day of tolerating the privileged piltie bulllshit she’s undergone from taking on the councilor role. you carelessly ogle her jaw tightening and muscles rippling with tension and a need to release pent up energy. she’s strong, hesitant to ask for guidance, advice, or help. sevika’s strength inspires you.

and it makes you so wet.

one of those days, you attempted to hint to her that you were there in case, y’know, she wanted to throw you around and use your body until you pass out, but it seemed as though she didn’t get the hint.

“y’know i’m here for you if you need it, sev,” you mention quietly as you stir the pot of dinner on the stove, nearly ready to plate her food after a long day at work. since in the comfort of your own home, you don a one of sevika's shirts with thin black cotton panties underneath. your body is turned, back facing her as you wait for her response. you mean for your confession to come across more sensually, but your nervousness adds a tinge of concern to your tone.

she pauses for a moment, blinking slowly and formulating her response—calculating. after what seems like ages of silence, she lets out a gruff, “…thanks, doll,” unknowing of your intentions.

her words cause you to narrow your eyes, your shoulders to droop slowly with disappointment, and ultimately you decide to drop it.

…

you feel your already-wet cunt (from anticipating her arrival) drip even more as soon as you hear the front door to your home creak open and her heavy footsteps loud against the carpeted floor. you’re currently sitting in your shared bedroom, head buried in the book flat in your hands and feet crossed while waiting for her to finally walk through the door.

this is a daily occurrence. she comes home pissed off and you get to watch her pace around the room like the good girlfriend you are. you intently watch her clench her large fists and curse under her breath about how much she hates her coworkers for insulting her intelligence. it’s fun for you to fantasize about her in front of her.

despite all of that, you do genuinely care about her wellbeing, you listen to her and offer her support when she needs it, but….! you can’t help that your body has a reaction to her! your pussy quivers with pure arousal; like you need her to touch you, even if it’s for her own pleasure. you want her to break you in.

although this time, her footsteps seem… heavier—faster. her frustration feels different, like her emotions are spilling out from a bottle. you jerk your head up from your book when you hear the quick creak of the bedroom door slam wide open.

you’ve prayed for times like this.

…

it all happens so unbelievably fast.

one second you’re alone reading some boring-ass romance book and the next sevika’s roughly plowing into you without a single care about how rough she’s being. just solely focused on the disgustingly hot way her dick pumps in and out of your creamy pussy.

she has you laid out flat with your ass ever so slightly in the air. you’re not facing the headboard, instead your head dangles off the edge of the bed towards the bottom—your hands are bound together behind your back with her mech hand, her other gripping your hair tight. at this angle you’re unable to see her expression, but you know she’s completely lost it if she’s fucking you this hard.

she lets out a elongated “fuuuck,” at the sight of you so openly exposed and submissive for her—unable to move away from her tight grip and unrelenting force. the nasty squelch of your cunt makes her fuck you even harder, needing to hear your pussy talk to her.

“ba-baby! d-daddy! please s’so much, you’re so fucking d-deep!!” you manage to plead with her desperately, voice hoarse with the sounds she’s been pulling from you. the crying, gasping, and moaning has taken a toll on you, but you can’t help it. the faux swell of her dick pumping in and out of you, pressing against your cervix urges you into a state of delirium; complete and utter madness.

sweat drips from her muscular arms and onto your back. she's putting in work. you attempt to inch away from her harsh thrusts and her rough hands, but you’re no match for her strength, she tightens her grip on your hair and presses you deeper into the mattress.

“fuckin’ stay there, take it, baby. take it."

you can tell sevika's lost in the moment as well, words tumbling out of her mouth chaotically like rowdy bowling pins. “it feels good, yeah? know you love being treated like damn whore, don’t you, doll?”

you don't answer her, eyes rolling and hyper-focused on being stuffed full of her. the only thing on your mind is her cock sliding in and out of you, as well as being the perfect toy for her to use as she pleases. you yearn for her aggression. she's aware of your current... condition. but she doesn't like your lack of response one bit.

"fuckin'.. answer me, she thrusts slowly with each word, "don't act like you haven't been wanting me to split you open on this dick."

"you love this shit, huh?!" she's whispering into your ear with false sympathy, knowing you secretly love being teased and taunted.

you can't help but giggle with a wide giddy smile on your face because you've finally got what you've wanted. you've gotten her to pin you down and use you up without asking. "y-yes, daddy! i looove your dick. love getting fucked 'n used like a slut. use me, please!!"

laughing darkly at your eagerness, she gets even dirtier with her words and her thrusts. "i bet you like gettin' those guts rearranged by cock that's way too big f'you, hmm? like gettin' this cunt wrecked?"

"yes! y-yes!"

"yeah, baby?" she coos, "i can fuckin' tell. you're soaking me. needy little thing." she licks around the outside of your ear.

sevika picks up her pace. she's steady, fast, and deep all at the same time. the skin-on-skin contact creates loud slapping noises. "fuckin' annoying assholes. i've had enough of their bullshit," she refers back to the main reason she blew up. "good thing i have my cute, obedient little girlfriend to let me fuck her shit up, right? good girl."

it's all too much, you can feel your orgasm building up. and fast. the condescending way she's talking to you and the cruel way she's using your body has you only thinking of, 'sevika, sevika, sevika.' great! now she's ruined your brain and your body. for good.

"use me, daddy. u-use me. use me. use me."

"don't worry, daddy's gonna use you. gonna use this pretty pussy until you're beggin' me to stop. maybe i'll even knock you up, yeah?"

you can hear the smile in her voice when she lets go of your hair and hands to wrap her arms around you, "my pretty little stress reliever."

...

WHEW i'm so sorry i haven't posted anything in a minute! midterms kicking my ass and i'm living off of 4 hrs of sleep a night, sugar free monsters and a dream... 🤧😭😭

[chleem]

thinking about rafe going out of town and constantly worrying about reader and that she’s safe <333

bf!Rafe Cameron x gf!reader

⋆.˚ Warnings: swearing, making out, pure fluff (still, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: SORRY i took too long to answer/ hope u like it!

word count: 2.5k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

“Shit- you’re making me dizzy,”

Rafe mutters, his voice thick with frustration, as he lounges back against the pillows, watching you pace around his room, helping him pack.

You’re fumbling through his drawer, picking out clothes suitable for his trip. “Then get up and help me, Ray.”

He groans, eyes closing as he sinks further into the bed, his hands resting behind his head. 

Rafe doesn’t want to go—not because he can’t, but because the thought of being away from you makes him uneasy. 

He’ll worry about you, and worse, he’ll miss you. 

And of course, being the guy he is, he’ll never admit that to you. 

His blue eyes stay glued to you as you kneel down near his suitcase, carefully folding a shirt and adding it to the pile. The way you move, the way you take care of everything, it only makes him want to stay more.

“Eager to send me off?”

“No- of course not,” you glance up at him, giving him a soft smile. 

“Seems like you are.”

You offer him an exasperated look, your moves coming to a halt. 

Rafe knew exactly how to get under your skin. The first thing? Packing at the last minute, as always. And second? Twisting your words and actions until you can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. 

You lick your lips, tilting your head slightly, “don’t say that.”

Rafe pats the spot next to him on the bed, “then prove me wrong.”

He watches the way you hesitate, clearly weighing whether to give in or not, before ultimately deciding against it. 

You continue your movements, and a frustrated smile creeps up on Rafe’s lips, “fuck- just get your ass over here.”

You laugh at his words, and when you stand up, Rafe’s eyes narrow as he expects you to walk over to him. But instead, you head straight for the bathroom, leaving him alone on the bed. 

“Baby, stop- stop walking around,” he whines, sounding slightly desperate, his hands coming up to cover his eyes. 

There’s no reply, only the sound of you rummaging through drawers in the bathroom, the faint clinking of items in the background making him even more impatient.

He sighs, dropping his hands from his face to stare at the ceiling. 

His mind scrambles as thinks, every voice in his mind pitching a new idea to him. Rafe thinks about the small details in your routine, wondering if you'll be okay without him.

He knows you’re mature and responsible, yet he can’t help but worry.

What if you forget your keys? What if the Pogues come and bother you? What if you get caught in some situation and there’s no one there to look out for you?

The anxiety creeps in, knotting in his chest. He wants to be there to protect you, to make sure everything’s alright, but it feels like he’s leaving so many things up to chance. 

He clenches his jaw, frustration mounting as he wishes he could keep you in his pocket, just to be sure.

He’s momentarily lost in his thoughts, so caught up in the swirling worries, that he doesn’t notice when you finally join him on the bed.

The mattress dips under your weight, and suddenly, he feels the warmth of you next to him.

Your head rests on his shoulder, your leg draped over his, grounding him in a way only you can. 

For a moment, everything else fades into the background, and he just breathes you in—your presence, your comfort, everything about you.

He can’t help but turn his head slightly, glancing down at you, his heart swelling a little as you settle into him. 

You’re already staring up at him, and he lets out a shaky breath, rooted in his position, almost afraid to move.

“You’re not very good with your words,” you whisper, placing a hand on his chest, and he could already feel his heartbeat picking up under your touch.

Rafe swallows, his eyes flicking between your gaze and where your hand rests, “huh?”

“Yeah- you say the meanest things.”

“I do?”

“Yes- c’mon, like just now, when I was preparing your stuff.”

“Okay, well, why were you preparing my shit?”

“Because you have a trip tomorrow!”

“You want me to leave,” he says, his lips curling into a playful smirk.

Before you can respond, Rafe shifts, moving quickly to pull you into him. He wraps his arms around you, trapping you against his chest, and you yelp in surprise.

“Rafe!” you laugh, squirming slightly, but he just holds you tighter, a mischievous grin on his face. 

He knows you too well. When you fidget or try to push him away, deep down, you actually enjoy it when he gets this close, when he becomes clingy. Even though his words suggest the opposite.

“Cancel the fucking meeting,” his murmurs into the side of your face, breathing in. 

He lets the tip of his nose glide over the skin there, and he just knows he’ll miss being this close to you. 

“You’re only leaving for…three days.”

“Four days,” he whispers, resting his arm around your waist. 

“Barely even a week.”

“Still…”

“Your first trip away, without me.”

“…yeah."

You rest your head on his other arm, and he doesn’t mind the way it slowly goes numb.  

He breathes in deeply, the rise and fall of your chest against his own. He’s staring at the side of your face, more intently than before, as you stare up at the ceiling.

His fingers tighten slightly around you, and then he sighs, his voice almost hesitant as he says,

“I’ll miss you.”

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes searching his.

It’s the first time he’d admit it out loud. That not being around you, actually freaks him out a little.  

Rafe didn’t even realize he was holding in a breath until you whispered, “I know.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips, and Rafe can’t help but smile back.

“Fuck—say it back,” he mutters, his tone playful yet serious.

“Say what back?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Just say it,” he pinches the side of your waist, making you flinch slightly, and you let out a soft laugh at the suddenness.

“What do you want me to say?” you continue, your eyes dancing with mischief, even though you knew just how significant those words were coming out of the Rafe Cameron’s mouth. 

It’s silent for a moment, his blue eyes washing over your features, studying you like he’s searching for some reassurance in your gaze. Then, his voice breaks the stillness, soft but firm.

“‘I’ll miss you’.”

Then, he adds onto it, “say it. Say you’ll miss me. That you’ll worry, and worry, and that you’d call me every second.”

You feel a lump form in your throat at the rawness of his words. It’s a side of him that feels both vulnerable and desperate, a side you don’t see often. 

Rafe stares into your eyes, as if hoping you'll understand the unspoken truth buried beneath his request��the secret confession wrapped in those simple words. 

That he's worried, and that he’ll miss you, even if it’s just four days. 

“Every second? You really think I’d miss you that much?” You smile, but your eyes soften. “…I’ll miss you more than you know.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your words, butterflies forming in his chest. The way you spoke, with such quiet honesty, made the weight of the moment lighter, more bearable, more real. 

Gawd, can’t he put you in his pocket? Like c’mon…

He gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek, “and you’ll worry?”

“Of course I will.”

“…okay,” Rafe sighs softly, as he rests his arm around your waist again, “then I…I guess I’ll just.. just worry about you too.”

Your eyes meet his, soft yet steady, “you don’t need to.”

“I want to.”

“You don’t need to.”

“What if- what if you get into trouble?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“No- no,” Rafe shakes his head, his thumb gently rubbing your side as his voice grows more firm, “I’m serious. What if, what if something happens? I won’t be there.”

“‘Be there’?”

“Yeah- to, to help.”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Rafe, I can handle myself. I’ve been doing just fine.”

He scoffs playfully, though the concern doesn’t quite leave his eyes. 

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

He sighs, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for any hint of doubt. But all he sees is that quiet confidence, the same confidence that reassures him every time you promise him something. 

“If I call, answer,” he suddenly says, his voice thick with a mix of need and seriousness. His eyes hold yours, trying to imprint the weight of his words into you. “I don’t care what the hell you’re doing, you answer, within- within a ring.”

Rafe sees the small, amused smile tugging at your lips, and despite himself, he tries to keep a straight face. “Within a ring? Harsh much?”

“Yeah—yeah, within a ring,” he insists.

“What if I’m in the shower?”

Without skipping a beat, he responds, “...then take me in with you.”

You laugh, breaking Rafe’s serious act as his lips twitch into a smile. 

“Even texts. Answer within ten minutes.”

“…what if I’m sleeping?”

“…then you-“

“Report to you before?”

“-yes, yes, you do that.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tease, shaking your head but unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Rafe smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

You roll your eyes, but warmth spreads through you, “well, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re always in trouble.”

“Don’t- don’t make this ‘bout me.”

You give him a knowing look, your legs tangled up with his as you suddenly become aware of how perfectly you fit together in this comfortable, lazy cuddle. There’s something so natural about the way his body presses against yours, the quiet contentment that fills the space between your soft breaths.

“I’m just saying,” you mumble, feeling a little lighter now, “your track records…”

“…y’know I’ve changed,” Rafe murmurs, and he can’t help but feel a shift in his chest as he says it. His voice is low, almost uncertain, as if he’s testing the waters.

“I know, and I’m trying to say that,” you continue, eyes still locked into his blue ones, and your hand comes up to play with the collar of his shirt, “you worry, and so do I. But I trust that you’ll be fine. Won’t you do the same for me?”

Rafe’s gaze softens, and a flash of understanding flows through his features. 

“Always,” he finally says, his voice steady, “I trust you.”

There’s a lingering pause between the both of you, and because Rafe wanted to, he leans in. 

Eyes closed, parted lips, he gives you a soft kiss on the lips, one that’s light yet full of affection. 

You smile against his, and you kiss him back, tenderly. 

It doesn’t take long for it to escalate, your breaths mingling together, and soon enough, there were rough exchanges of saliva, touches, and whispers of promises. 

——

True to his words, Rafe called, almost without fail.

He didn’t even realize how it became second nature to him.

The first thing he did when he got off the plane? He called you.

When he arrived at his hotel room? Called you.

During lunch, dinner, and breakfast? Calls, every. single. time.

And yes, once, he did call when you were in the shower.

Afterwards, he was fuming, frustrated that you missed his call.

For the next three days, you’d text him before hopping in the shower, a small lesson learned.

Every call started the same way: ‘Hey, baby. You doing good?’ And to which, you would reassure him, filling in details of what you were just up to, even if the task was boring and simple. 

He’d ask you to prop your phone on a smooth surface, just so he could check the surroundings behind you. He liked to make sure everything was alright, his eyes scanning the space like a protective instinct kicking in, even if you were just casually talking.

Rafe would hear you complain or tease about his clinginess and protectiveness through the phone, but deep down, he could tell you liked it. You liked how much he cared, even if you pretended otherwise. 

And he, in turn, liked taking care of you, knowing he could be there, even from a distance. It was just part of the rhythm of your relationship now—his need to protect you, and your subtle way of letting him.

It was almost like a routine, a schedule. Check-ins, no matter what you were doing, or what Rafe was doing. 

And four days couldn’t breeze by slower. 

When the day of his return finally came, you’d pick him up from the airport, and he’s standing there, looking a little more tired than usual but still carrying that unmistakable grin. 

The moment he sees you, it’s like the exhaustion melts away.

He doesn't even give you a chance to say anything before he's pulling you into a tight hug, lifting you slightly off the ground.

“Ugh, hey you,” you laugh, and Rafe smiled even wider, happy that he didn’t have to hear the beautiful sound of your voice through a phone anymore. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his arms resting around your waist in a half-hug. “Miss me much?”

“Mhm. But, probably not as much as you do.”

“Really?”

You tap his shoulder for him to lean down as the two of you move through the crowd of people, towards the exit, “my phone bill is proof enough,” you tease, whispering into his ear. 

Rafe smirks, leaning down just enough so his lips brush against your ear. “Y’know I pay for that shit…” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You roll your eyes, playfully nudging him in the ribs, “…which is something you don’t need to do.”

Rafe grins, his arms tightening around you for a brief moment as the door swings open. "I know I don't need to, but I want to." His voice drops lower, a soft confidence in it.

You can feel the way his fingers gently press against your side, pulling you a little closer as the cool air hits your skin.

"Besides," he continues, leaning closer again as the crowd begins to thin, "you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You glance up at him, unable to suppress a smile. "I wouldn't want to.”

He lets out a breath of laughter, his gaze softening. “Good.”

Rafe’s hand slips easily into yours, fingers intertwining like they were always meant to. 

You walk side by side, the steady rhythm of your steps matching the loud and busy scene of the airport. 

But the distant hum of the world fades away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the way he keeps glancing at you, his smile soft but full of affection.

The night air feels crisp, but with him so close, you can’t help but feel warm, safe—like everything is right in the world. 

As the two of you make your way towards the car, the simple gesture of walking together, without words, felt like a perfect montage of some romantic movie.

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

bit corny but I LIKE IT

elevator | other

[lemonlover1110]

I'm currently obsessed with royalty AU, enjoy this Sukuna drabble

Sukuna, the troublesome eldest son, the prince that’s supposed to take over his father’s position one day; but anyone with a pair of eyes can see that he means chaos. The moment he takes charge, he’ll wreak havoc around the place. The job was better suited for his twin brother, alas, rules are rules.

The troublesome prince that’s set to marry– However, he has no maiden since he runs them off within a matter of hours. He’s got all the tricks needed to scare them away. Women are easy creatures, he’s got them all figured out. He’ll make sure he never gets married.

Marriage is for fools, he shouldn’t be married to become king. He can wait till the old man’s ultimate demise to take over.

Yet, there’s a woman that he can’t get off his back. A stupid noble that’s set on marrying him. An ambitious goody-two-shoes that’s set on becoming queen.

No matter what Sukuna does, he can’t get you off his back. He’s tried to make you uncomfortable in all imaginable ways. He’s ruined what feels like hundreds of dresses, started rumors about you, made out with servants right before you, badmouthed you to anyone and everyone— And yet you choose to stick around.

His last straw is when he sneaks up to your room half naked, set on ending it once and for all. Either you’ll lose your honor and he’ll hold it against you, or you’ll be too uncomfortable to continue this stupid game.

“What are you doing here?” You look at him with pure disdain in your eyes, your voice radiating annoyance. You roll your eyes watching as Sukuna lays comfortably in your bed, pretending to read one of your books.

“I want to spend some—“ The smirk on his face fades away when he looks at you, finally noticing the one detail that he’s glossed over. Too focused on his freedom, he failed to notice that you hold little to no respect for him. You don’t like him, on the contrary, you hate him.

He won’t end up making you uncomfortable, he’ll end up fueling the hate that you have for him. His heart… skips a beat?

You berate him, and in a matter of seconds, Sukuna realizes that you’ve done the impossible. You’ve made him fall in love.

[strang3lov3]

Throat Coat

Joel doesn’t make your sore throat feel better, but he does make it worse.

Tags - smut, one shot, dark daddy!joel, rough blow job, facefucking, deep throating, cum swallowing, kissing, hitting/swatting, abuse, dubcon, daddy kink, dd/lg dynamics, thick n girthy (legal + unspecified) age gap, controlling!joel, Joel is all mean and grumpy and short with you, sexy comforting father figure!Joel, Joel feels guilty for hurting you and cries a little, so he babies you and you milk it just a little. you deserve it. hurt/comfort, dark fluff, non-graphic descriptions of illness (sore throat + strep), tommy makes an appearance...planting some seeds here... ;) 3.6k words A/N - heddo! if you're sick rn I’m hugging you. And if you’re not sick, you will be and I’ll hug you then too. Wash your fuckin' hands ya beautiful freaks

“Set the table f’me, pumpkin.”

Joel’s voice is low as he watches you slowly get up from where you sit on the couch, pausing in place to no-doubt roll your eyes before shuffling toward the kitchen. You don’t look right - you’re dragging your feet and your eyes are droopy, there’s a big pout on your lips. Shoulders are slouched forward like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world upon them. Brows knit in some kind of upset as you move lazily, and Joel’s jaw ticks as you let the cabinets slam shut instead of closing them gently, like he’s asked you to do. 

After setting the plates and the forks down at yours and Joel’s respective seats at the dinner table, you fill two glasses with water, bumping into Joel and splashing him as you move through the kitchen. “Hey - watch where you’re goin’, kid,” he gruffs, shaking his head as he bites his inner cheek in frustration. He narrows his eyes at the way you don’t say anything. There’s no sorry, no excuse me. Joel makes a note of this. “Gonna be one of those nights, huh,” he grumbles. 

You’re sulking in your chair now, making no effort to even glance at Joel as he brings the hot dishes to the table. Arms crossed, eyes fixed on the wood grain. Joel serves you first, a large helping of green beans and potatoes, an even larger helping of chicken. “I can already tell just by lookin’ at ya that you ain’t eaten enough protein today,” he grumbles, eyeing you. “Gonna be a peach for me, aren’t ya?”

“Mm,” you hum, the noncommittal noise dripping with defiance. You hate when he reads you like this. His unique ability to pinpoint your mood or your attitude, your state of being. Uncovering the things you seek to hide. Joel knows you better than you know yourself in some ways, and it’s as infuriating as it is validating at times. He understands you, all of you, and he’s always there, filling in the gaps of what you don’t tell him. You can’t get anything past Joel.

Joel serves himself next and begins eating, shoveling bite after bite into his mouth. He’d worked up quite a fierce appetite today, spending his time shoveling snow and doing other arduous housework while you sneakily evaded your own chores. You poke a little at your food with your fork, scraping the metal along the porcelain while ultimately deciding that you don’t want to eat. You push your plate away and lay your head down in your arms on the table. 

Joel’s hand lands firmly on your bicep. “Nuh-uh. You sit up at the table. What’s the matter with you?”

You groan as you reluctantly pull your body up, head throbbing with the action like a heartbeat. You can feel blood pumping in your face, a pressure behind your eyes and nose and forehead so awful you feel like your face could melt right off. “M’not hungry,” you grumble, voice thick with discomfort. 

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second. Yes, you fuckin’ are,” Joel says, spearing a green bean with his fork. “I know you are, so don’t even try it. You’re gonna eat, ‘cause I already know what’s gonna happen: s’gonna be bedtime and you’re gonna be whinin’ ‘bout how your stomach hurts ‘cause you didn’t eat enough at dinner and who’s gonna have to fix you somethin’?”

“No one,” you mutter.

“Me,” Joel corrects, without missing a beat as he shoots you a warning glare. “Now you get to it. An’ I wantcha eatin’ everything that’s green on that plate, do you understand me?”

“Fine,” you sigh, dragging your plate back towards you. You pick up your fork but instead of actually eating, you just maneuver the food around on the plate a little. The green beans are cut into smaller bites, potatoes shoveled into a neat little pile. The occasional scraping sound your fork makes against the porcelain makes you wince, but you ignore it. Just killing time. 

Joel serves himself a second plate of food, fork hovering over his plate when he pauses and notices that you’ve still not touched yours. “What’d I tell you? Or are ya waitin’ to eat it cold?”

You shrug, earning another cold look from Joel. He doesn’t like when you waste your food, and his patience is wearing thin. “I just don’t feel so good,” you tell him, sniffling softly. Your throat’s been scratchy all day, and you can’t breathe too well. You feel awful. 

Joel drops his fork and leans forward, chair creaking with his shifting weight. He presses a calloused hand against your forehead, and the added pressure actually soothes your throbbing pain, just for a moment. His fingers travel down your face and with practiced ease, he presses two fingers just under your jaw, feeling your lymph nodes. “Feel fine t’me,” he says, pulling back.

Not the response you were looking for. “Daddy…” you whine, elongating the word in a bid for his sympathy.

“Mhm,” Joel hums, a knowing lilt to his tone. You claim to be sick a lot when you’re simply dehydrated or attempting to get out of something. “Heard this one before,” he says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. “You’re not pullin’ one over on me. I know you, pumpkin.”

“I’m serious,” you argue.

“So am I. Drink your water f’ya feel so bad. That’s your problem, sweetheart, you’re never drinkin’ enough water. I tell ya a hundred times a day to hydrate yourself.”

“B-”

“M’not havin’ this argument,” Joel cuts in, voice firm. He’s right, too. Nine times out of ten you’re poorly hydrated, which is usually the reason for when you feel like crap. Dehydration is certainly playing a role today, too, as much as you hate to admit it. “Drink.” He snaps and points to your glass, watching how you roll your eyes as you take it, just to needle him a little. “And adjust that fuckin’ attitude a’ yours, ‘fore I adjust it for you. S’that what you want?” 

“No,” you mumble into your glass. You drink about half the water, then set the glass down and stare at Joel pointedly. 

“Keep goin’. Drink it all, kiddo,” Joel urges gently, taking himself down a notch as his voice loses its edge. You obey him, finishing the glass. “Good girl.” You smile a little, just a momentary little curve of your lips. The praise feels good. For as stern as he can be, Joel is quick to let go of anger. Patient, to a point. But not always. “Bet you’re feelin better already, aren’t ya?”

“No,” you whine, though Joel is right that the water helped. Can’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing that, though. “I still feel like shit.” 

“Watch the language,” Joel scolds, anger renewed. “Y’feel like shit ‘cause you’re tired. Spendin’ too much time watchin’ that goddamn TV. And I know you’ve been sneakin’ down here to watch it after bedtime. Did it last night too, didn’t ya?”

“N-” 

“Don’t even try it,” Joel bites, his glare pinning you in place. A warning. 

“Yeah…I did,” you admit. He’s right again. “But I’m serious, Joel, I really don’t feel good.” 

“Tough,” he says, no sympathy in his tone. “Let it be a lesson to ya. Take care of yourself and you won’t feel so bad. Now you quit your cryin’, sit up straight, and eat your damn food, or so help me god I’ll shove somethin’ else down your throat of yours. S’your last warning,” he adds as he stares you down. Eyes still fixed on you, he raises his brow and points at you, “Don’t make this a bad night, now, pumpkin.” 

“You’re not f- you’re not listening,” you seethe, frustration bubbling over. You plant your elbows on the table and bury your head in your hands to stand your ground, refusing to back down. It’s his short temperedness to your stubbornness, your oppositional defiance. Things work out better for you when you listen to him, and you know this. But you can’t help yourself but to buck him anyway. Joel always tells you that he gives you an inch and you take a mile. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this?” Joel snaps, and you’re in for it now. “Fine.” He grabs you by the forearm in a bruising grip and yanks you out of your chair, forcing you over the table. “Go ‘head, keep fuckin’ testing. Watch what happens.” He pulls down your pants and panties unceremoniously, giving you less than a moment’s notice before he smacks your ass, hard. His large hand on your head, pressing your face into the wood so hard that the pattern of the grain will be imprinted on your cheek. You cry out as he slaps your flesh, each hit worse than the last. He leaves you bruised and raw by the end of it, sniffling as the sting bites your skin. Usually he rubs you to soothe the ache... 

…But not tonight. Tonight, Joel pushes you to the ground, knees scraping on the hardwood floor as he drags you where he wants you. Eyes wide, mouth open as your bottom lip wobbles. Joel palms his growing erection, momentarily massaging himself over his jeans before unbuckling his belt. He tosses it on the ground, that metallic clanging sound piercing your ears. He unzips his jeans next and pushes them just enough down his thighs to free his cock, fully hardened now. He holds it menacingly between his thumb and his first two fingers, heavy balls sitting above the waistband of his boxers. 

Joel reaches forward and tangles a hand in your hair, looping his fingers around the strands to pull them tight. “Open,” he barks. You part your lips a little, and Joel fits the thick, blunt head of his cock between them. “That ain’t enough,” he says, slapping the tip against your bottom lip. “Wider. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

After you open your mouth wider for him, Joel begins sliding himself down your throat. He’s met with a little resistance as you pull back, wrapping your hand around the base of him in attempt to temper the force of which he fucks your mouth with. Joel slaps your cheek, “Don’t,” he warns, and pulls your hand away.

He forces himself down your throat entirely, the hand on the back of your head keeping you still even as you gag and choke on his cock. You’re panicked, pulling back but Joel holds you firmly, unwavering in his strength. “Stay,” he says. “You’re fine. Breathe through your nose.”

You open your jaw and your throat, surrendering to it as Joel begins fucking your mouth, drawing in and out of your mouth inch by inch. Tensing up makes it worse, makes it hit you harder. He tastes salty today, smells headier than usual. His graying patch of pubic hair scratches your nose, and if he fucks your face any harsher it’ll rub your skin raw.

Joel grunts loudly, growling your name and a series of words that he doesn’t let you say. None of it feels pleasant for you, not that you can vocalize that. His cock’s down your throat, further irritating what’s already scratchy and sore. You feel so…used. 

You’ve told Joel that before, that you feel used when he does things like this to you. He says he understands, but it’s not supposed to feel good. It’s a punishment. It’s discipline, and he disciplines you out of love. He loves you, pumpkin. 

Joel fucks your mouth with abandon, and you can’t control those choking, gurgling noises you make. Drooling all down his shaft, down his balls. Your eyes start to water before you cry freely, not that Joel cares. “Cry all ya want,” he grunts, and you whine in discomfort. Joel ignores that.

You have to hold his twitching, meaty thighs for stability as he moves your head back and forth on his cock repeatedly, clutching him tightly. Your jaw aches with the ferocity of how he moves, ferocity that borders on violence. 

“Look at me,” Joel pants. “Look at Daddy.” 

He strokes your cheek tenderly for a moment, a brief reminder that he loves you, even if it hurts sometimes. Still fucking your face, Joel reaches between his legs and cups his balls, squeezing them a little as your throat pulses around his length, tongue massaging that thick vein that climbs the underside of his cock. “Almost there, pumpkin. Be good for Daddy. Stay like that,” he groans, signaling release is near. 

You whimper as his cock twitches in your mouth, and with a few more hard, deep thrusts, Joel feels that warm, sticky feeling. His balls tighten, his muscles tense and release as he lets out a deep, guttural groan, pulling out of your throat to paint your tongue in his come. “Swallow it,” he instructs softly, pulling back the rest of the way. A bit of come spills down your lips and onto your chin. 

Joel’s chest heaves with heavy breaths, watching you swallow his load. Your cheeks are hot and sweaty, hairline damp with glittering sweat. Joel drops to his knees then, joints cracking while sinking to your level. He pushes his stray come past your swollen lips, “Lemme see,” he says. “Show me that tongue, pumpkin.” 

It’s routine. You always take what Joel gives you, always. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, and that’s when Joel sees it. The angry redness, the swollenn tissue, the white sores on the back of your throat. His breath catches, a quiet gasp escaping him as his face softens in an instant. He whispers, voice thick with guilt, “Oh shit, kid. Fuck. You weren’t lyin’.”

“Told you, Daddy,” you reply, feeling both hurt and validated.

Joel nods, clenching his jaw as regret floods his face. “Yeah, you did,” he murmurs, guilt filling every corner of his mind. You really did tell him, and you told him multiple times. “Did I make it worse?” he whispers, holding your face in both of his hands, rough thumbs caressing your skin as his eyes search yours. Hesitant to answer, you pull away from his gaze. 

“You can tell the truth,” he urges, and his voice is both soft and insistent. “You won’t be in trouble. Cross my heart, baby girl.” 

You pause. Finally, you admit it. “...Yes,” you whisper. 

Joel’s face crumples. “Daddy’s so sorry, kiddo.” His voice cracks. “I really am. I shoulda listened to ya. C’mere, pumpkin.” His hands fall to your shoulders before he pulls you into a tight hug, and it takes you no time at all to hug him back just as tightly. This is all you wanted - his warmth, his comfort. 

After holding you there on the kitchen floor for a while, Joel sniffles and presses kisses to the top of your head, one after another. “With me,” he says, and his voice sounds thick. He doesn’t let you see the tears he wipes away as he leads you to the upstairs bathroom. 

Joel sits you down gently on the lidded toilet, opens the bathroom vanity and pulls out an old Walgreens thermometer, the once-bright red paint all but worn off. He washes it with soap and hot water, then brings it to your mouth. “Open up,” he says, cradling your jaw tenderly in his hand. “Goes under your tongue.” 

You open your mouth and lift your tongue, wincing when Joel slides the thermometer into place. “Ow,” you whine. “You poked me.” 

“I apologize. Was an accident, baby,” Joel murmurs, adjusting the thermometer. “Close your mouth and keep it there a minute.” 

You wait in silence as the device takes your temperature, and it makes a quiet, rhythmic beep when it’s done. Joel pulls it from your mouth and squints, jaw dropping a little as he reads the tiny number on the tiny screen. “Shit,” he mumbles. “Lemme see your throat again.” You open your mouth wide for Joel, and he tilts your head back and faces you toward the light so he can better see, a worried furrow in his brow. “Mmm…m’wonderin’ f’ya don’t have strep throat,” he says with concern. “We’ll keep an eye on it, though. You tell me if you start to feel worse, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel eyes you, wondering how you could’ve caught something like this under his watch, especially when he’s not been sick lately. “How’d you get sick, huh? Been sneakin’ outta the house? Got yourself a boyfriend you ain’t tellin’ me about?”

“No,” you insist, and Joel doesn’t fight you hard on it. It was mostly a joke anyway. 

“Maybe Uncle Tommy brought it in when he stopped over to check on ya the other night,” Joel says. And he might be right. You don’t have a secret boyfriend you’ve been kissing, but…

Uncle Tommy did visit not so long ago. Joel was on an overnight patrol shift and had felt nervous leaving you home alone, as he so often does. He’d asked Tommy to swing by to check up on you. 

It was late when he entered through the back door, walking in on you curled up on the couch, a romance novel in your hands. Joel says he knows what goes on in those books and doesn’t like you reading them. You gasped, “Fuck, Uncle Tommy!”

Tommy wore that disarming smile of his. “Language,” he chastised, with no real anger in his tone. You scrambled to get back upstairs, but Tommy waved his hand. “Ain’t gonna rat you out,” he said, taking a seat next to you. His eyes twinkled as they dropped to your book, “Whatcha reading?”

“Nothing.” You shrunk under his curious gaze.

“Mm-hmm,” he smirked, taking the book out of your hands to inspect the cover. “This certainly ain’t nothin’.”

“I know, but–”

“You’re not in trouble.” 

Tommy smiled kindly at you, dark eyes sparkling and warm. You’ve always found him handsome, handsome like Joel. Pretty in the same ways, age softening his features. You like his freckles, his long, black hair. 

“M’just checkin’ in. Don’t get to see enough of ya, you know that?”

“I guess,” you said quietly, looking down at the pages of your book. You always have a hard time looking at him. He’s so…something about him feels like trouble. He makes you breathe funny, but not in a bad way. Not always. 

Tommy tilted your face up then, ran the back of his knuckle across your cheekbone. “Whatcha shy for?” 

You didn’t know what to say. Tommy knew the truth and chuckled, kissed your cheek to make you even more bashful. “S’okay f’ya got a crush,” he whispered, tracing your lips. Tommy kissed you then, just a small one. Just to hear you gasp and feel you squirm, that little moan you let slip as he stole the breath right from your lungs. 

“I’m not supposed to–”

“I know, I know. You ain’t supposed to do this, not supposed to do that. Your daddy’s got you on a tight fuckin’ leash, sweetheart,” Tommy said, caressing the side of your face. “But I ain’t gonna tell your old man nothin’. An’ you don’t need’a tell him nothin’ either, hm? Joel doesn’t need to know everything that goes on with you, honey. S’okay to keep things secret, sometimes.”

-

“I still want you eatin’ something tonight,” Joel tells you, tucking the thermometer away. “I’ll heat up some soup. Will you have a couple of bites?” 

You shake your head, pouting. “But I already said I’m not hungry.” 

“I know,” Joel replies softly. “But ya gotta eat. Please, kiddo? Bet it’ll make your throat feel better. Do it for me, pumpkin.” Joel pokes your face a little, flutters his fingers around your neck and chin, tickling you. Teasing. It makes you giggle. 

“Stop!” you laugh, pushing his hand away. “Fine. I’ll eat.” 

“Attagirl,” Joel says. 

He tells you to get changed into pajamas and downstairs, to get comfortable on the couch. Put on whatever dumb, girly movie or show you want on the TV. You follow orders, and Joel meets you downstairs with extra pillows and blankets clutched under his armpits. He makes you nice and cozy, then heads for the kitchen to clean up and prepare you that soup, which’ll be lighter on your stomach and easier on your throat. It’s just a matter of heating it up, as it’s jarred and ready to eat. Simple veggies and broth. 

Joel sits next to you on the couch and feeds you a spoonful, your favorite bowl in his hands. You love the little pattern on it, chili peppers dancing on the porcelain. You wince upon taking the first bite, “Too hot,” you complain.

“Then I’ll blow on it.” 

Joel blows on each bite of soup as he feeds you, the warm broth soothing your burning throat and clearing up your sinuses. “Thank you.”

“One more bite,” he tells you. “Last one.”

“You said that last time.” 

Joel smiles. “Think I’d remember sayin’ somethin’ like that, pumpkin. One more, now.” You finish the last bite of soup, then roll your eyes when Joel gives you a new glass of water to drink. “I know. Your old man’s the worst, ain’t he?”

“He is,” you mumble, but you take the drink anyway. Joel seems pleased, happy. He tells you that you can stay up late tonight so long as you rest tomorrow, but you don’t make it past 8:30, asleep in his lap as he strokes your hair and listens to your rhythmic breathing. 

-

more of this joel here

i hope you liked! if you enjoyed, please leave me a comment or send an ask. your words keep me motivated to write. thank you <3

[lizard-ratt]

This idea got stuck in my head, not to be taken too seriously. If you find any typos, no you didn't <3

Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

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

Steve Harrington knew how to haggle. Raised by the most cutthroat business man in all of the state of Indiana, if not the United States as a whole, he knew the ins and outs of getting the best deal possible. He used this to his advantage a lot more than anyone knew.

The first time he brought out Steven Elias Harrington, son of Richard Jay Harrington was when he first got forced to sign NDAs to keep quiet about everything going on in Hawkins, Indiana. Despite only having shown up at the end, he still had a fat stack of papers to work through.

And he worked through the entire thing, taking his sweet precious time to read the entire thing, word for word. He signed nothing that day, letting the government employees watch as he took notes on every little detail, humming to himself, scoffing, and overall being as annoying about it as possible.

"These are terrible. Do better." He didn't say that exactly, but it was the general consensus as he gave them a verbal dressing down that would make his father proud (and his father was never proud). He made demands for money, for protections, for anything that he could think of. By the end, the government had agreed to provide him with a heaping helping of cash (enough to buy a house and help him live a comfortable life for the next twenty-or-so odd years), government provided medical insurance (complete coverage for the rest of his life), and a full ride scholarship for any college he wanted to go to.

Suffice to say he had rung that towel dry of anything he could ask of it. He knew that those government employees wished nothing but the worst for him, but he was satisfied with what he got, and he happily signed the fifth NDA they provided him with, flourishing his signature with relish.

Then, he became even more wrapped up in the whole thing when Dustin Henderson decided to raise a baby Demogorgon in his basement. A lot happened in those forty-eight hours, but the main one was that he got attached to the little shits, so he told them in no uncertain terms that they were not to sign anything before he looked the paperwork over.

They scoffed, rolled their eyes, but ultimately agreed. It was a very amusing few days, to say the least. The government agents (the same ones as last time) showed up with their giant stacks of paper, and came face to face with Steven Elias Harrington, and he could just see them die a little bit inside. He could practically hear what remained of their souls wither to dust.

And again, he forced them to sit as he read through every NDA, taking notes, scoffing, humming, and overall being a nuisance to them and their time. Then, he got the kids' attentions (as their eyes started to glaze over after minute thirty) and began his process.

The looks of pure awe, too, would be treasured for a very long time as he got their college tuitions paid for, government-provided medical insurance for the rest of their lives, and of course a big fat pile of cash ready for when they would turn seventeen years old. Each of them had enough money lined up for them that they wouldn't have to worry about anything until maybe their late fifties to early sixties if they were bad with their money.

And of course, he got himself another big pile of cash and access to the best lawyers in the United States if he would ever have need of it.

After that, he shouldn't have been surprised when everyone came to him for help post-Battle of Starcourt (dubbed by Dustin, of course). This time, he took two solid weeks pushing and pulling Uncle Sam in this direction and that to make sure everyone got what they needed. (Another fat stack of cash for everyone, legal protection for whatever they'd need it for, and a cover story that made everyone look the best that they possibly could. He also got college payment for Robin, since she wasn't there the first time, as well as the same medical insurance he got everyone else). Those government employees looked at Steve like he was the devil himself.

"You kinda are," Robin told him one day, after Steve recounted the specifics. "I mean, you are bleeding the government dry."

He gave her a grin. "Absolutely, I am."

Then, he and his merry band of misfits saved the world, stopping the Upside Down for good. The same government goons showed up, and instead of doing what they tried to do the previous time, they just came to Steve with all of the NDAs, and asked in the most sarcastically professional voice imaginable, "Are these up to your standers, Mr. Harrington?"

He gave his charming, King Steve smile and told them that he'd read it over. In the hospital room that held Max and Eddie, Steve pulled up a table and allowed everyone to watch as he flipped page after page, noting down the loophole phrases and weak protections, and every single trap meant to put them into a worse-off position and he threw it in the government's faces.

In return, he forced everything his heart could imagine out of them.

Another giant hunk of change for each of them.

Eddie Munson free of all charges, effective immediately

Government-provided medical insurance for Eddie Munson for the rest of his long, long life

A cover story so beautiful, so concrete that it got even the most closed minded to look at Steve's People and call them heroes.

A house for Eddie and his Uncle Wayne

"I hope I never see your face ever again," the man told Steve, forgoing all niceties at that point. "You're going to burn in hell."

"I'll save you both a seat," he told him with his sweetest, most charming smile.

The government agents left, and in their wake, Eddie Munson looked at him like he hung the sun, moon, and stars in the sky.

"Wow," was all the metalhead was able to get out for a while. "Just wow."

Robin glanced between Steve and Eddie, leaned into his side and quietly sang, "The lovers, the dreamers, and me."

Now on AO3

[justaz]

country bumpkin merlin not knowing anything about city life and accidentally courting arthur without knowing

merlin, watching gwen give lancelot her favor: why do you do that

gwen, heart eyes at lance and not paying that much attention to the conversation: so he knows i’m rooting for him

merlin, with an Idea: ah.

gwaine, lover of chaos, pisser offer of nobles and royals alike, ultimate wingman: merlin…you have such lonely lips. shall i introduce them to mine?

merlin, unaware of the game gwaine is playing: so you can steal my breath away? i think not, scoundrel

arthur, crushing his goblet in his hand:

merlin: arthur’s been in a bad mood recently :( i should cheer him up

merlin, remembering when arthur was put out when merlin brought morgana flowers and not him: i know just the thing

merlin, bringing a bouquet of carnations, roses, and tulips and setting them on arthur’s table while he’s eating breakfast: good morning, sire

arthur, trained on flower language in hopes that one day when he was to take a queen he could woo her easily, trying not to audibly choke on his sausage as he reads merlin’s declaration of love sitting in front of him:

arthur, who recently found out about merlin’s magic and was trying to find a way to bring it up, catching him in the act and watching merlin panic to explain himself:

merlin, Freaking: and i swear to you arthur, i have only ever used it for you. my magic is yours. my life is yours. i am yours. i would never do anything to harm you. i have protected you for years and will continue to do so at your side if you’ll have me

arthur, already believing them to be courting, desperately trying to figure out if that was a proposal for marriage or not but tired of being confused and deciding fuck it: here.

merlin, taking it: i…uh…huh?

arthur, watching merlin with hawk eyes and trying to figure out what he’s thinking and feeling: it’s my mothers sigil

merlin, confused as FUCK but is focusing on the fact that arthur is handing him something of his mother rather than a death sentence: my…my lord?

arthur, realizing how scared merlin’s must be about him finding out about his magic and trying to comfort him while also proposing, killing two birds with one stone: i will always keep you at my side, merlin, so long as we both shall live. if you’ll allow me.

merlin, almost collapsing with relief and tearing up, smiling at arthur as if he had parted the storm clouds to allow sun to shine down on them in that moment: of course…of course, arthur. always and forever.

merlin, watching the castle staff rush this way and that: wow. this banquet must be incredibly important

sir leon the long suffering, day one ride or die, one of the original merthur shippers: banquet? merlin, this is for your wedding

merlin, overworked and exhausted: my WHAT? to WHO??

leon, regretting everything he’s ever done in his life that led him to this moment: to…arthur?

merlin, over joyed but also absolutely befuddled: i’m getting married to ARTHUR?????

leon: you two have been courting for the past year or so, have you not?

merlin: i’ve been COURTING ARTHUR?????? FOR A YEAR?????????

[chilumi-shipper]

A prompt came into mind.. up to you if you're interested.

So, character and reader got married but character cheated because he said he doesn't love the reader anymore. They're technically done, but haven't finished doing the divorce files (because it's expensive and takes a long long time). But.. character got into an accident.. which made him forget everything that happened recently, and only remember the days he loved the reader. Reader's conflicted, the mistress that character has doesn't know what to do either. Character was confused on why he would marry anyone else when he has the reader fo begin with.

I think this fits your styles.

Btw, I LOVE ALL YOUR STORIES! I RE-READ THEM EVERYDAY-

Someone Better

Childe x Fem!Reader

Summary: Childe was a wild spirit, so when he got bored of your relationship, he sought the excitement of another woman. You were heartbroken, ultimately asking for a divorce. But just as your connection was almost severed, he got into an accident, losing every memory of his infidelity and returning to the man that made you fall in love him.

Tags: Cheating, Amnesia, Pining, Angst/No Comfort

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You were staring at the tremendous amount of divorce paperwork sitting on the desk of your hotel room.

It was very complicated, five years of marriage with joined insurance, property, bank accounts, and now you have to meticulously separate all your joined assets, all while constantly on the verge of a breakdown.

Not to mention you had no family to stay with in Snezhnaya. There's absolutely no one you could talk to about everything, you've left your homeland thinking your future in the cold nation with the love of your life would be nothing less that fantasy.

As you rest your head on the desk and closed your eyes tightly to ease the headache, your ears perk up as loud knocks hit your door.

With a groan, you got up and opened it to reveal your two of Childe's older siblings.

"He's looking for you." The older sister said, Alevtina, her seriousness evident, looking at you somewhat panicked.

"I know, big si-" I paused for a moment, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples. "I'm working on the assets, I'll send it as soon as possible."

"No." The chilly tone of the older brother, Alexei, sent shivers down your spine. "You need to come with us."

...

"Big sister Y/N is here?" You hear Teucer's innocent voice as you enter their home. The younger children laid their eyes on you, seemingly eager to come closer, but perhaps they've been told that now would not be the time.

"Honey... Thank you for coming..." Their mother embraced you warmly, still accepting you with motherly affection. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry..."

"Mama, has he calmed down?" Alexei asked from behind you.

Your mother-in-law parts from you slightly, looking at you tenderly. "She will definitely help."

You put your confusion and questions aside, seeing the somewhat tense air within the house.

"Stop staring." You weren't looking at him, but you felt his eyes watching you set down a tray of soup and medicine on his bedside table.

Childe lets out a chuckle. "Sorry, love, I can't help it..." His eyes never faltered, containing a look of admiration that you've been unfamiliar with for so long.

"After the avalanche, I got a pretty bad head injury. When I woke up, you were the first thing on my mind. And when Mama said you weren't here with me, I freaked out."

You sat down on a chair next to his bed, your eyes observing the bandages wrapped around his head. "What did the doctor say about your injury?"

"I'm gonna get some very bad headaches, and I also got a bit of amnesia, I think." Childe looks as if he's in thought. "Do I seem like I forgot something?"

"Maybe some things..."

"But I love you just the same! So I bet what I forgot wasn't even that important!"

...How cruel.

Having to take care of the man that broke you apart, even worse, a version of him that you loved too much to despise.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

It was painful, staying with him.

Childe would keep you close, call you his different pet names, cuddle up to you, all while you were under the pitiful gaze of his family that knew of his infidelity.

On the other hand, he's been feeling the cold responses his advances have been receiving. But to him, he thinks he can solve it by smothering you in more of his love.

He is pretty observant, he's put it two in two together that he may be missing a memory in which he had done something wrong. He just didn't know how much it had hurt.

Though, not only from you, Childe had also felt that his younger siblings seem distant as well, no longer asking him to play snow games outside, or looking up to him as some sort of hero.

One early morning, when he walks up to the kitchen to see you cooking for the whole family, a smile formed on his face.

He steps closer, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist. "Hmmm... Morning, honey..." He basks in the feeling of you.

You remain quiet, letting him do as he pleases. The ginger frowns, however, feeling unsatisfied by your lack of reaction.

"Babyyyy... Loveee meee backkkk..." He whines, nuzzling his face on your neck.

"Ajax, come on..." You stifled a laugh, moving slightly away as his action tickled you. He hears the slight giggle of your words, smiling against your skin.

You compose yourself, pushing him away from you. "Stop." He lets you push him away, and you feel him freeze slightly at the harshness of your tone.

His blue eyes looked at you worried. "...Hey," He starts. "I'm sorry, darling, did you not like that?"

With a sigh, you looked down. "When the others wake up, tell them I already made breakfast. I have somewhere to be."

You walk pass him, but you did not miss the hurt tone of the faint call of your name.

...

You come back to his family's home after doing some more paperwork for the divorce that your husband doesn't even remember, feeling your head pounding as you ready yourself to face him again.

What you don't expect to see this late at night is Childe sitting on the porch with a lantern next to him, his head hung low as if he's thinking deeply.

"Childe?"

He looks up, but he frowns at you. "Ajax, darling..." He reminds you.

Standing up, he pulls you into his warm embrace. "I love you... I missed you..."

His words take you aback, as you reluctantly wrap your arms around him.

"I've been thinking about this morning, about you. You hate me."

"I know I must've done something... you can tell me." He kneels in front of you, staring at your eyes while his sparkle with the light of the lantern. "And even if I don't remember, I'll make it right..."

As you look down at him, you see the fiery passion of love that burned in his eyes as he knelt down to ask you to marry him so long ago.

It scares you...

You might not be able to control yourself...

"It's just hard to take care of you sometimes." You smile ever so slightly, yet his frown only deepens as tears start to escape your eyes.

He stands, his hand finds its way to your cheek. "Love..." His eyes held such conviction that you've not seen for years. "I'm so sorry..."

You close your eyes to hold in the tears, shaking your head and swaying his hand away. "...You're not."

Despite the tears, you tug at his arm. "Come on, let's head inside."

He's filled with questions, but seeing your sad face makes him set all those aside and focus on you for now.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Teucer, hey, little man." Childe calls for his little brother.

The little boy looks at him wide eyed. "I don't want to talk to you." He crossed his little arms, turning around to leave with a displeased look.

"What...? Oh come on..." The harbinger pouted, getting down on his little brother's level. "What did I do wrong...? All our siblings are acting so mean to me..." He whined, frowning as he tries to persuade the little ginger.

"But you were also very very mean!" Teucer refused to look at his older brother, the one he used to look up to the most. "We don't like you anymore!"

Childe's playful facade faded as his expression contorted to a confused one. "Hey, what do you mean...?"

"You're so mean to Y/N, you hurt her! She doesn't deserve tha-"

"Teucer!" Just as his brother erupted to a crying mess, screaming at him with all his little heart, their mother walked into the room, grabbing the little boy.

"Don't talk like that to your elders!"

"But it's true, Mama!"

"That doesn't matter, say sorry to-"

"What does he mean, Mama? Why did I do?" Childe looked at his mother expectantly, his voice starting to shake as he saw the fit of rage Teucer had because of him. "W-What did I do to Y/N?"

HIs mother shook her head, trying to ease her expression with a smile. "Nothing..."

"It's not nothing, Mama!" He raises his voice by accident due to his frustration. "I see it, the way she looks at me, it's different. The way you all look at me, like you have a monster inside your house."

Teucer forced his way out of his mother's hold, running to his older siblings room all teary eyed. Childe felt bad, but he desperately needed answers from his mother.

"Mama, please, I need to know why Y/N doesn't... love me anymore..." It hurts him to say, but based on the way you're acting, he could only make the assumption that your feelings have wavered.

"Oh, Ajax... it's not like that..."

The ginger then felt a sharp pain in his head, making him fall down onto the couch. He groaned as he clutched his head.

"Hey... where are you heading off to so late at night?" He hears your soft voice in a static audio playing in his head.

"Out." He then hears himself replying coldly.

"Ohh, when will you-"

He's out the door before you could even finish your question.

"Ajax, honey!' His mother's voice was a hazy blur as he keeps his eyes closed to envision what he's hearing in his head.

He tries to shake the feeling away, but his mind is flooded by fragmented memories.

"You've been going out a lot more recently." Your concerned voice entered his ears.

"I've been busy."

"Busy where?"

He then hears shatters of glass and yells as you sob while trying to talk to him.

He pictures your face, your crying, begging face, asking for some sort of salvation from his cold and merciless actions.

"T-There's someone else?"

"Someone better."

"H-How could y-you do this?"

"When I look at you now... I feel... nothing."

Childe opened his eyes, not realizing that tears had started to flow to his cheeks. "Mama..."

"Y-Yes, dear?"

"I hurt her..." He was in a state of disbelief. "I-I... Why...?"

His tears fell faster, looking at his mother for answers. "W-Why, Mama? Why was I so stupid? Why did I choose to lose her?"

"I don't know, dear, but that's simply what happened, and you could never make her forget that, even if you forgot."

His breathing started to accelerate, feeling like he wanted to punch himself. As his head started spinning, his vision turns black.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You took a deep breath as you walked into the house, feeling everyone's eyes on you as you entered.

"Honey..." Your ex mother-in-law embraces you once again, holding you tight. "I'm so sorry... I didn't want to make it difficult for you..."

"N-No, no..." You returned her hug, sniffling as you start to tear up. "I readied myself for this, I'm just here to drop off the final papers..."

"Could you talk to him?" Alevtina suddenly asked, looking at you hesitantly. "I know he's been a jerk... but he won't eat unless he talks to you."

You parted from their mother, feeling the pressure of their request.

"It's okay to curse him, or to scream, or rough him up, I'll even help you." Alexei placed his hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

You nodded, sighing as they guided you to his room. And as you entered with a heavy feeling in your chest, he immediately sat up, alerted by your presence. You stare at each other for a bit before you muttered a word.

"Hi." You greeted him shortly.

"Hey..." His voice was soft, and his eyes followed you attentively.

"I'm sorry to intrude, I'll make this quick." You breathe deeply, trying to relax yourself. "I finished the papers, split the assets, got the lawyers."

"I talked to her, y-your woman..." You looked down, fidgeting with your hands. Childe seemed unfazed by it, though his gaze seem to falter at the mention of 'his woman'.

"She... umm... wasn't really interested anymore after the accident..." You breathe heavily, feeling small under his gaze. "But... your family's here to take care of you..."

Clearing your throat, you continued. "I do have one request, if I could... I would like a safe boat ride back home." You stepped closer, intending to hand him the envelope that contained all the paperwork to finalize your divorce.

"Take it all." You stopped in your tracks as he spoke.

"The house, the mora, the boat. It's all yours..." He lays back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Would you also do me a favor?"

You looked at him, encouraging him to speak.

"Carve my heart out and take it with you."

"...Can we be serious for a second?" You sighed.

"I would like to stay with you. I think that would be a good way to do it without constantly wanting to punch myself." You noticed that his eyes started to flood with tears.

"Ajax... I'm sorry this happened to you..."

"No, Y/N, I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything." He sat up again, tears falling from his eyes as he looks up at you with genuine eyes. "I don't know why I did that. And I... I regret it so much..." He reached for your hand, and you let him hold onto you for strength.

"Every tear I had in me I already cried when you left me for her." You smiled bitterly, though you remained soft, making him even more guilty as you try to stay strong. "But I appreciate the apology..."

You pull your hand away from him slowly, feeling that he was reluctant to let go.

"I-I still love you..."

You gave him a final smile. "You'll love someone better than me... Childe..." You back away, leaving him alone in his room still yearning for the days where his memory only consisted of loving you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Hiiii again after quite a while! I think I've been noticing that my recent fics have been angst, I guess I just feel like hurting you guys this season of giving (I give pain :D)

Anywayy, anon, I think at some point I went my own direction and didn't fully stick to your request (I'm sorryyy TvT) but I hope you like it anyway!

[citysuk]

a baby?! | logan howlett

pairing: xmen!logan howlett x pregnant!reader

summary: some headcanons of logan with a pregnant partner.

notes: logan is so husband (not actually married) material 😭😭😭 i needed to write this for my man.

warnings: pregnancy kajsksa (it scares me to death), so much fluffy fluff. no proofread. no use of y/n but no oc neither.

Logan's protective nature would go into overdrive when you are pregnant. He'd be extra vigilant, watching your every move and refusing to let you out of his sight. "You ain't goin' nowhere, darlin'," he'd growl.

Logan would be constantly fussing over you, making sure you're eating right and taking care of yourself. He'd become a regular at the grocery store, stocking up on the necessary supplies for your pregnancy. "Can't have my baby going hungry," he'd say, tossing another loaf of bread into the cart.

Logan would be a pro at soothing you through the uncomfortable parts of pregnancy. He'd rub your back when you had cramps, hold your hair when you were sick, and provide as much comfort as he could. "It's gonna be okay," he'd murmur. "Just a few more months."

Logan would be eager to feel the baby kick and move inside your belly. He would place his hand on your stomach, feeling every little movement, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Hey there, little one," he'd whisper.

Logan would take you for late night walks in the gardens, his arm protectively around your waist, your steps slow and measured. He'd breathe in the night air, a rare peacefulness settling over him. "Can't wait to meet our kid," he'd say quietly, squeezing your hand.

Logan might be a bit nervous about being a father, but he would never let it show. He'd put on a brave front, masking his fears with his usual gruff exterior, but would secretly be reading every parenting book he can find.

As the due date got closer, Logan would become increasingly anxious. He'd be extra cautious, carrying you up and down the stairs and insisting that you rest as much as possible. "Can't have anything happen to you or the baby," he'd say, his eyes filled with worry.

Despite his tough exterior, Logan would be secretly excited about decorating the nursery. He'd take you to every baby shop in town, helping you pick out the perfect crib and the perfect color for the walls (he's the one putting everything together).

When the baby is finally born, Logan would be there, holding your hand, coaching you through the delivery. He'd whisper words of encouragement, trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall. "You're doing great, darlin'."

As soon as he lays eyes on his child, Logan's heart would instantly fill with love. He'd be torn between staring at the baby and checking on you, a range of emotions playing on his face.

Logan would be the ultimate doting father. He'd change diapers, give baths, and rock the baby to sleep. He'd sing lullabies and tell bedtime stories, his voice gruff but his words soft.

Logan would have a love/hate relationship with the baby's first word. When they said "Dada" for the first time, he'd puff up with pride, but then be secretly disappointed that it wasn't "Mama."

He would have a collection of silly nicknames for the baby, ranging from "Cub" to "Little One". He'd sometimes slip into Wolven mode and playfully growl at the baby, making them giggle.

Logan would be incredibly overprotective of the baby. Anytime someone tried to hold them, he'd hesitate and watch hawkishly. He wouldn't let anyone but his partner and the X-Men near the child, always on high alert for any potential threat. "Ain't nobody touchin' my kid, bub," he'd growl, eyes narrowed.

Logan would be the one to handle the late-night feedings and soothe the baby back to sleep. "Can't let your mama get too exhausted," he'd mutter as he rocked the baby in his arms.

Logan would be careful when the baby started walking and crawling, especially around the danger-prone X- Mansion. He'd constantly be on edge every time the baby would try to grab something sharp or crawl towards a dangerous area. "Watch yourself there, squirt," he'd say, scooping them up before they could get into trouble.

Logan would also be a very hands-on father. He'd want to teach the child everything he knows, from fighting to the wilderness. He'd take them camping and teach them how to survive in the wild. "Gotta be tough like your old man," he'd say.

Even though Logan would claim he wasn't the type to get attached to kids (LIAR), he'd secretly have a soft spot for the one you had created together.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Cosmic Experimentation

Author's Note: @angelesca 's post has been living rent free in my head ever since I read it. I've wanted to write something for Anaxagoras, but I couldn't figure out what to write. And now I have the best inspiration, thanks to her HCs 😚 (I'm thinking about writing a part 2 where we finger his chest hole too–)

Pairings: Anaxagoras x male reader

Warnings: Dom male!reader, sub!Anaxa, fingering unusual holes, slight thigh humping, dacryphilia

“Are you sure about this? You really don't have to you kn–”

“No — I… I'm certain that I want to do this.” Anaxagoras takes an unsteady breath before he adds, “I trust you. I trust that you will be gentle and cautious.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as well before giving Anaxa's waist a light squeeze. Then, you raise one hand up to his face, cupping his left cheek. The warmth from your palm seeps into his skin, bringing about a bit of comfort — enough to bring a small smile to his lips.

Anaxagoras' eye flutters shut at the gentleness of your touch. The ornate eye patch covering the left side of his face keeps your attention, it's chain swaying gently whenever Anaxa's head moves. Your other hand remains on his hip, holding him steady while he sits comfortably in your lap, straddling your thigh.

It's another full minute of staying as you are, lost in this peaceful moment, before you trace the underside of Anaxa's eye patch. Gently slipping a finger underneath and lifting it slightly, only to pause when your partner shudders. “Sweetie?” you prod, afraid that this area is more sensitive than he led you to believe.

“Keep going–” he reassures, holding onto your wrist now, almost as a guiding hand. You hesitate, but ultimately give in and continue reaching upwards until your fingers reach a new sensation. Anaxagoras' breath hitches, his lips pressing together tighter as you explore this new territory. It doesn't feel like skin anymore — it's damp to the touch, and somewhat cold.

Your eyes flick to your partner's gaze; he's watching you with bated breath, predicting that you'll penetrate this spot any second now. Proving him right, you apply pressure, dipping your finger into that cool, unseen space hidden under his eye patch. Anaxagoras catches a moan before it can fully exit his throat. He gulps, digging his nails into your wrist while his other hand flies to your shoulder for stability.

“‘Sensitive’, huh? It seems you were right about that.” you tease. Anaxa can't even muster a retort as you push in a little deeper, then begin to pull your finger back out, repeating the motion idly. “Do you think you can handle two fingers?”

At this, Anaxa's eye widens, and you can instantly see the blood rush to his soft cheeks. He glares at you, but makes no argument against your question. So, you decide to find out for yourself. And the result is instantaneous: an unrestrained moan forces its way out of your pretty boyfriend. All the while, his hips jut forward, dragging his clothed cock along your thigh. The action is not missed by either one of you; while it only causes him to flush an even deeper shade of red, it brings a smirk to your lips as you understand why your partner wanted to do this in a secluded area.

Several minutes pass, filled with Anaxagoras making all sorts of reserved breathy noises. The space where your fingers reside is still a mystery to you, though one thing is for sure: future experimentation is required in order to find out the best way to bring out all of Anaxa's beautiful moans and whimpers.

The sudden realization of a wet spot on your thigh brings you out of your thoughts, and you direct your gaze to where your partner has been humping you, apparently. His hips move of their own accord, spreading a wetness that has quickly soaked through his clothing. You're sure that Anaxa doesn't even realize that he's doing it, which makes it all the more adorable.

“It must feel incredible…” you murmur. Your gaze is fixed on the growing wet spot between his legs, highlighting the very obvious bulge nestled there as well. As you thrust your fingers in a bit deeper, and more forcefully, Anaxagoras clutches your shoulder tighter, letting his mouth hang open and spill every noise without restraint now. Tears fill his right eye, beginning to run down his cheek. You grip his waist a little tighter, pulling Anaxa closer and accidentally causing his dick to grind against your thigh. An action that has shivers crawling up your partner's spine.

Anaxagoras pleads in the sweetest voice, “Please…it's– hnngh!! It's warm…haaah…and hard to breathe…” Another moan escapes as you curl your fingers deeply, making your boyfriend arch his back. “C-can't…take much mo-ore…”

“Tell me what you need, my love. What do you need me to do?” you ask in a gentle tone.

Rolling his hips against your thigh, Anaxagoras shudders once more, crying “Don't stop moving them–”

Immediately, you understand what he means. You pump your fingers in and out of Anaxa's cosmic orifice, and it makes little squelching sounds as you do. His voice wavers, going up an octave as he draws closer to his release. All of Anaxa's clothing feels too tight, as if his collar is constricting around his throat, and the back of his shirt clings to his skin as a layer of sweat forms. His chest hurts with how heavily he's been breathing for the past few minutes.

Something in Anaxagoras' core burns with searing pleasure, and the tension that has been building finally snaps as you coo at your partner to “Let it all out~”. His vision is blinded by white static, and his hips thrust forward a few times before his entire body goes lax.

“Aahh…aah~” your boyfriend heaves, exhaling harshly as the aftermath of his orgasm shakes his body and mind. You're quick to kiss Anaxa's cheek where tears had previously run down, holding him tightly since you could tell how weak he was in his current state. Soaking in every last whimper from your ruined boyfriend, you rub the small of his back while you tell him how pretty he looks. Earning yourself a halfhearted glare as a result.

You slowly remove your fingers from underneath his eye patch, eyeing them curiously as they're coated in a viscous blue substance. Before you can stare at it for too long, Anaxa weakly grasps your wrist again, putting your fingers in his mouth and sucking on them in an uncharacteristically lewd display. With his eye still glazed over, Anaxa stares at you like you're his entire universe (and, let's be honest, you are). His tongue swirls around your digits, cleaning them of that blueish fluid until they're practically sparkling, releasing your fingers with a wet pop.

“Well aren't we thoughtful?” you tease, swiping some spit from the corner of your partner's mouth. A content grin plasters itself onto Anaxagoras' face, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, taking in more of your warmth as it radiates off of your skin.

Absentmindedly, you rest your hand on his chest, rubbing it affectionately until something clicks in your head…

“Hey, Anaxagoras?”

“Hm?” he hums, not pulling away quite yet.

“This mark, is this what the one under there looks like?” you trace the outline of the cosmic design in the center of his chest, outlined with silver.

Without opening his eye or moving a muscle, Anaxagoras responds, “It is.”

You continue running your finger along the edges of this area. “Does it function the same way too?”

Now Anaxa does pull back, squinting at you cautiously. “It does…why?” And you know very well that the smirk playing on your lips has caught his attention.

No words are needed as you glance at the pattern on his chest, then up to your partner's gaze, then back to his chest, and to his gaze once more, raising your eyebrows knowingly.

The deepest blush spreads across the scholar's face, followed by a gasp. “You…!!”

[serpentandlily]

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate. (Part I)

Warnings: angst, death, self-harm

A/n: An epilogue of sorts to Birds of a Feather - Read HERE. Thanks for all your love!! 

• ───────────────── •

I want you to stay

'Til I'm in the grave

'Til I rot away, dead and buried

'Til I'm in the casket you carry

• ───────────────── •

It was dead silent in the Temple. Many fae had come today to pay their respect and to honor the female that died during the war with Koschei—the female that had bravely lured the Death God to his demise and had ultimately met her own in the end.

Azriel had watched the service from the shadows, consumed by his shame and grief. Grief over losing his mate, his best friend, and the chance at a long life with her. Shame from not being able to protect her, from not realizing the mating bond between the two of them until it was far too late and for those last few words he had spoken to her that had only pushed her further into a suicide mission. 

You just want me to continue being miserable. Because that’s always been why the two of us got along so well. Both lonely and so unhappy and now that I’m finally not, you want to drag me back down. Maybe one day someone will love you the way me and Elain love each other. But just because no one does right now, does not mean I have to give up my happiness to keep being miserable with you.

The words haunted him. 

She haunted him. 

Azriel had always been good at ruining his own life. But saying those words was single handedly the worst mistake he had ever made. He hadn't meant them. Of course he hadn't meant them. He loved Y/n. He had since the day he had met her. She was his closest friend—someone he had felt comfortable with. But he had been so blind...blinded by Mor and her vivacious personality...blinded by Elain and the sunshine she had brought to the Night Court. 

All along his mate had been right by his side. The one person he had been searching for all his years of living had been right in front of him and he hadn't even noticed. 

Azriel walked down the long aisle towards the casket that was displayed on the dais. His footsteps echoed in the now silent chamber—not even his own heart beat could be heard. No, his heart had stopped beating the second hers had. 

He fiddled with the flower in his hand, swallowing the tears and sadness that threatened to consume him. He owed her this. He wasn't going to run and hide himself in the shadows as he'd been doing the past week. He needed to be here today. 

Azriel finally stopped in front of the casket and choked on his own bile as the sweet, comforting scent of his mate reached his nose. This felt all too much like a nightmare—one he was stuck in with no way out. Cursed to repeat this day from beginning to end for the rest of his existence. 

She would never stop haunting him.

And he didn't want her to. 

If the ghost of her was the only thing left of his mate in this world, he would cling to it for the rest of his days. 

Azriel placed the spirit lily on top of the casket, the glowing silver petals matched the marble stone. He had searched day and night to find this flower. It was your spirit lily. The one that had bloomed when you died. 

"I'm so sorry," he cried, the tears finally falling. "I'm so sorry." 

He fell to his knees before the casket, one scarred hand sliding along the cold marble as he continued to repeat those words over and over and over again. 

"I am so sorry."

• ───────────────── •

If you go, I'm going too, 

'Cause it was always you, alright

And if I'm turning blue, please don't save me

Nothing left to lose without my baby

• ───────────────── •

Azriel's ears were ringing as he sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that Elain and he had purchased a few weeks before their wedding. It was the first time he had stepped inside since the war with Koschei. It was the first time he'd even been in the Night Court since the loss of his mate and best friend. 

"I understand that you need time to process this, Azriel, I really do," Elain pleaded with him. "But we made vows to each other the day we married. Vows that were supposed to transcend any mating bond." 

Azriel's shadows wailed from the corners of the room. They had started searching for Y/n the day she died and hadn't stopped their cries of panic since then.

It had been a month already.

A whole, entire month had passed by without you. 

And here he was—dark circles lining his eyes, stubble on his hollowed jaw and a song he'd never hear again playing on repeat in his mind. His mating song. His soul's song. His soul that was desperately crying out for its other half. 

"I can't do this, Elain," he spoke, voice hoarse from disuse. "I'm sorry." 

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Elain questioned, crossing her arms and leaning on the kitchen counter. "Azriel, I rejected my own mate for you. I...I thought we were in this together. We talked about the day you might find your own and we agreed that you'd reject it too." 

"I know," Azriel whispered, his forlorn eyes stuck on the cracks on the floor. "But I didn't know what I was giving up the day we made those vows, Elain. I'm sorry. I truly am. But this...this is different. Lucien was a stranger to you. I thought if I ever met my mate, she'd be a stranger to me as well. But Y/n was my best friend. I've loved her for centuries."

"All that time together and yet, you still never went after her," Elain argued. 

Those words landed a heavy blow in his gut. Elain was right. He had known his mate for years and years and never once did he think of her as anything more than a friend. But that wasn't because of her. No, he had done that to himself. 

He had found a companion with Y/n. She saw him in ways no one else did. He'd be lying if he said that hadn't scared him. For someone to see through him—through all the good and to the rotting, decaying bad that existed in him. He was a monster hiding in plain sight and she had seen that. She had seen all of that and loved him anyway. 

And he had ran from it—from her. It was his own self-hatred that caused him to never see Y/n that way. She reminded him of everything that he was because she was all the same. She was the missing piece to his broken soul. But she had been beautiful in her darkness, hauntingly exquisite in her shadows. And he had been a brutish beast who thought that someone could vanquish the darkness that surrounded him.

What he hadn't realized was that he was never looking for a light to cast the shadows away. Not really. He had been fighting a storm whose tides had only been trying to bring him home to her. To his mate. His soul and heart and mind.  

And now she was gone and she had taken all of his love with her. 

Azriel stood from his seat, barely present in this reality. "I'm sorry, Elain. No words will change my mind nor my heart. I belonged to Y/n. It is only my fault that I never saw that." 

And it was his fault. 

All of it was his fault.  

• ───────────────── •

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

It might not be long, but baby, I

I'll love you 'til the day that I die

• ───────────────── •

"Papa, who is that?"

Nyx's innocent voice caught Rhysand's attention. He followed Nyx's gaze to the corner of the room where Azriel stood, wreathed in his shadows. It had been years since any of them had laid eyes on the elusive shadowsinger. Years since he had been so consumed with his grief that he had disappeared from this court, from Prythian entirely. 

But there was one day he always returned.

The anniversary of Y/n's death. 

Cassian had ambushed him before he made it to her gravesite and all but dragged him to this family dinner. It broke Rhysand's heart that his son didn't recognize one of his uncles.

"That's Azriel," Rhysand answered, clearing his throat. "He's one of your uncles. He used to be around a lot when you were just a baby." 

"Oh," Nyx said, tilting his head as he looked at the shadowsinger. "He seems...sad. Why is he so sad, Papa?" 

Rhysand's heart snapped in his chest. The loss of Y/n had been felt by all of them, of course. But for Azriel...it had destroyed him. None of them had known about the mating bond between the two of them. They had been caught off guard just as much as Azriel had been. Rhys had felt an inkling that she might've been in love with him due to her slowly distancing herself once he and Elain had gone public with their relationship.

He had only thought she needed space and time. He hadn't realized that she had been slowly wilting away. And no one had done a single thing to help her. They had all failed her. 

Sometimes he felt a fire-burning rage towards his brother. He had tried to steer him away from Elain that Solstice night but Azriel hadn't listened to him. Perhaps if he had, Y/n might still be here. Perhaps the mating bond would've finally snapped in place for Azriel. But instead he had stubbornly doubled-down on his feelings for Elain. 

"He lost someone he loved," Rhys choked out. "We all did. Do you remember the stories about Y/n?" 

Nyx clapped his tiny hands together with a smile. Gwyn had made sure that Y/n's name had been honored and recorded in the new books about the war with Koschei. A story that was being passed down through the years. A story Nyx had read time and time again because it was his favorite. 

"She was the warrior who faced a Death God all on her own!" Nyx exclaimed. "She led him straight to the trap where he was ambushed!"

Rhysand smiled, patting his son on the head. It had been too hard to speak her name after her death but slowly, they had all started talking about her more and more. Perhaps it was finally time to tell his son the whole story. Rhys glanced at Azriel again, who was a shell of his former self. Perhaps not the whole story.

"Well, before all of that," Rhys started, "Y/n was our friend..."

• ───────────────── •

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone

Can't change the weather, might not be forever

But if it's forever, it's even better

• ───────────────── •

Azriel was kneeling on the grass, his hands grasping the beautiful stone marker of your gravesite as his eyes combed over the engraving: 

Here lies Y/n

Beloved Daughter, Sister and Friend

The stars will shine brighter with you among them 

Rest in Peace

"I have tried to go on for your sake," Azriel murmured. "Because I know that is what you would've wanted. But I can't...I can't do this without you. I relive every day I've shared with you and it is still not enough to make me miss you any less. I am sorry that it took your death to make me realize just how much you meant to me." 

Azriel had gone through it all in his head time and time again. Always reliving moments where he could've seen what was right in front of him all along yet didn't. Your last words to him constantly looped in his mind. 

"I'll find...you...again. Maybe...maybe I'll be...good enough...then."

Those words could not be more untrue. It was always him who had never been good enough for you. Not you. Never you. You had always been as beautiful as the moon reflected on the sea, alluring and mysterious but peaceful. So peaceful. Despite the darkness the two of you shared, you'd always been so soft and kind to those around you...those who had never felt the kind of pain you'd gone through. 

You lured people in because of your grace. You gave people a safe place to exist in. Your shadows had felt like a warm blanket on a chilly night. Your smile had rivaled the moonlight. 

You had always been far more special than you knew. 

Your mistake had been thinking you could out love his hatred for himself. 

But the mating bond had opened his eyes. Although he had only gotten a few seconds with his mate, its song had told him everything he needed to know. He no longer hated his shadows or the anger he felt inside. He no longer hated himself. How could he? How could he hate himself when part of him was you? 

And he could never hate you. 

Gods, he could never be without you. Your souls were intertwined. 

But living in this world without you was something he could not bear. He was consumed by your memory. He looked for you in everything. In the sea, in the breeze, in the faces of random people, down alleyways and behind every door. But you were not here. You were not here and so he decided he could not be here, either. 

"You said you'd find me again," Azriel whispered. "You said you'd find me again but that is not enough. I cannot sit here and wait for you. I will crawl through Hell and everything that is ready for me when my life ends to find you. This life means nothing to me without you in it. You were my heart, Y/n. I love you. I've always loved you. And I am ready to prove that in our next life."

Azriel slid Truth-teller from its sheath and turned it over in his hand, pointing the blade directly as his own heart. He closed his eyes, tuned out all noise except that of the leaves gently rustling in the breeze. 

"I love you, Y/n," he murmured, gripping the blade tighter. "And I can't wait to see you again." 

His dagger pierced through skin and bone until it reached his heart. 

Until all life was spilled from inside of him. 

Until his final breath carried with the wind. 

Until he could finally see his love again.

• ───────────────── •

I knew you in another life

You had that same look in your eyes

I love you, don't act so surprised

[fairene]

one of your girls / ln4, part two

lando norrisxfem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

part one

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

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

wc ⋯ 13.7k (unedited!)

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

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

each other. 

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

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

but not for him. 

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

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

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

you did this to yourself. 

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

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

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

‘you’re too sweet,’ 

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

his favorite girl. his girl. 

“she’s here.” 

what? 

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

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

you looked…

happy. 

he…

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

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

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

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

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

rebecca stared at you expectedly. 

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

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

him? him? oh, fuck, here we go. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

did you expect him to? 

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

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

“uh oh.” 

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

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

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

but he didn’t stop to look at you. 

you didn’t either. 

but your hands–

god your hands

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

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

you dared him to.

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

fuck him.

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

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

“nothing.” 

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

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

you had thought about it. you really did. 

but you couldn’t. 

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

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

lando

you hesitated. 

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

“what?” 

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

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

“neither did i.” 

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

you were confused by the question. “yes.” 

“can i see you?” 

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

you could practically feel him wince through the phone. 

“please.”

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

“okay.”

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

“610.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“did you run here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“like what?”

you scoffed. 

“like you’re in love with me.” 

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

“i wanted to see you.” 

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

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

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

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

“lando, what–”

“i’m sorry.” 

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

“what–?”

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

“why now?”

he perked up, wondering what you meant. 

“why, now, are you sorry?” 

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

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

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

“really?”

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

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

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

you felt his hands tense against your hips. 

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

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

he was confused. again. 

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

“one of your girls.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he wiped the tears from your cheeks. 

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

you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. 

“you have to.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

you thought he was going to kiss you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

it couldn’t be for nothing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fuck. you missed the feeling of that stubble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“fine.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you hated it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

after another minute of this, you were fed up. 

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

you deserved an oscar. 

“didn’t think i was that good.” 

an egot, maybe. 

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

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

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

he thought you came. 

fuck!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no messages from lando. 

did you expect any?

maybe. 

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

ring…ring…ring…ring…ring…

no answer. 

you left a voicemail.

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

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

but with your whimsy, came a price.

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

then the voicemail came.

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

especially an ‘i miss you.’ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he slipped through your fingers. 

you shut the door. 

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

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

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

in love

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

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

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

it rang twice before he heard the line connect. 

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

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

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

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

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

“you called me.” 

shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

there was a pause. 

“yeah. yeah. something dumb.” 

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

“i’ll see you there?” 

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

“yeah. yeah, ‘course you will.” 

you smiled. he could feel it. 

“okay. bye, then.” 

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

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

just a bright smile. 

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

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

“so…!?” 

you narrowed your eyes. 

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

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

“awful.” 

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

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

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

him. the inevitable. 

you swallowed. 

and nodded your head.

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

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

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

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

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

lando did too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“fine.” 

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

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

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

and you didn’t even go to his podium.

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

but he fears he lost you. 

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

did you come? 

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

she didn’t. you couldn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it didn’t take you long.

but you wish that it did. 

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

another one of his girls. 

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

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

neither did you. 

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

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

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

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

“dance with me?” 

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

but the thought left just as quickly as it came. 

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

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

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

you were just one of his girls. 

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

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

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

your lips puckered. 

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

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

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

raphael took the bait. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

except you would. 

this was war, wasn’t it? 

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

him, fucking you.

or, him leaving. 

you much preferred the latter. 

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

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

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

“i’m serious. i want–” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you let him kiss you.” 

you froze. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you knew what he wanted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what was that?” 

you whimpered. “missed you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’re the only girl.” 

you turned fully this time to face him. 

“what?”

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

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

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

“what do you want, then?” 

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

“i need you.” 

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

his face upturned into a smile. 

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

“lando…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your brows upturned. “i love you too.” 

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

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

he was happy enough with that answer. 

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

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

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