#need to consume his bones

[haloberry]

Long post! HotGuy being a manipulative bitch, and theories behind it!

I got so many words for HotGuy in the latest DDVAU chapter, but something I kinda want to point out is that yes, he IS an asshole, it has a something behind it. Scar was Grian's coworker for years, and Grian had always been a reliable figure for Scar in civilian life. It was only recently where HotGuy got to know Grian, that Grian had showed a different side as a ACAB believer. HotGuy got to saw the 'real' version of Grian, showing, at least to him, that Grian will only listen to power.

Of course, we it's even more present in Mother Spore. Grian had let Scar go, but after realizing the fungus get destroyed by fire, with Grian's wings still there afterwards, Grian gets outed after hiding it for 32 years. Yet, Scar still cares for Grian.

It's fucked up, because he is manipulating Grian as HotGuy, but Scar cares for Grian and HG can't let that connection be made.

Scar was scared for Grian, Scar was hurt that Grian hid that, Scar felt regret for injuring Grian during the battle. But, Grian is the Grian he knew. The man that helped grade his student's homework is a man who was an unregistered mutant, and attacked the school under the influence of a mushroom. If Grian was a regular human like his registry said, the whole situation could've ended differently.

HotGuy needs information, and clearly HotGuy gets information that Scar doesn't. Beside being the head of the military, HotGuy got more out of Grian the Scar ever has.

HotGuy makes it a point to say he not impressed with Grian's secret, but Scar was wondering why he never noticed it. HotGuy's face was never shown again after the battle in pt3, the visor being filled in to make that distinction clear. He could've talked to Grian behind cell walls, but he cares. Though, between the job that gives him everything, compared to a friend who in his eyes lied to him? Well, a drastic emotion change seems on par. Of course, this doesn't make the HG better. He still blackmailed Grian, and was using society's social prejudices against the man who just got out of a fucking coma, but his job is more important. HotGuy was shocked when he learned the Spore moved towards Grian, as previously he thought Grian was the one controlling the spores. He had a suspicion, but nothing concrete until Grian came forward with information. Even the labs with Cub have nothing to go off of, and with Grian being the only one who could offer ANY clarity at all, Grian holds the key to solving the case.

Of course, HotGuy can't ever let Grian feel in control. He needs Grian to come forward with any information available, and doesn't want Grian to go off and ruin it. He needs Grian to be under him. So he lied to the public and said the wings were grown after the attack, and is using Grian's life long secret to make sure the other doesn't move from under him. It's horrendous, I hate that I love it. There is still so much we don't know, like if HotGuy knows Grian is also a witch or does he think it was part of the shrooms, or if HotGuy is putting the pieces together and thinking Grian is CuteGuy, but alas we must wait for the next chapter. :>

DDVAU MARYTN WOOD IF YOU CAN HEAR MEEEEEE!!

[sluckythewizard]

The Altered Beast[FULL SUITE] COULD be arthur bennett or adjacent to whatever hes got going on in tha finale. if ur brave enough. IF UR BRAVE ENOUGH [tldr its just about Things eating Things and becoming New Terrible Things. it also fucking jams]

[dirt-str1der]

Self shipping is always the morally correct thing to do

[angstandhappiness]

Ach

"I feel like the child of an alcoholic--you know the problem isn't yours, but it is. You want to help, but you don't know how, so you lie awake at night in fear and confusion, and nothing gets resolved. I'm not sure, but I think Bruce is going crazy, and I'm lost not knowing what to do." /// "I love Bruce. He's my family. But I couldn't bring him out of the past. And after a while, I realized the longer I spent trying to get him out of the past and into the present...I was sacrificing my own future. I don't want that for you." -Batman: Year Three (1989) vs. Urban Legends #10 (2021)

[furiousfinnstan]

URGENT!!!Help Abdul Salam Al-Anqar and his family get through this war in Gaza!!!

(URGENT) THEY ARE AT €3,445 OUT OF €50,000 GOAL

I was asked by @nader5555 to make this, if u cannot donate please please share this post. Copy pasted from a message i was sent:

"Only a Few Hours Left Before We Enter Our First Year of War, Genocide, Starvation, and Displacement A Final Plea from the Heart of Hell: Save Us Before Hope Dies 💔🔥 I am Abdel Salam, and I have nothing left but words written by a trembling hand ✍️. The war has not only destroyed our lives; it has taken everything from us. Our home, which was once our refuge, is now a pile of rubble 🏚️.

My car, my only source of livelihood, was destroyed in a sudden strike 🚗, and the work that sustained us is now a distant memory 💼. Today, I live in an endless nightmare. Under a sun that burns everything in its path 🌞🔥, my family and I sit in a worn-out tent, a tent that shields us neither from the summer heat nor the winter cold ❄️. Insects 🦟 invade the place, diseases consume our bodies 🩺, and my younger siblings cry from hunger and thirst 🍞💧. We have no clean water or a crumb of bread to ease our hunger. Each passing day deepens the weight of this hell we live in.

My Daughter Eman is Dying from Malnutrition 😨 My daughter Eman suffers from malnutrition; I have nothing to feed or treat her with. The deterioration of her health is killing me slowly. Every glance in her eyes, every pain she endures, crushes my heart 💔. How can I explain to her that what was once our hope has now turned into nothing but a mirage? The Night Only Adds to Our Pain 🌙 The night does not bring us rest; it only adds to our pain. We sleep on hard ground, feeling the cold in every bone of our bodies 🥶, with nothing but pieces of cardboard 📦 to cover us. My wife Aya cries in silence 🥺 as she watches our daughter’s future fade before her eyes. My mother Eman suffers from illness and needs urgent medical care 🩺💊.

My Father Ahmed is Sick with Cancer and Needs Emergency Treatment My father Ahmed, who is sick with cancer, needs emergency treatment outside Gaza, and the cost of his treatment is at least $10,000, not including accommodation. As he suffers from severe pain, I cannot provide the treatment he needs due to our dire situation.

My Siblings Are in Constant Suffering ⚰️ My brother Omar was unable to continue his studies due to the situation. My brother Nader could not take his high school exams, and my younger brother Mohammad suffers from brittle bones and needs treatment we cannot afford. Every day we live brings us one step closer to the end. Death surrounds us from every side: if not from hunger 🍽️, then from illness 🦠. And if not from illness, then from the despair that devours our souls. Where is Humanity? Where is the World? 🌍💔 We want to leave the devastated Gaza Strip to escape the machinery of destruction and killing and the severity of hunger and poverty. The cost of travel for each person is $5,000, and we are a family of seven members, bringing the total cost to $35,000.

Where are the compassionate hearts? Are you waiting for us to disappear into the depths of this suffering? Are you waiting until death takes us before you act? We are drowning, and we don’t have enough strength to scream for help 🆘. Will you let this cry go unanswered? 😭 Your donation today is our last thread of hope. With the little support I received, I was able to buy a simple phone 📱 to reach out to you. But the bitter truth is that what I and my family need is much greater. We are not asking for much; just enough to save our lives from this hell 🔥. Every donation, no matter how small, could be the difference between life and death for us 👐. Don’t Let Us Disappear in the Darkness of Suffering 🌑 Don’t let our story end here. Be the light that guides us to salvation 🕯️✨.

With every tear, with every pain, I write this final plea to you, Abdel Salam."

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@schoolteacher

[arolesbianism]

Every second of every day I remind myself that I'm going to need to learn to draw gore and body horror and every second of everyday I simply keep imagining it instead of drawing it because I don't even wanna try finding usable refs for the shit I wanna pull off (it also doesn't help that searching up refs for skinless human anatomy is. Annoying to do if you wanna draw someone who isn't made of muscle and nothing else)

[tr0physlaught3r]

Dads that are essentially slaves to daughter cunt, who babble and moan against your pussy about “god your so perfect” “so perfect for me angel”

Dads who practically buck into the bed or against your leg while drenching themselves in your slicked cunt

Dads who’s hands roam up and down your body before pulling you against his mouth as if they need to consume you flesh and bone.

[s0dium]

Warnings: Werewolf!Toji is whipped, humping, breeding, knots

Toji is worried about the fact he cant seem to stop fucking, no, breeding you, even when he's not in heat.

At first, he had never thought his constant need to be near you was a problem—he had claimed you long ago, after all. But lately, it felt different, more like an obsession that consumed him the moment he stepped through your door. The second your sweet scent hit him, lemony and mouth-watering, Toji's is already down for the count.

His pupils dilate, wolf ears twitch, his dick strains against his waistband, and his fangs unsheathed in primal response. Before he can even think, he is by your side, his larger muscular body pressed close as you stand at the stove. He rubs himself against your ass, grinding his hardening dick on your butt, desperate, like a puppy in heat.

"Y/n..." He will whine into your ear from behind, burying his nose into the crook of your neck and breathing in your scent. Fuck, he can feel pre-cum dribbling from his tip just inhaling you.

"Baby?" You coo, turning to face him so you can cup his stupidly handsome face in your small hands. Dark eyes stare back at you, wide and droopy, eyebrows furrowed in a plea. How funny is it that a man, a wolf man, as big, tall, and scary as him was now pawing at your sweater and whining like a lost dog?

"Please im so..." He breathes out, biting his lip to stop his fingernails from sharpening into claws. If he had a tail in his human form, it would be wagging wildly right now.

You giggle, running your hands through his silky dark hair.

"You're so pathetic" you whisper, delivering a kiss to his jugular that makes Toji whine.

"I'm so pathetic..." he hums tilting is chin up so you can nibble at his skin.

From there he is a victim of his instincts.

There is no warning when he completely bottoms out inside of you, walls throbbing as he seems to get bigger with every inch slipping into your quivering hole. He moans at how warm you are, it's nothing like his fist or that stupid fleshlight you got him for when your away.

“S-shit baby so warm n'tight" he groans and presses his own messy kisses into your squealing mouth. His pelvic bone rubs on your clit as he jackhammers into you, the base of his cock swelling and stretching your gummy walls wide.

"Love you, love you so much, wanna make you a mom, give you my babies~” He’s babbling now, lips hungrily sucking your nipples like milk was going to come out. The sheer collision of his tip against your cervix as he slammed into you was making your brain go numb. Just when you don't think you can cum again, he rips another one out of you and god does it feel amazing. It's like your flying in euphoria as thousands of flesh arrows send pleasure across your body.

Tojis soft ears suddenly twitch and peak up to a point his eyes screw themselves close. "F-fuck, m’gonna cum inside.” he cuts off with a groan of his own, shooting thick white ropes of his cum into your swollen n wanting womb. He kept cumming inside of you, strings and strings of hot cum filling you up as he held you in his arms. It made your body shake, his load weighing at your stomach like it was forming a bulge with how much there was.

“Your gonna make such a good mom baby” his ears twitch at his own words, mind going foggy at the thought of you round and swollen with his children.

[girlkisser13]

diet mountain dew

"you’re no good for me" "but baby, i want you, i want you, i want you"

pairings: klaus mikaelson x human fem!reader

warnings/tags: smut (18+), blood kink, blood sharing, unprotected sex (practice safe sex guys), creampie, needy klaus.

summary: you let klaus feed on you.

you'd expected him to be hungry. you just hadn't realized how ravenous he was, nor what drinking blood did to him.

"f-fuck, ah— c-careful," you gasped.

your voice echoed in the empty room, and his pleasurable grunts echoed with it. it was so dark that you could barely see a thing. you winced, again, from the strange new sensations surging through your body.

"ah— c-careful, klaus, please" you squeaked, it was the only sound that could escape your throat as he clamped your shoulder in his jaw. your neck was soaked, smeared in spit and blood, a leftover gift from when he had searched for the safest spot to drink.

he'd settled on the spot between your collarbone and neck, and there his teeth had sunk in.

with his fangs pierced right down to the bone and his lips bruising your skin, he continued to carefully suck your blood out and into his mouth. it felt like heaven, warm and wet sliding down his throat. to you it was a confusing mix of pleasure and pain.

"a-ah... is—is it, okay?" you whimpered.

klaus let out a low moan in response.

you couldn't move. you were clamped in his jaw, the jaw of a predator designed to keep its prey still, and his body was pinning yours to the cold wood of the floor.

to any passerby you would have looked terrifying. his body was obscured in the dark, appearing as just a hulking, bloody shadow, merging and distorting the outline of your own form; the visage of a monster in the night, consuming the body of a frightened human.

but that wasn't how you saw it. no, you were in the thralls of absolute delight.

one of his hands were on your waist, his fingers carefully drawing you up until you were held taut beneath his body, and the other hand was feverishly groping your tits.

he had torn your dress to feed and then tore a little further, leaving your skin bare right down to your ribs. he was squeezing, stroking, his thumb desperately massaging your nipple. he wanted to hear your whimpers, your soft jolts when he overstimulated that sensitive spot.

you felt him sink down between your legs, his hardened bulge thick and round as it nudged at your bare thigh. he was softly grinding it up against your panties.

you'd never do this, never. this wasn't like you at all. but you were doing it now.

you were mewled as he dry-humped your little body.

your breath was ragged, the soft puffs of condensation from your lips turned a ghostly white by the pale light.

feeding had always been a euphoric experience for him. but now, with you, it had become a full body orgasmic experience, feeding every positive stimulus in his brain and body.

every nerve in his body was on fire in the best way. his body was pulsing, pumping. his arms were covered in goosebumps, his dark hair standing on end, and his cock was painfully erect beneath his pants.

he needed relief. he needed more.

"mmm... mmm," his muffled groans got louder as he continued to feed.

his conscious brain was fighting those deep, vampiric urges, the need to indulge in pleasure no matter the consequences, but his subconcious was primal.

if he had his way he'd drain everything, slowly, all while pumping between your legs into your pretty little cunt, but he couldn't allow that.

you were a sweet, naïve thing, you'd just let him take you up here. your whimpers were heaven, but your softness was too pure for him to fully ruin.

so he forced himself to break a part from you.

he withdrew his fangs and pulled back, revealing the purple, bruised skin of your shoulder. he licked the wound clean before forcing himself away.

"please, please, if you—if you give me your wrist, i—i'll be done, and—"

klaus paused to pant, his lips still stained red. you watched your own blood drip down his chin.

"and, if i could... have you, in another way, it may help to, calm my urges" he said, his voice husky and dark. you watched his eyes glimmer a bright gold. "may i have you?"

"yes," you instinctively blurted, he lunged forward and kissed you. his lips were hard, rough, and you could taste the metallic sting of blood on them. when he pulled back he looked overjoyed.

"good. good. come here, love," he ordered.

you jolted as he dragged your body forward. he carefully tore a hole through your dress and panties with his bare hands.

you shuddered as the cold air hit your bare and slick-coated pussy, but klaus didn't leave you bare for long.

he roughly manhandled you onto the ground before stripping out his suit, allowing his already erect cock to fall down hard on your clit. the sight caused a small, surprised noise to escape your throat, one that he relished.

he was slow, deliberately distracting you with his cock as he raised your wrist to his mouth. he kept you captivated as he carefully slid it inch by inch down your swollen clit, letting you feel every inch.

the pleasure of sinking both his teeth and his cock into you at once was enough to make him physically shake.

with a soft grunt he penetrated both.

your words were turned to gibberish as he pushed his cock in deep, until his pelvis was perfectly squished up against you. the moment your blood hit his throat he started to pump.

you were inside him, and he was inside you. on that filthy, cold floor, you were his.

he started to push his cock in tandem with his teeth.

as his fangs gently shifted beneath the skin, as his lips sucked and bruised, his fat cock gently slipped in and out of your cunt. for such a furious feeder he was a surprisingly gentle lover.

he was terrifyingly strong, that much was clear up close. he bent your thighs until they ached, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you in place, and with each push you could feel the power he was holding back.

you felt him pumping, drawing out your precious blood while his cock ravaged you from inside. each delicious slip, each pulsing throb, every time you felt his cock twitching for attention against your creamy walls, it was unbearable.

you were whining, your heavy breathes producing less and less ghostly condensation. klaus was panting furiously with each thrust, his breath condensing like smoke as he huffed through his curled nose. he was lost in the pleasure, the urge, the need.

and between the tightness, the heat, the copious oozing slick squelching and pooling around his bare skin and dripping off his balls as they smacked against your ass, mixed with the sound of you whining and the fresh blood in his body, he couldn't last any longer.

with a single, muffled groan, klaus came inside of you. his blue eyes rolled back and his body began to buck, smacking your hips until they went numb.

just as he felt your hot blood filling his mouth you felt his thick seed pooling and squishing its way into your cunt, filling every available space. it started to seep out as he continued to hump your limp body, now hanging in sweat, hot pearly strings between his pelvis and your inner thighs.

he pumped inside you until he was utterly spent, his own head now hazy and light, and at last he released you. your wrist fell limp to the floor.

klaus coyly wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist before brushing your forehead. "are—are you alright?"

the relief he felt when you shakily nodded was unmatched.

"thank you," he murmured, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "you were... delicious."

[lola-writes]

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Playlist | Ao3

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering. 

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter. 

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut. 

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now. 

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet. 

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition. 

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind. 

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward. 

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency. 

_

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said. 

The council erupted in uproar. 

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.  

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved. 

It was palpable. 

It was mine for the taking. 

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs. 

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent. 

I cast my gaze on her. 

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest. 

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table. 

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain. 

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified. 

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty. 

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach. 

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.  

None of it mattered. 

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find. 

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut. 

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind. 

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead? 

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs. 

It wasn’t Alicent. 

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch. 

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions. 

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence. 

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me. 

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest? 

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother. 

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut. 

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement. 

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense. 

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear. 

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee. 

_

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape. 

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.  

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider. 

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current. 

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. 

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. 

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread. 

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us. 

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union. 

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. 

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive. 

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile. 

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat. 

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye. 

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells. 

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash. 

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic. 

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown. 

And the crown needed heirs. 

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head. 

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach. 

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea. 

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue. 

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose. 

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea. 

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths. 

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us. 

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips. 

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand. 

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it. 

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette. 

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all. 

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges. 

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.” 

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike. 

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid. 

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. 

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former. 

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. 

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace. 

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure. 

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. 

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me. 

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate. 

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire. 

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat. 

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears. 

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal. 

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard. 

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me. 

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. 

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle. 

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath. 

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince. 

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room. 

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air. 

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches. 

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead. 

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps. 

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze. 

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. 

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain. 

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might. 

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him. 

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease. 

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt. 

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace. 

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear. 

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me. 

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger. 

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other. 

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood. 

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me. 

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender. 

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue. 

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control. 

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone. 

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip. 

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release. 

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings. 

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing. 

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure. 

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls. 

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest. 

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap. 

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries. 

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm. 

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body. 

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips. 

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful. 

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting. 

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers. 

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.  

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire. 

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips. 

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm. 

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame. 

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly. 

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick. 

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest. 

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.  

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance. 

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me. 

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy. 

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss. 

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. 

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself. 

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. 

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells. 

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her. 

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust. 

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time. 

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire. 

Thunder rolled overhead. 

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed. 

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down. 

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

[tinydefector]

Do you think cybertronians ever get a bit freaked out on how tough we are? Yes they can break us like toothpicks but humans seem to be able to take a good beating as well with adrenaline helping. Even our own body and oxygen trys kills us and yet we stick around like roaches. We're fragile in some reasonable and dumb ways and then resilient in the most dumbest ways.

Oh definitely, alot of the bots are very off put by how fragile humans are just in general and tend to avoid them.

But then there's the moments like Ratchet working a late shift and a small knock on the door alerts him someone's there, he turns around expecting it to be Rodimus or Whirl who he's about to scold but instead it's one of the humans and they look worse for wear. After fussing over them for a moment, detailed scans relay fractured ribs, a broken collar bone, and a heap of bruises and yet the humans just like. "Can I have some Panadol, Nurophen, and a glass of water?" Because they don't know what else to do its what they would get. Most of the times they ended up in the hospital. Ratchet is losing his God dawn mind as he rushes around looking for the best painkillers he can find for orgaincs in the smallest dosage he can give, hoping to primus it doesn't shut their heart down. In the end, they end up on a medication that makes them extremely drowsy, almost like the green whistle/ Weed.

Ratchet ends up doing alot of study on the human body and realises just how fucked up little monsters we are. We literally need oxygen to survive but he we have to much pure oxygen it will kill us. Water, we need a certain amount of it, if we don't have enough we will get dehydrated and die, if we have to much we will get water poisoning, intoxication, or a disruption of brain function. This happens when there's too much water in our cells, such as the brain and blood cells, causing them to swell. When the cells in the brain swell, they cause pressure in the brain, resulting in death. The issue is that it can become an addiction to drinking too much water for the effect it has on the body. Same with nearly everything we consume, it can kill us, but we need a lot of it in moderation.

Human: "I just need some basic pain killers and a nap"

Bot: "No, you need full surgery, sedations, and 3 weeks of recovery!"

Human: "nah she'll be fine!"

Bot: "Absolutely Not, bed now before I cuff you"

____________

Following that imagine a first contact AU where Cybertronians and humans are just slowly getting to know how the other works and next thing a human is kneeling over in horrific pain and it send the bots all into panic mode trying to help them, wondering what's happening and thinking they are dying. And the human after about ten minutes some pain killers still looking rather pale and unhealthy just go. "Sorry about that fuck I hate, Cramps/palpitations/ phantom pains/ and such" and the bots are just looking at them horrified like.

Bot: NOT NORMAL!!!"

Human: what you talking about?

Bot: everything that just happened you literally just short circuited!

Human: nah that's causal wait till you see the really funky shit.

______________

Human pet AU

Cybertronian's keeping humans as pets is like humans keeping hamsters. Humans are some of the most homicidal, suicidal and just deranged creatures that Cybertronian's could keep as pets. It's gotten to the point that they are a luxury/ exotic pet because if you do not feed them the right stuff, give them the right amount of light and socialising, and they will just die. There are so many Cybertronian's who take their human into clinics worried as and its just the human being a little bustard because they didn't get the treat they wanted 2 weeks ago and are still holding that grudge. Not to mention, we are prone to causing as much trouble and issue. We are like cats.

But we are also very easily sick and primus forbid a human gets sick because to a bot they think it's a death sentence for their sweet little spitfire of a human who they have had now for ages. And the human looks ready to die, and the next day, they are up and about like nothing ever happened.

Human: if you don't feed me the meals I want I'm going to pretend to die. If you do feed me what I want I might actually die because I shouldn't be eating it.

Panicked bot: "MY HUMAN HAS GOTTEN SICK. HELP!?!"

Human: totally worth it.

_________

In conclusion, the cybertronians are rather wary/ concerned about how resilient humans really are.

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[fairene]

gravity / ln

lando norris x fem!reader

reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n.

where your life with him is just beginning.

yes! yes! i have insane brainrot for lando norris! yes! this is meant as a single 'oneshot' of sorts, but i am open to taking requests of this so called 'universe.' reader here is a stem major, particularly physics (shoutout to the stem students!) which helps perfect the progression. also was inspired by interstellar.

wc: 15.2k woops!

warnings: smut! -- MINORS DNI!!, porn with a lot of plot! angst, drinking, language, friends to lovers, corruption kink (minor), choking, soft!top lando.

it was all consuming; he was, at least, with his curly hair, upturned eyes, smile that brightened the entire room. utterly irresistible, any woman could agree. they’d jump his bones the second he gave them a lingering glance, a playful wink.   but that’s all it ever was with those girls— glances, observations. but you, on the contrary, were a fixation. an obsession, one might call it— actually, someone has before. but you ignored it and let it fly over your whimsical head. how could a man like lando norris ever glance in your direction like he did those models, influencers? 

you were always just his friend. his best one, yours too you’d admit only in the solace of your lonesome in the hours of the evening. you met him when you were studying abroad in london at the ripe age of nineteen. you were there on a research term for a professor at your university, though it was much far north of london's borders. still, the girlfriends you managed to make would insist on your attendance to the night club scene on the town. 

who were you to deny any pleasantries? a hardworking student. a student with a vision, a dream to be more than what society compressed women to be. you’d rather be out to the stake like a medieval witch than become a loftily homemaker. while it was some of your friends desires, yours stretched far beyond the horizon of which any life was palpable. 

a nerd in short terms. 

you studied physics. with as much fun as your girlfriends had in the club, you found it in the quiet evenings if your research. you’ve devoted a great deal of time for your studies, but hey— every girl lets go here and there. 

the one time you did, you met him. in the late evening hours of the bustling club, drink in your hand, short dress sticking to your sweaty skin, he scared your close friend, laurel.

“boo,” he had said with a low tone, grabbing the girl with a blonde bob by the shoulders. she shrieked despite the loud atmosphere and spun around, slapping him on the chest. 

“lando!” she exclaimed, which had your attention drawn upward from the half bitten olive in your martini. he was taller than her, than you, muscularity built with a low taper cut of chestnut hair. he was freckled, and the first thing you noticed about him was the way that his eyes smiled. 

they curved up at the edges and you could feel the warmth of the sun drip in from the rooftop. even though it was past midnight at this point. 

“i didn’t know you were coming,” laurel breathed at an awkward pace then turned to face you. she outreached her hand for you to take with your free one. you did, feeling warm from the alcohol that you had downed from the night. 

“lando, this is my bestie from school,” she introduced you by name, to which you gave a small, dramatic courtesy towards the brit. his eyes caught on your act, gleaming with something you could even see in the yellow hued lights of the club. “this is lando norris, rookie of…what team again?”

you glanced from laurel to lando, brows raised. he hesitated for a moment, gracing you with a lopsided smile that, in time, you’d come to adore. 

“mclaren. formula one racing.” he answered, taking a hand to brace the back of his neck. he felt the need to clarify for you, which you took in earnest. he earned a light ahh in your reaction. 

you were impressed, to say the least. you hadn’t ever met a formula one driver in the flesh, nor you could say you were a devoting fan. of course you knew what it was, watched it on sundays when your uni friends would turn it on, but that was it. as smart as you were, it seemed that someone knew more about something than you did. you reeled. 

“and you like it?” you said after a beat, swirling the toothpick inside the olive around your finger. lando seemed to contemplate your words, taken back by such a question. without a doubt he liked racing, otherwise he wouldn’t do it. but that’s not what she was asking, was she? it weighed on him more as his mind unraveled the layers to such a question, but he ended on a simple answer:

“i don’t know if i could love anything more.” a jest, playful and lightheaded when it came from him. 

but how the whims would be tested over the years. 

────────────

a year later

“a whole season, lando?” you asked him, hands drawn out before you to iterate the sincerity of what he was asking. 

a season of going to races with him.

you were graduating within the next two semesters. twenty two now, whereas he was twenty three. but you had qualified to graduate early, as your intent was to do as such, but the tempting leave of absence form that sat in your lap tempted you even further. 

you sat in his monaco flat, a frequent place you visited or stayed until you recently gained residency in monte carlo. it was efficient enough for what you needed to do for work— france around the corner, italy to the west. the best physicians rallied in europe, and staying in the isolated united kingdom was not the best option for you. you caved at his months of pleading to move to monaco. 

your legs crossed as you glanced from his pacing, anxious position. your fingers tapped incessantly at the piece of paper before you, pre-addressed envelope sitting on the coffee table. 

“why not?” he questioned, putting his hands up in defense, stopping before you. he looked down at you, his heart thundering in his chest. say yes he wanted to plead. his knees felt weak. wobbly as your eyes looked back at him, determined. he loved that look. it drove him wild, enchanted by how the cogs of your brain turned. 

you sighed, looking off to the side out the floor to ceiling window. “how would i even pay for all—“

“you wouldn’t drop a pound.” 

you were taken back. you could never expect him to pay for that. you knew he was well off, given his hefty contract, but you are friends. friends don’t use each other for money. 

“lando—“ you began to shake your head. 

“no, no, don’t do that.” he stopped you, earning a glare from you. he shivered, relishing in how vindictive you could be. he hasn’t seen it many times untamed, but the fantasy had his blood roaring. “if money wasn’t a problem, would you come?”

“well—“ you attempted to come up with a defense, but nothing formed. you were at a loss of words. “what would i even wear?”

it was february when you touched down in jeddah. lando has instructed you to fly on the jet with him, side by side for the entire eight hour journey. 

you were taken back by the sudden personal touches and longing looks from him. something has changed. over the past year he’s had a few girlfriends, none of them serious so he’s told you, and you believed him. your blind affliction to nod your head and whisper okay was the only way you found that you could truly protect yourself. ignorance is bliss, or whatever the poets say. 

with your legs crossed the entire flight and eyes peering from the window, you never once felt lando’s eyes drilling into your face. though he was entirely enamored by your bravery, your understanding how important this was to him. 

you may be the only one to truly understand his passion. as he began to understand yours. 

on your lap was a research journal translated from german. your professor had sent it over to you for your leave of absence, along with ideas for your masters thesis. she was a kind woman and you appreciated all the work she has done to support you. especially translate it from german. 

you tended when you felt lando spread his legs, knee bumping into your calf. but you didn’t shy away. 

“what’re you reading?” 

“do you really want to know?”

he didn’t hesitate. “why wouldn’t i?”

your chest tightened at his soft tone. you’d never get used to that, would you? when you were in such close proximity with him, he would become so gentle, caring. not that he wasn’t in public spaces but… what was the word you were looking for?

intimate

“after your season i fly to germany to finalize my thesis. i’m still struggling on a topic, but…” you flip back a few pages in the book which was messily annotated and sticky-noted. you stopped on the event horizon section. “this one caught my eye. always fascinated me.”

lando scanned the page. it wasn’t the words he was reading, but the marks you left behind. messily written notes in the margins, smeared ink, bright orange notes with rather… rushed drawings of a black hole, surrounded by streams of… “what is it?”

your eyes glimmered. lando wanted to take a picture of you then, turning from your corner of the window and towards him. your palms smacked the page as you excitedly explained the phenomenon in far too great detail for lando to really pay attention, but he was so engrossed in your intellect and pure passion that slipped past your lips. your sweet, honeyed lips—

“lando?”

“hmm?”

“what will it be like?”

“what?”

“all of it.” your fingers tended around the journal creasing the pages unbeknownst to you. 

lando reached over, not thinking rationally, and grabbed your hands. they were colder than his. he was always warm. so warm. a light gasp left your lips when you looked up at him. 

“i’ll give you some pointers. ready?”

you nodded. 

────────────

he kept a hand on you at all times. unhindered by any sudden movement, feigning to latch at the small divot of your back. you’d grow used to its presence as you scaled the tarmac, hopped into the passenger seat of the mclaren— opened by him— and glanced down at how his hand made claim to the skin of  your thigh the entire drive. 

he’s stressed. you’d tell yourself, not thinking anything more of it. because what else could it be?

────────────

the entire time you kept modesty in mind. you had pestered lando about your choice of attire, thinking specifically about the nature of your outfits. 

“i don’t want to be disrespectful.” you said sternly, looking between the stylist lando paid to dress you, and him. it was your debut at lando’s side and you were determined to make the right choice. you were never usually like this— cold and bullheaded, but he was growing to…enjoy it more than he should. 

you stood there tapping your foot with your arms crossed. you shrugged towards the outfits she provided you. you shook your head at a few and decided to ask. 

“what about orange?”

orange.

lando thought about falling to his knees for you right then and there. to see you sporting his team colors for him was a dream that he would never want to wake from. 

the stylist nodded, raking through the options. there was one that was made of silk, a dress that covered you to the ankles, to the forearms. an abaya it was called. if you were going to be representing lando, which he mentioned on the plane, then you were going to do it right. 

and you’ll be damned before you’re ever wrong. 

────────────

you certainly underestimated the crowds. 

with the season opening, you and lando had been swarmed upon your arrival. he warned you of this, but to which the gravity of it you greatly underestimated. 

your fists bawled at the material of the dress, clenching with unspoken anxiety. you were never much of a public person, but you’d be willing to find out if that were true or not today. 

“hey,” lando nudged your shoulder. you glanced at him with a light smile. “you got this.”

that comfort was enough alone to let you be pulled from the car. lando opened the door for you. immediately swarmed by flashing cameras and the devilish heat of the middle eastern sun. 

questions were thrown at him about you, who you were, and you’d let him do all the talking. 

you straightened your posture, gripped the handbag tightly, and kept a soft smile to your features. 

lando would stop on occasion to sign some memorabilia, which was a perfect time for you to observe. he was kind with the people who were such loyal fans to him. dressed in the mclaren jerseys, hats, he’d sign anything that was thrown his way. even some arms were thrown in his direction. 

it was endearing for you. watching him thrive in his element. your heart warmed at the sight. a new found affection blossoming in the pit of your stomach. 

a thump was heard on the ground before you. you turned, glancing back at lando who kept moving forward. it was a mclaren hat dropped by a teenage girl wrapped in a similar garment to yourself. you traipsed over, crouching down to pick it up, and hand it back to her. 

“here,” you offered in a sweet tone. your smile was brighter. the girl was clearly elated, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“are you and lando dating?” came a question from the girl beside her. she was earned a slap to the shoulder, being called rude.

you laughed lightly, shaking your head. “no, no, friends from home is all.”

you saw a phone held up, recording the interaction. but it didn’t scare you. why would it?

“do you want to wrap your hijab? it’ll fly loose in the wind…” the girl asked nervously, placing the mclaren hat on her covered head. you were taken back for a moment, glancing down at the rather lazy job of the stylist, and took intent note that it was rather windy today. it would be hard for you to maintain it by yourself. 

“you would do that for me?” you took a step closer to the barricade, which had lando snapping his head over his shoulder to wonder where you went. 

he ogled, watching as a young girl began tying the ends of the scarf in an intricate, skilled manner around your collarbones, your neck. his eyes were caught on the smile you graced, the laugh that left your lips. it was such a delicious sound, intoxicating, one that he wished to drown in. if that were his fate, he’d gladly accept it. 

his staring was noticed, fans beginning to call his name louder. he swallowed, hands flexing at his side before he signed a few more hats and posters. 

────────────

what you didn’t expect was the way that lando looked in his fire guard suit. the black emblems that contrasted his tan skin, bolstered the tone of his muscles. there was barely anything left up for the imagination as you brought the tip of your finger to your mouth, crossing your legs on the orange couch. you couldn’t seem to sit still. 

“you alright?” he asked out of concern, but you didn’t miss the slight curve of his mouth. he knew what you were thinking.  you were always so responsive to him, so good, even when there were no words transpired. 

“peachy!” you confirmed, sitting back against the couch, your leg bouncing as you tried not to let your eyes meddle on the muscles of his neck, the veins in his hands, the bracelets that dangled from his wrists. 

he gave you a look of doubt before his teammate walked in with a girl at his side. oscar, you remembered. you had met before briefly at a press conference you attended in monaco. the girl beside him was his girlfriend— she was entirely too sweet and studied a similar focus as you did. 

the two mclaren drivers patted each other on the back, while the woman approached you. she sat beside you with a tick of picking at her fingernails.

your hand found its way on top of hers. “first time, too?” 

she nodded and introduced herself formally. you did the same. you laced your fingers with hers, stopping the habit from ruining her lovely nailbeds. 

lando watched the interaction from over oscar’s shoulder, a cheeky smile etching onto his face. oscar caught wind of his inattention, and glanced over his own shoulder briefly. 

he turned back to lando with a toothy grin. “i’ve been trying to get her to stop that habit.”

because within the matter of minutes you were both talking, not once did his girlfriend raise her fingers to her mouth. 

────────────

you pulled and fixed at the collar of his race suit. lando sucked in a low, tight breath. you missed the sound, focused on making sure he looks presentable for the national anthem. it would be any minute he’d climb into the car to do a practice lap. 

when you were satisfied with the result, you dusted off the top of his head and was going to let your hand fall to your side. but there was a stain of soot on his chin. 

without thinking twice, you grabbed his chin between your fingers. his eyes went wide at the action. his fists clenched at his side, body rigid with the feeling of your unexpected touch. 

you licked your thumb before wiping it away, his stubble rough against your fingers. his head crooned visibly into the shape of your hand. the warmth from his cheek getting slightly hotter. heat rushed to your own face, flushing you in your orange dress. 

whatever moment was transpiring between the two of you, you didn’t want it to end. neither did he. his breathing softened, but his heart was pounding. your thumb swirled over his cheek once before you gripped him tighter. 

“you got this, lan.”

there was the first time you graced him with that nickname. the rest was history for him, knowing that he was a dead man walking at your side. if you weren’t going to be his, he would ruin you. such sickening thoughts had him mulling over what you meant to him. you made time out of your busy schedule for him, and so did he. you were there to answer his calls. he was there to be at your beckon and call. he would wreck his entire career if it meant your undivided attention. 

he would pivot, skid, take more reckless actions on the track if it meant having your hands on him. your eyes. your love. he wanted it all with you, he learned, from that first weekend in jeddah. with your communally wrapped headscarf, caring nature, your determination… he wanted it to be his. he wanted you to flourish with him. he wanted to be the reason you blossom. 

with your unwavering strength at his side, he could conquer the world. fuck the championship, he wanted it all to be with you. maddening thoughts would consume him day and night after that first weekend, knowing there was only more to come throughout the season. he could only imagine how these months would fare, but he didn’t bide into fantasies. he would expect the unexpected and let you consume him entirely. 

────────────

miami was everything you thought it to be. bustling with life, parties, music. it was a stark contrast to what your life at university looked like— though you didn’t mind the occasional outing, of course, especially when lando was at your side. 

he was a beam of light crafted by the gods of the sun, brightening every room he stepped in. he was utterly magnetic, drawing others around him, letting them have a joyous laugh. it made you giddy, proud, that he could hold himself so well in the mediocrity of the crowds. while you etched yourself at his side, clamoring for his shadow, he held you tightly at every opportunity. 

his hand at your back, clutching for dear life. warm and soothing, you’d lean into him, clutching the hem of his black mclaren shirt. 

it had been a friday night. his free practices had been stellar as you watched eagerly from the mclaren paddock. you’d earned a status of earning a headset, your consistent attendance rivaling tidal waves in the media. you always told yourself not to look, not to peek, but you couldn’t help it. 

accounts were created in your honor. in your fan name. the mclaren fans loved you, and you loved them. the video of your first appearance at the paddock had gone viral within the community. your sensibility for adhering to culture norms gained you rapport. though you didn’t know why— why wouldn’t you dress appropriately? it grudged you how low the media could stoop, but you were honored nonetheless to gain such positive attention. 

of course there were the negatives. some were born to hate and you could live with that. many thought you were using lando for his money, just another stupid girl who didn’t deserve to be at these races. you kept yourself modest from the media with a private account, similar to charles girlfriend, and found that it was better to remain a mystery to those who weren’t a part of your life. you owed them nothing. 

though you never breathed these negatives to lando. he would be furious and absolutely say something in public. the last thing you wanted was for him to fight your own battles, yet you thought this nothing to be more of a playground spat. you could handle it; lando doesn’t call you sting for no reason. 

on the bright side, you had a steady, growing relationship with oscar’s girlfriend, and even considered each other to be best friends. 

though lando would disagree ardently, reminding you that he was always first, no matter the circumstance. he’d whine like a child and pout. how could you resist that face? even when you would playfully hold up four fingers and raise your brows, his number four, contrary to one, he’d scoff and laugh, your ability to see through him was astonishing. 

at the club tonight there were bottles and bottles of champagne being opened and passed around in the driver's honor. in your time there you had grown close to all drivers, except a few give or take. but while you carved relationships with the boys, it was the women you sought refuge in. 

charles' girlfriend, a tanned brunette sweetheart, would bake for you. in return you would host wine nights with the other women. you’d become accompanied with her new furry companion, little leo leclerc, and you fell in love with him instantly. his little licks of appreciation, his tiny wagging tail. gosh, you loved the pup. 

carlos’ partner, rebecca, had intimidated you at the beginning. she was tall, fierce, blue eyes unwavering with confidence as she spoke of deep experience throughout her years in the paddock. it took her longer to adjust to your presence, feeling doubtful of your friendship with the british driver, but changed her mind when she saw you dehumidifying lando’s race suit that hung in the tents in japan’s humid weather. 

no one stood around you whilst you did that. no one asked you to. you did it because it was ruthlessly hot and you didn’t want lando to contract a heatstroke. 

lily held a place in your heart that none of these girls could truly replace. she was your rock from the first race. you both learned together, wrought each other of the nail biting habits, and laughed amongst the radio calls between the pair of drivers. 

the rap music thundered the floor you stood on. heels tall and encompassing, you’d admit plainly you got used to the treatment lando awarded you. nothing but the best, he told you one evening under the moonlight. the words were imprinted in your mind. 

alexandra, charles’ sweetheart, called your name. 

lando’s grip tensed at your back. you could feel it. you glanced at him, then to alexandra. 

“come dance~!” she swayed, floreale spritz in her hand. she egged you forward with her hand, and you loosened yourself from lando’s side. 

you had no obligation to stay by him. it’s not like you were dating.

though many would disagree with that. 

you mumbled something incomprehensible to lando. he bent his head down towards your mouth, angling his ear to hear your voice. 

“will i see you on the dance floor tonight, mr. norris?” you teased, body warm from the cocktail you downed. his head turned, a signature smirk daunting his face. 

“want me to?” he said, bringing his lips dangerously close to your ear. you shivered, his breath hot and wet as it graced the curves of your cheeks. 

“only if his highness can make time,” you looked up at him through your weary, drunken eyes. something shifted, then, as you stared up at his green eyes. it was dark in the club, but not as dark as his stare. it intimidated you, but not nearly as much as it intrigued you. 

“always make time for you baby,” he said, tone playful and airy but it was more than that for you. baby. he was just drunk, wasn’t he? he didn’t know what he was talking about. didn’t know he was talking to you. don’t let it get to your head. “just tell me when. think charles is dying to dance.”

you looked over your shoulder to see charles being teased by sweet alexandra as she shook her head, pointing at you. this was a girls dance, that told you. 

before you turned, your hand cupped lando’s neck. he grumbled; you felt it through your palm. it was a nonverbal okay. you spun, threading yourself out of lando’s grasp. he let his hand linger for as long as he could before you slipped away, the imprint of his hand leaving you bare and cold. 

it was quickly replaced by the rambunctious action on the dance floor. lit up with multicolored tiles, alexandra grabbed your hand and raised them above your heads, swaying to the heat of the music. 

she was a natural beauty. no wonder charles fell in love with her. 

you mimicked her dance moves to the best of your ability, hands sliding down your waist, through your scalp and over your head. 

alexandra laughed and sashayed, giddy with fun and life. you did the same, unable to withstand her pulsing vibrato. you twirled her around you, she did the same. heads turned at your giggles, a few grunts of laughs had you looking over your shoulder. 

the men of the club began to swarm. but in the moment, you didn’t care. let them gawk if they so wish. you felt untouchable. 

your body slid parallel to alexandra, hips gyrating with an orbit of its own cosmic makeup. she grabbed onto your waist pulling you close when you rocked from side to side. your hands slid up your neck, down your chest— exposed from the evening gown you chose for the evening festivities. 

the swarm intensified. one man attempted to twirl in front of you and alexandra, reaching to touch your forearm, but that’s where the line was drawn. 

a body pushed itself between you and the man, alexandra standing up straight behind you. you recognized him instantly— signature smell bringing you an insatiable comfort that soothed your soul. 

lando stood before you, face close to yours. he didn’t look pissed off…just…cocky?

before alexandra peeled away, you tilted your head back to her shoulder. she whispered, “needy, needy, needy…”

charles whisked her away for a dance. you didn’t get to respond. there wasn’t much for you to say though, watching how happy alexandra became when charles wrapped his arms around her. you felt sour. what was this feeling? 

“you didn’t ask me,” he said into your ear, bringing your attention back to him. little to your knowledge he watched as you glanced between the happy ferrari couple, your face scrunching and hand coming to cover your lips. 

you gave him a quizzical look. 

“to dance!” he laughed, big and goofy. but there was an edge to his tone. was he peeved? did he think that you forgot about him?

“wanted you to come get me.” you slurred, lifting your arms to throw them over his muscled shoulders. when you were met with a hard surface. your eyes bulged at just how big he’s gotten this year alone. it made you want to touch him more, explore his body behind the polo mclaren shirt. 

he raised his brows at you. “yeah?”

you pursed your lips together, letting your eyes flutter. “wanted you to hunt me down, little lando.”

his hands fell to your hips, fingertips functioning your skin. his demeanor shifted. your words igniting such a vicious flame inside his heart that burned for you and you alone. you were practically fucking edging him with your words. he wished it was the other way around. how insatiable your screams could be, the little noises you’d make. 

you warmed even more when his head dove into your neck, lips parting so you could feel his tongue. “‘ve already got you.”

“do you?” you challenge. lando loves a good challenge. 

he tucked you against his body, saying nothing more. 

“dance with me.” it wasn’t a question. but a statement. 

rolling your eyes, annoyed that he didn’t answer you, you pivoted on your heel. your back against his abdomen. you’d surely regret this on the morrow, but that was a problem for then. now, you only felt sturdy as you leaned your weight into lando. he supported you with ease. 

dancing with him was always the easy part. he knew how to move his body, sway his hips, and lure any girl into the trap of his toned and tanned arms. but it was never you up until now. you’d always dance with the other drivers, girls, friends, but never him. it was something far too intimate for you, but you weren’t sure how lando thought about it. 

but your friends noticed. 

rebecca snuck up behind alexandra, carlos at her arm. 

“look at him,” she gestured to lando who was entirely smitten with your let-loose expression. his hands were tight around your hips, legs spread to cage you against him. a fortress came with the name lando norris, and you were his queen. 

“entirely in love.” rebecca concluded, and alexandra agreed with a nod. 

“you should talk to her.” charles suggested, clearly feeling the pain his friend was going through, yearning at a distance. 

“and say what, char?” alexandra asked her partner. “do you love him like he loves you?”

“is that a bad idea?” charles retorted and was met with silence between the two girls. 

“we’ll figure something out.”

against your bodice, you felt the hard imprint of his dick blistering against his jeans. but it didn’t frighten you, not like his touches used to. your tour of the grand prix’s continued your closeness amongst one another, so…

your hips continued to sway, egged on by how lando ran his arms up your waist. it felt good–his hands, the tension woven into them. he felt good. 

you turned around to face him, letting your hands wrap around his neck. he looked euphoric beneath the dim lighting, rbg hues collectively making him look like he was glowing. he was, in truth, because of you. always because of you. 

the two of you were making eye contact now. not just any, but you thought it was the most intense of your life. his eyes rimmed with red, exhaustion you thought, and you suddenly felt guilty for keeping him out for so long. it’s not like you weren’t tired yourself. 

you raised your head to his ears. “we should go.”

he narrowed his eyes, looking disappointed that the festivities were ending so soon. “you want to?”

your head nodded. one hand came down to brush against his hand, taking it between yours. “tired.” 

the alcohol had taken its course through you. head pounding with a soft thump, you clasped your hand with lando’s. he returned the same force, swiping his thumb over your knuckles. he didn’t hesitate when you said you were tired. that was that for him. he had no other reason to stay.

“just wanna say bye to them,” you said, making your way over to rebecca and alexandra. they turned to you when you had lando in tow, entirely at your whims. 

“we’re meeting tomorrow?” you confirmed. both girls nodded, a shared glance between them making you feel uneasy. alexandra told you to come to ferrari’s paddock. you’d nod your head before they both raised their brows at each other again, sheepish smiles flashing in your direction. 

“what?” you prodded. they smiled at you again. 

“nothing. we just can’t wait for tomorrow.” rebecca soothed your concerns, though it didn’t prevail as much as you hoped. 

“that was weird.” lando said into your ear when you were close to the exit. 

“right?” you were glad he noticed. he always noticed these things. too observant for his own good. 

before you stepped foot out of the club, you turned back when you felt a thump. like a body had fallen to the ground. you stopped in your tracks. 

the man that grabbed your arm laid face flat on the ground. lando looked down at you, looking smug. though he didn’t hit him.

“must’ve tripped.” he shrugged. 

“should watch where he’s going.” you said, knowing that he didn’t just trip.

“guess so.”

────────────

saturday afternoon you were standing beside rebecca and alexandra when qualifying started. you wore a casually chic outfit. pants, a shirt, matching accessories. the stylist lando hired was getting to know you better. she understood what patterns you liked, your sense of aesthetic. it felt like a homecoming. 

“so,” alexandra crossed her legs as all three of you sat on the couch. “what happened with lando last night?”

you were taken back. “what do you mean?”

they exchanged a look. 

“you left together!” rebecca held up her hands as if pointing out the obvious. she was, really. 

“so…?” 

“so…! he went back to your room?” alexandra pleaded in wanting to know details. details of an extravagant night that didn’t happen. 

“we share a hotel room,” they gasped. your hands thrown up in defense. “not like that! he gets two bedrooms for us.” 

the girls settled, not looking entirely pleased. 

“besides,” you sighed. “we’re friends. he doesn’t see me like that.”

so confident

alexandra and rebecca burst out in a laugh. “are you serious?” alexandra wondered. 

you bristled, brow raised, wondering what she meant. “yes…?”

rebecca sighed your name, “have you seen the way he looks at you–?”

“or how he follows you around like a puppy.”

“how he pays for everything for you.”

“oh! how he scares any man off who tries to talk to you.”

your mind went numb. is this true? you thought lando was like that with everyone– kind, considerate, conscious. but as you sat there considering their words, just wondering how much truth was attached to them. 

“are…are you sure?” you hesitated about finding the answer. what would that mean for you? 

“absolutely.”

“one hundred percent.” they said at the same time. so this is what they wanted to talk about.

shit. maybe you were blind. it had gotten tempestuous over the course of these last few months. his growing attentiveness, his softness, his eager eyes whenever you’d make him coffee in the morning. no one makes it as good as you, he’d say. 

would it be so bad that you…weren’t upset with it? you loved being friends with lando. he was always there to listen to you, support you. he cherished your time together. but what if there was a slim chance that you were wrong? that you were in over your head? 

the last thing you wanted was to be embarrassed. 

“what do i do?”

the ferrari girlfriends exchanged looks. 

────────────

lando qualified in fifth for the miami grand prix. you thought he did absolutely wonderful. it was a close quali, he was pushing his car to its limits, but it wasn’t enough in the final stretch. a sigh left you as you were watching the tv, lily at your side. 

oscar placed just below lando at sixth. “i don’t get it,” you said.

lily looked at you, confused. 

“they should be faster. mathematically, i mean.”

lily was an engineering graduate. the question you brought forth had her perking up. you could see the cogs turning in her head. 

“the physical body of the car offsets it.” she tapped her thumb against her elbow, arms crossed. she raised a hand to bite at her thumb, but you stopped her. 

“you’re right. i don’t know–” you just had a weird feeling about this race. about lando. what rebecca and alexandra said…”lily.”

“yeah?”

“do…” you took a light breath in, suddenly intimidated by the answer you could receive. “do you think lando is in love with me?

a beat of silence.

“without a doubt.”

the mclaren plated with number four rolled into the garage. lando jumped out, taking off the neck guard, then his helmet. his hair had gotten longer this month. curls were starting to frame over his forehead. his stubble was more prominent. he was tanner. had his jawline always been that sharp?

he patted his engineer on the back but was looking for something. his eyes were darting all around the room, concern beginning to encompass his face. until he found you and lily, you, in the corner with her. you looked absolutely beautiful today. you had been worried about your outfit, wondering if the colors were too contrasting, or if they washed you out. 

lando didn’t think there was any color that could wash out the beauty of your skin. you were too bright for that, always glowing.

when you saw him, you beamed. but it was different this time. the way he looks at you. how is he looking at me?

he took a few steps forward before you met him half way. your fingers found the zipper to his jumper, the action was new for you and lando. he welcomed it, looking down at you with a smile. 

“you did amazing.” you breathed, undoing the zipper. though you couldn’t reach his eyes with your own. your hand shook against the zipper. he noticed, face falling with a slight frown. 

“are you alright?” 

“perfect,” you answered a bit too quickly. you still haven’t looked at him. you went to turn away, but he grabbed your elbow with a light grip. 

“hey, look at me.” he pleaded, voice entirely too soft and gentle for your state right now. the way he follows you around like a puppy. but why did you blush? why did you fiddle with your fingers, bite your lip? 

you looked up into those lovely pools of green. they shimmered so elegantly. your breath caught in your throat. 

“what happened? did–”

“do you want dinner tonight?” you blurted, suddenly feeling stupid and small. you kept shrinking with each passing second that he didn’t answer. little did you know, he felt like the earth was flipped on his head. was he dreaming? did you ask to have dinner with him? surely you just meant with all of your friends…

“we always have dinner,” he said with a light laugh. you felt shivers creep up your arms. Goosebumps.

“me. just you and me.”

“oh.” oh? that’s all that lando could say? yes. that was it. his brain was short circuiting, unsure of what you were inferring. was there a deeper meaning to this? was he thinking too hard? you’ve gotten dinner just the two of you before. but not in a long time. 

he was absolutely speechless as he looked at you, heart racing in his chest. It was just about to pop out when you opened your mouth to retract your statement and apologize. 

“what’s the dress code?” he bit his lip to hold back his childlike grin. 

“fancy.” you snipped back, feeling entirely too giddy that he seemed to come alive once again. you thought he would reject the idea, a part of you hoped that he did– silly, right? but you were terrified of confrontation. confrontation that rebecca and alexandra could be right. 

“fancy?” he said, taking a step closer to you.

“did i stutter?” your tone was playful as you raised your brows. his tongue got caught on his teeth as he pursed his lips. 

“wanted to make sure i get to see you in a dress.” the comment slipped from his lips easily, suavely. you blushed again. he noticed, surely. it was a rare occurrence that you blushed, even rarer for him to be the reason. what was this feeling in his chest? pride? pride that he could be the one to make you bashful. he felt like a king, wanting to conquer the skirts of your heart. 

“maybe i’ll let you pick it out.” 

lando’s face couldn’t light up any further. what did he do to award such treatment? such…such…god, he was entirely enamored with you. there was not a moment that went by that he didn’t wish you were his. he wanted this to be the norm. whatever it was. was it a date? was he supposed to hold your hand, kiss you? god, god, god, if he got to kiss you…

“deal.”

you were back in the hotel in an instant. the clock read 6pm, and you told lando no later than 7:30. both of you were in the kitchen filling up your bottles of water, cracking jokes between each other. when you were refreshed and relaxed, you spoke. 

“still picking my dress?” you lead him to the door to your room, opening it for him. he followed behind you without a second thought. his eyes weary, glossy. like he was about to cry or something. 

you stood at the doorway to the room. it was a chaotic mess of clothes, ruined sheets, open bottles of water. if lando noticed the state, he didn’t say anything. thank god. 

but he did

lando was keen on noticing every detail of how you lived. your habits. it was the only way he could figure out how your mind worked– the spectacular thing that it was. he turned his head over his shoulder to you, gesturing towards the closet. you nodded. 

he opened the door to the closet, dresses hanging by the dozens. damn, the stylist really put her money’s worth, didn’t she? rather his money, but if it meant for you to look jaw-droppingly stunning, who was he to complain? 

the british driver ran his fingers through the numerous dresses before him. different combinations of cotton, silk, satin. they all felt different at his fingertips, yet you would always be sweet to him. but something else caught his attention–

a lace bodice piece, lingerie, that hung low from a hanger. he waited a beat. another. he pulled it with both his hands, showing you the hanger with a curious, raised brow. 

you flushed.

never in your life did you run as fast as you just had. you tried to snatch the hanger from him, but he held it high above your head. he was laughing. 

“lando!” you screeched, trying to climb up his body to reach it. it only incited a more intense laugh from him. he hummed.

“what’s this for, then? hmm?” 

“i–” you stuttered, not really being able to know what to say. “she gave it to me!” the stylist.

his laugh quieted. “did she?”

“yes! if, you know, i dunno–” you rubbed your arms together anxiously. “if i ever met a guy. or something. it was stupid!”

you tried to get it back from him. he didn’t relent. you stomped your foot. 

“lan, please…” you whispered, looking up at him with his unreadable stare. lando was always the type to know how he felt through his eyes, but now…you didn’t know what you were looking at. 

“did you?”

“did i what?” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“meet a guy?” 

you looked away, embarrassed. “no. not like i was trying, though.”

he relaxed, noticeably. 

keeping all these guys away from you…

“it was just a fun idea. now will you pick something? else i’ll change my mind.” you threaten him. he hung the lingerie piece back up, surrendering instantly. 

you headed to the on-suite bathroom, starting to get ready for your night out. though his tone echoed in your mind– “did you?” – he sounded…deflated. bested, by some indomitable force. you had a growing epiphany that the ferrari girls were right, and you were just too damn scared to admit that such a beautiful man could be interested in you of all people. 

lando knocked on the door frame, watching as you finished up your look. you glanced at him through the mirror, then turning to see the dress he held. it was a long, black dress with lace flowers embroidered into it. it even had sleeves, lace ones, that could keep you warm with the miami breeze. it got rather chilly when the sun went down. 

his choice was rather impressive. dare you say that you liked it. you grabbed the fabric piece from him, taking it off the hanger and leaving it on the counter. it was beautiful– must’ve cost a fucking fortune– breathtaking, though. 

did you even deserve to wear something so elegant? 

“gimme a sec,”  you said, shooing him out of the bathroom before you changed. the dress slipped on with ease, much to your shock. but its downside–the zipper. you tried for about three seconds to get it up in the back, but you gave up.

you opened the door. 

“lan?” you called for him, voice whimpering for his attention. he shifted from your bed, scrolling on his phone. he looked up immediately, eyes widening at the site before him. you were absolutely breathtaking. his hands twitched, desperate to touch you. 

and you weren’t opposed, you thought, given your insolence towards any patience you had for the zipper. ‘test the waters,’ is what alexandra had said to you when you asked her for advice. ‘see how he reacts.’ rebecca followed up. 

testing the waters

that’s what you were doing

you turned your back to him, shimmying out of the bathroom. “zip me?”

“yeah. yeah of course.” he launched to his feet. the dress was so low down the curve of your back. he wanted to trace your spine with his fingers. he was gentle with his touch, warm to the skin. you absentmindedly leaned into him, back arching. 

he zipped the piece with ease, letting his fingers trace the back of your neck. you shivered, goosebumps crawling up your shoulders. he felt them, quickly glancing at the side of your face to gauge your reaction. was he going crazy? your body was so receptive to him. it was addictive. 

you pulled away. his hands felt empty, your back felt cold. 

“thanks,” you smiled bashfully, unable to look him in the eyes. so fucking cute, he thought. “go get dressed, will you? i’m getting hungry.” 

lando bolted from the room, and you managed a short laugh to yourself. while you were alone, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. you still felt entirely undeserving of such a gown. 

you slipped on your shining black heels and had to adjust to their feeling. you were never good at walking in them, but this tour was a playground for you to learn how. you wanted to learn. you felt badass walking around like you had pointy claws. 

in your hands was a matching leather clutch, simple and handheld. you waited patiently for lando, though it took him barely no time at all to look so put together. 

you heard the clink of his loafers before he made himself known. turning around, you got a good look at the man you’ve gotten to know over these past few months. 

it was chilling the way your body electrified. heat pooled in your lower belly, tingling with lust. he was dressed in a black dress shirt, few buttons undone revealing his chains, with a black jacket and taupe pants. his loafers were black with a silver buckle at the center of each shoe. 

he was fiddling with the cufflinks at his jacket when he noticed you gawking at the shape of his abdomen, to his exposed neck. he didn’t want to say a word, afraid that it’d break your moment of admiration. that you would never look at him in such a…virtuous manner. 

but he could never control his tongue. 

“my eyes are up here, darling.” you snapped your head up, blushing. you crossed your legs over each other, leaning against the kitchen isle. 

darling

you were caught red handed. there’s no point in pretending. your blood burned hot in your veins, the petname coming as second nature from his lips. you wanted to hear it again. 

“didn’t know you cleaned up so well.” you pushed off of the isle with ease, waiting for him to join your side. “used to all the sweat and pajamas.” 

he tsked at you, sheepish at your witty remarks. he hoped that no matter what it would always be like this; you and him, full of banter and fun. 

“and you look…agreeable.” his smile was bright, mischievous. you pushed his arm away as he came to rest his hand on your lower back. “kidding!” 

he lowered his voice and connected your eyes with his. “you’re breathtaking.”

and for the first time, you believed him.

────────────

the restaurant he chose was more than you could imagine. with high ceilings, a valet, lights in the shape of mystical orbs strung together on the walls. the floors were made of marble, the tiling on the sidings were matte black. 

but lando didn’t give a fuck about the decorations. he was staring at you. you in your beautiful dress, carrying yourself so elegantly. you were born to fit into this life, whether or not you believe you deserve it. he would do anything to prove that you did. that you were worthy of every dime he spent. 

“right this way, madam.” the waiter ushered you, but you didn’t move until you held out your hand for lando to grab. you’ve never asked him to sober. 

he didn’t hesitate, never did, and latched onto your hand with a warming grip. you tugged him along through the restaurant while he kept getting distracted from you and how you walked so well in those high heeled shoes. he remembers a time when you couldn’t. and look at you now.

the waiter seated you at your two person table. lando pulled out the chair for you. you smiled appreciatively. 

“aren’t you the gentleman.” you acknowledged his kindness, his face brightening as he seated himself with ease. he pulled into the table, leaning over it. you did the same, eager to meet his face with a bashful smile and your hands rubbing together. 

lando looked nervous, but most of all happy. he is happy. to be sitting here with you, in your presence, and most of all, you wanted to be here with him. he didn’t miss how you leaned towards him, your legs crossing over one another as the point of one of your heels grazed his knee. 

“so tell me,” he picked up his water glass, taking a sip. you watched the way his adam’s apple bobbed, the water running through him. you gulped. “why dinner?”

your hand touched the back of your neck. “‘m not allowed to want to spend time with you?”

“didn’t say that, did i?” he placed the glass down. “all this, i mean–” he gestured to your dress, his shirt, the restaurant. “you tryin’ to tell me something, darling?”

one of your fingers ran over your lip. darling. god, it sounded so good coming from him. it put you in such a state of heaven, feeling entirely weightless in his presence. you were staring at him speechless, before you heard a clatter of glass behind you. you were ripped from the safety of your trance. 

“maybe,” you muttered, looking away for him briefly before attempting to switch the topic. “anyways-”

“what was that?” he said languidly, the softness of his tone unrecognizable. his eyes were blown wide, taking in every subtle movement that you made. you felt like you were under a microscope being analyzed by his prerogative. you felt stripped bare– but that wasn’t such a bad thing, was it? no. no it wasn’t. the thought had you blushing. what weren’t you blushing about today?

“the race,” you continued on, disregarding his questioning. “are you nervous?”

he leaned back in his chair in defeat. fine, if she wanted to play it that way. he knew exactly what you said. but he wanted to hear it again. he will hear it again if it is the last thing he ever hears. you said “maybe” and didn’t brush him off with a scoff. his advances towards you had always been playful and light, but you never indulged him so…earnestly. he was caught off guard. in fact, he’s been caught off guard…a lot these past few days. something has shifted–

but what?

“am i supposed to be?” he wondered. you never really asked him those kinds of things. he always had your full reassurance. 

“no. it’ll be just like any other, won’t it?” you felt like you were talking out of your fucking ass. you, all of a sudden, didn’t know how to talk to your best friend. it was gibberish, dry, god, how the fuck did he put up with you beforehand? 

you began fidgeting with your fingers. his eyes latched on the movement. 

“are you nervous?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to look at him. you didn’t know he leaned in again until you felt his knees bump with yours. you jumped, but sunk into his light touch. 

“i dunno– no? no, why would i be nervous?” you continued fidgeting. “it’s just…it’s all so dangerous, isn’t it? i’ve done the math before. at your speed if–”

“hey.” he cut you off, grabbing both your hands. “hey.” he breathed, looking at you with his widened, sparkling green eyes. your hands were sweaty against his, a byproduct of your anxiety, but he didn’t seem to care when he brought them to his lips, gracing you with a sweet kiss on the top of your palms. 

your breath hitched in your throat. 

“didn’t know that you worried about me so much.” he gave you a light laugh, his eyes crinkling with a smile. he bit his lip. 

“what? of course i do,” you looked at him in disbelief, your hands still held in his. “i mean– why wouldn’t i? we’re friends, aren’t we?”

‘aren’t we?’ was branded into lando’s heart. he swallowed, pulling back and letting your hands fall to the table. “‘course we are.”

“you are both such a beautiful couple.” your waiter approached. you bristled, glanced quickly to lando, and an idea bloomed in your head. test the waters, the girls said. “what can i get for you lovebirds?”

lando sat up straight to correct him, but you stopped him. “you are too kind,” polite smile was gracing as you ran your fingers over the menu. “what are the specials?”

lando’s jaw dropped. he shut it before the flies flew in, but he wouldn’t forget this. no amount of alcohol or fantasies could recreate that feeling. this feeling. you glanced at him while you were ordering, puckering your lips. 

god, he wanted to kiss you. Ruin you. make you his.

dinner went smoothly despite a perpetuous tension lingering over the pair of you. you’ve never fiddled so much before with anything; your dress, napkin, glass. but you were still there with him, and he always knew the perfect way to make you laugh. you wanted to kiss him that night, beneath the glimmer of the moon, but you couldn’t do it. you couldn’t muster the courage to break the barrier. 

but you would, in time.

on your way out of the restaurant you were keen on grabbing his hand first. you felt him tense and he covered his mouth with his free hand, surely hiding a cheeky smile. 

the cameras were flashing when you came down the steps. you’d be trending on every social media platform, especially with how bright your smile was, and how tightly you gripped his hand. 

────────────

race mornings were always chaotic. but you somehow managed to make it to the track at the end of the f2 race with lando at your side. In the mclaren hospitality room, you straightened his collar of the fireguard, taking a deep inhale of his subtle cologne and natural scent. you felt dizzy, struck by the desire to run your hands over his chest. 

your touch lingered longer than it normally did. he noticed. what didn’t he notice?

especially after your stunt last night. he didn’t get a wink of sleep. he was up all night staring at his phone, watching the pictures light up his feed. he wasn’t embarrassed, shocked, nor ashamed. the british driver was entirely elated. with your graceful composure, assuredness in holding him at your side. 

he scrolled through the comments, too, but there was not one negative thing he could find. spare a few comments that he had to bite his tongue on responding to, you were gaining an overwhelming amount of support from his fans.

your fans.

there were accounts made in your honor. outfit accounts, update accounts, people with your face as their profile picture. he scrolled through every one of them. he was maddeningly obsessed. 

but what changed? why were you acting this way? not that he was upset by this change…but your inability to tell him…tell him what was going on frightened him. he felt anxious. 

“what’s going on with you?” he brought his face closer to yours, lowering his voice so no one else could hear the both of you. 

“nothing. it’s nothing.” your tone was hastened, weary. 

“it doesn’t sound like–” 

“we’re ready for you, lando.” his engineer interrupted the two of you with a polite smile. 

the british driver sighed. 

you placed your hands on his chest. “i’m fine.” though it did little to soothe his woes. 

he looked at you weary eyed, brows turnt upward with concern. he didn’t believe you. 

“i just…” your hand trailed up his neck, thumb caressing his bottom lip. he stayed perfectly still beneath your fingertips. “really want you to win.” 

you placed a soft kiss on his opposite cheek. 

“you got this, lan.” 

he kissed your thumb that was on his lips and said nothing else before he jumped into the mclaren.

────────────

you were on absolute edge the entire race. it was an uphill battle. you’ve never been seen so anxious with your headset on, tapping your feet anxiously against the concrete. arms crossed over your chest, it was down to the last few laps. lando had been hard running in first.

first. lando was in first. 

you could feel this in your blood. he was born for this.  

and when he crossed that fucking finish line, you’ve never felt so much joy in your entire life. 

he yipped and punched his fist in the air, his screams were pure music to your ears. 

his engineers came to pat you on the back, gauging your all too excited reaction. lily was at your side, too, jumping and giving you a hug. 

lando jumped from his parked car, ripping off his helmet and neck guard. he was on top of the fucking world when he jumped atop the crowd of mclaren workers, them holding him up with ease and chanting his name. 

you stood beside lily, hand covering your mouth to stifle your sobs. you couldn’t be more proud of him than in this moment. 

he caught your eye from above the crowd, watching the tears fall down your face. when he jumped off his celebratory pile, he ran over to you. 

you threw your arms around his neck, launching yourself against him. he caught you, he always would, and held you tight. he would never let you go. never. your tears wet the base of his neck.

“lando…” you said into his race suit that smelled of burnt rubber and sweat. you didn’t care. this was your lando. 

he pulled back, looking at you with concern. it was a characteristic look for him these past few days. 

but you wanted that to go away. 

you wanted nothing but his happiness. his joy. his passions. to see him on top of the world. but you wanted to be right there with him, side by side. 

your lips were on his before he blinked. he was taken back, surprised, and face dripping in sweat. your hands gripped around his muscular neck, tugging him to you. you wanted more. you wanted this. this over anything. him over anything. 

he returned your kiss when he was done pinching himself. your lips were entirely too sweet. luckily he had a sweet tooth. 

his hand cupped the back of your head, tilting you towards him for a better, deeper angle. you moaned into him as he sucked on your bottom lip, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. you were floating, floating in the world of lando norris. you never wished to return to the ground. 

but you did. the cheers around you got louder. you realized you would too if this kept up.

the new grand prix winner wasn’t finished, though, when his free hand gripped your hip. you stifled a giggle by smiling into his mouth, catching your breath. “lan,” you chuckled. 

“don’t tell me this is a dream.” he had tears swelling in his eyes, lips plump from your kiss. “i might just have to–”

you cupped his cheek. 

“real.” you assured him. “i’m real. this–” you brought his gloved hand to your heart. “is real.”

he bit his lip, though it did little to conceal his smile. 

“drink some champagne for me.”

he kissed you once more. a telltale we aren’t done. 

and you sure as hell weren’t. 

────────────

“don’t understand why we’re celebrating out there,” lando gestured to the door as you were putting your heels on in a hurry. “when we could be here.” he pulled you to him, your back flushed against his chest. you leaned into him, sighing. 

“because your friends want to celebrate,” you finished putting on your shoes. “me included.”

lando’s hand tightened around your waist. “you’re not my friend.”

your brows upturned when you spun around to face him. your expression was sickeningly innocent. “‘m not?” your hands landed on his chest, turning your head to the side with fluttering lashes. 

“absolute minx,” lando seethed with a hearty laugh, leaning in to kiss you. your noses brushed together, his lips coming to graze yours. but you smiled and pulled away from him before he could taste your lipstick. 

he made a move to pull you back to him by your elbow, but you gave him a look. “we’re going to your celebrations, lan. don’t care what you have t’say.”

he groaned, his head falling forward to your shoulder. your hands raked through his hair, down the back of his neck. he practically purred like a fucking kitten under your fingertips. 

“and as far as i know,” you kissed his temple. “we’re still friends. haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend, did you?” your hands curled in his hair, pulling him to meet your eye. he bit his lip, blushing!

“you’re blushing, baby!” you cooed, reaching to squeeze one of his cheeks. 

“can’t blame me,” he muttered, head darting back into the crook of your neck and leaving soft kisses down to your collarbones. “the most beautiful woman has her hands all over me…what am i supposed to do with m’self?” he chuckled and you felt his teeth against your sensitive skin. you sucked in a breath with a smile. 

“ask her,” you lowered your voice, whispering into him. “i’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“would she?” his head perked up, flushed and warm from your neck.

“in every universe, lan.”  your humorous tone turned serious. he gulped, adam’s apple bobbing when he felt the weight of your words. “you know that gravity is the only force that can travel through any dimension? any time, any place, it will be found.”

he was listening to you intensely, voice cracking as he spoke. “i would find you.” 

your eyes widened at him. 

“through any black hole, space phenomena, wormhole,” his breath fanned your cheeks. “i’ll always find you.”

you leaned in to kiss him. he met you halfway, swallowing your mouth with his. you let him push you up against the counter, your hand gripping the ledge so you didn’t tumble over. you opened your mouth and his tongue slipped in without hesitating. he explored the corners of your mouth, the shapes of your teeth, your own tongue. 

your moan was deep from your chest when you felt his hand start to slip up your thigh. his pinky scathing the fabric of your thin underwear. you gasped when he ran trailed over your cunt, already wet and swollen under his touch.

"all for me, baby?" he chuckled into your neck, soothing your cunt of its tumultuous ache.

you nodded, but that wasn't enough.

"words. need words."

"fuck. yes, lan, all for you." you moaned when he flexed a finger inside of you, the sweet burn was tender to your growing coil in your belly. but things just can't go smoothly, can they?

you were brought back to earth when your phone began to ring. fuck. 

you tried pushing lando off of you, but he grumbled against your lips. you smiled, but detached from him. “lan,” he shook his head, refusing to let you go. “lan, it’s probably everyone wondering where you are.”

“don’t care.”

“you should.” 

“don’t.” his mind didn’t change, finger still exploring you before you shook him off.

you kissed the tip of his nose. “we won’t stay for long, okay? besides…”

there was a sheepish look on your face. “i have a boyfriend to show off.” 

lando didn’t need to be told twice to get you swept off your feet and into his car. 

────────────

the entire drive there his hand was on your thigh, so high that he traced the lining of your black laced underwear with his pinky. you gripped his wrist tightly, but said nothing the entire ride there. 

when you pulled up, a valet man opened the door for you. you stepped out and were met with ten times the amount of flashing cameras that you were used to. you got this. with a straight posture and elegant– as elegant as you could muster– composure, you waited for lando to meet at your side. 

you weren’t disappointed when you felt his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowds. shouts were sent your way, his way; “lando! lando! is this your girlfriend? are you dating? what’s her name?”

he made sure to answer only one question with your nod of approval before he climbed the steps to the nightclub. 

“lando! is this your girlfriend?”

“yes,” he said with his charming nature, turning back to look at you, starstruck by your beauty. you smiled back at him, hand caressing his chest. the cameras went wild at your natural pose with each other. 

inside the club was much better. with a restricted guest list of close friends and family, you were at ease. when you entered you were met with all three of your closest girlfriends. lily, rebecca, and alexandra. they squealed when they saw you, sprinting in your direction leaving their boyfriends in distress by their absence. 

“congratulations, lando!” lily said upon her arrival first, then glancing to you. “and an even more congratulations is in order? are you fucking kidding me!” she said with utter glee. you leaned further into lando’s side if that was possible. he relaxed at your touch, hand loose at your hip. 

“i knew it.” rebecca said with certainty. 

“she really did,” alexandra confirmed. 

you rolled your eyes at the pair of them. 

“i’ll get us drinks, baby.” lando whispered into your ear, his nose jutting against your hair. he gave you a kiss to your head and departed from your side, meeting up with the guys, too. 

“tell us everything!” alexandra jumped up and down. 

“there’s not much to tell.” you shrugged, hands thrown up in defense. “i just thought about what you said. you were right. i was so, so blind.” wasted time was a fear of yours.

“we’re proud of you anyways. have you seen all the paparazzi for you?” rebecca opened her phone, scrolling endlessly through her timeline. “i fucking hate you. you look perfect in every one of them.” 

“oh please,” you brushed her off. “have you looked in a mirror, becca?” 

it was a stellar night. you found yourself on the dance floor shortly after with your favorite drink in your hand, per lando’s stellar memory of your order. 

without another moment longer, your hips were moving over lando’s on the dance floor, his hands loose on your hips as he ran them up and down your body. you decided you weren’t going to have more than one drink tonight, preferring to remember every moment of this celebration.

the song was a bumping rap tune, easy to follow along with your suave moves. “suave,” you were just letting loose against your now boyfriend. the word was still foreign to you, but you felt increasingly giddy at the mention. 

lando, though? he was a changed man. not only did your kiss bring him ultimate luck before his race, he now has you at his side. he’ll do anything to keep you there. fuck, how did he get so lucky? he had a feeling something was going on, but never would he think it would be your lips on his after his race. he can still taste your tears.

you cried for him the entire time he was up on that podium, absolutely relishing in the national anthem played in his honor. and he could only keep his eyes on you. your glittering, magnificent eyes that sparkled beneath the miami sun. they sparkled for him, only him, on this marvelous day. 

and he would let everyone know that you shined for him. that you were his. while he may have won his first race, you were better than any trophy he could ever get. 

eventually, everyone raised their glasses for lando and cheer’s to his victory. you held your glass high, downing the entire thing. he did the same, only keeping to a few so he could see you as clear as day. he felt the same way…he never wanted to forget a moment with you. 

you faced him now, body still swaying to the music. with your chest brushing against his, you felt a growing heat over your neck. as the night went on, the sweatier lando became. the more his tanned skin glowed beneath the hue of the lights. the more his cologne pumped through your nose. it was impossible to not be intoxicated by him, drunk on his affection. 

with your hands gripping his neck, you looked up to him through your hooded eyes, a look that he wished he could take a fucking picture of. 

“what?” he said into your ear. 

you only shifted closer into him if that was possible. 

“need me, baby?” he chuckled low and wicked. you shifted on your feet, tightening your legs together. you almost did before lando stuck his leg out, having you tightened around him.

you nodded rapidly into his neck, clutching the fabric of his shirt. it was an appropriate time to leave, too, given that many have already bid their goodbyes. lando was only sticking around for you, after all. “please,” you whimpered into his ear, mouth wetting the skin beneath his chin. 

“fuck.” he cursed, maneuvering your body towards the exit with ease. his hands felt so good around you. you wanted them everywhere all the time. 

you bid your farewells to your friends with haste, feeling a slight guilt for leaving so…suddenly.

but lando didn’t. 

the drive back to the hotel took no time at all, lando blowing through every fucking stop sign and light that came in his direction. his hand was firm on your thigh this time, white knuckling the steering wheel. you stared at him, his side profile. he was too irresistible like this–needy, urgent– so you leaned over to kiss the side of his face, down his neck with sensual, puckering kisses.

he leaned his head back, giving you access to his thick neck. you had no idea how he kept focus on the road, but you had full faith in him to get back unscathed. 

“i know, baby,” he sighed, low and deep. “almost there.”

pulling into the valet, you opened the door yourself. lando threw the keys up in the air to the doorman and proceeded to rush you through the lobby. you couldn’t contain your giggles when he kept pressing the elevator button over and over. 

“that doesn’t make it any faster, you know.” you commented, your own foot tapping against the cool marble of the ground. 

“i’ll show you fast, baby, watch your mouth.” chills ran up your spine. your legs clenched together again and you couldn’t meet his eye. 

bastard. 

when the elevator opened, you shuffled inside and he had you against the wall before you could catch your breath. his lips attacked yours, moving down to your jawline, peppering your neck with slower, intense kisses. you moaned, biting your lip to conceal the sound the best you could. 

he moved to your chest, your collarbones being the first to be victim of his biting kiss. he would bruise the skin atop your breasts, marks for only him to gawk at. it looks like you won’t be getting any miami sun any time soon. or ever if his swirling tuck keeps suckling against your skin. 

“fuck, lan.” you whimpered, looking down at him below you, hands cupping his neck in place. he would happily be imprisoned by you like this. he would never go hungry. 

he groaned at your breathless response, adhering heavily to his actions as he didn’t miss an inch of your skin with his sloppy kisses. you pulled at the curly hair of his scalp that had his eyes rolling back into his head. you watched the delectable sight, your panties becoming increasingly damp as the seconds rolled by. 

the doors to your floor opened. lando didn’t move for a moment. you pulled his head back from his devouring of your skin. “you’re fucking me in your bed or not at all.” 

“you’re the death of me, darling.”

you were swept across the floors of your hotel, lando fumbling with the key to the room anxiously. you kissed up his neck in anticipation until the door clicked open and you were practically tossed inside. he slammed the door shut, throwing the “do not disturb” sign on the handle. not a soul would bust in on the two of you. 

you were ripping off your heels and throwing them across the floor before you were latched onto him again. but it didn’t last long until you wanted more. you weren’t going to fuck him in this kitchen, either. you were going to do it right, despite your hazy mind and actions. 

lando chased after you like a mad man. you squealed running through the hotel room on your tip toes until you burst open the door to his place. the bed sheets were ruffled, clothes on the floor, and it smelled like him. you bit back a moan at the sight, lando’s chest meet your back.

his lips were back on your neck, your shoulders. he tore through the fabric of your dress, undoing the zipper with methodical fingers. the gown fell to the floor, leaving your chest bare and your panties thin and otherworldly. 

you were ethereal. 

there wasn’t an ounce of shame inside of you when you spun around to face him. his hands were running up and down your bare skin, feeling how soft you were. a cuss fell verbosely from his lips, like honey. 

you backed away from him with an enticing look, swaying your hips before you fell backward on his bed, hands threading over your head. a palm came down to trace down your sternum, your lower belly, the hem of your dampened panties. 

lando watched you through his darkened eyes, almost black with desire. black holes. they sucked up the light around them, absorbing it without second thought. you wanted nothing more than to be absorbed by him. wholly. 

he stalked towards you like a hunter, back straight with his lip caught between his teeth. he wanted to ravage you right here– tear the underwear from your hips, fuck you into another dimension, but he would resist. all he wanted was to savor this moment, this vision, of you laying out before him, bare and vulnerable. all for him. you trusted him with your intimacy, your touches. he’d do nothing more to keep you like this. 

the british driver stood over you, your legs coming to squeeze together until his knee shoved its way through. your thighs dangled over the edge of the bed, burning with the scorching heat of your core. 

one of his fingers came down to run over your chest, your nipples, your abdomen. you squirmed at his teasing touch, feeling everything and absolutely nothing at once. you mewled deep within your throat, begging for more. 

he stopped at the band of your underwear, latching the same finger beneath it and drawing his hand back. the fabric peeled away with ease, your cunt glistening at his will. he noticed, of course, nostrils flaring with a tense angst of lust. no woman had looked as beautifully sinful as you have. you were a blessing and a curse– the most angelic devil he’s ever met. 

“beautiful,” he cooed, trailing two fingers over the crease of your thighs, over the lips of your pussy. you whined again, shifting your hips to get him to touch you where you needed him. badly. he tsked, at your impatience. 

it took him all of a second to launch atop of you, his turn to cage you in with his toned arms. you watched as his veins pulsed, blood running viciously hot through his body. it had you glancing down at the outline of his cock through his pants, the indent firm and mesmerizing. 

you salivated, a string of drool leaking from your mouth. he wiped it away with his thumb and a chuckle, looking at you from his elevated position above you. “soon, sweet girl.”

that was enough for you right now. his lips attached to your chest once more, spots already swollen and bruising with his previous attack. he moved to your breasts, cupping them in his palms, kneading the flesh. it felt heavenly to be beneath him like this– you never thought you could be so vulnerable with a man like this before. 

the british driver’s mouth moved to your opposing nipple, latching onto it with his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud. you whined, mouth opening for a loud gasp at the curdling sensation. you felt that feeling in your lower belly, a white hot coil that was desperate to snap. 

you were so soft beneath his touch. he could mold you, bruise you for his own gawking at a later date. and you wanted him to. you were his and he was yours. nothing could change that now. 

he moved to the other breast, not daring to neglect any part of you. it was euphoric how delectable this was. you’ve never been touched so intimately. no one has cared this much about your pleasure. but to lando, it was everything. 

his gospel was on your pleasures. 

“lan, lan please,” you whimpered, squirming beneath him when he wasn’t between your thighs yet. “need you so bad.” 

“i know baby,” he said into the skin of your belly. you felt his smirk. he kept trailing down and down. “so pretty,” he sighed, coming face to face with your folds, swollen and beating for his touch. 

 you clenched around nothing, and the desperation has never been so poignant. 

and then his tongue was on you, spreading you wide. you gasped, so responsive to his touch, and grappled onto the curly strands of his hair. he was deliberate with his touches, fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs. his tongue drilled into you, curling upward that had you biting back your moans. despite your efforts, it was a failure. you were slack jawed and squirming beneath him. his grip tightened around your thighs in response, surely bruising the skin. 

he tongued every corner of your pussy, swiping over your clit once that had you jolting upward. he memorized the spot, stimulating you to the point where the coil began to itch to snap. 

there was no hope for you when he was getting impatient and added a finger to rub circles on your clit, his tongue continuing to thrust in and out of you. pleasure would build and build, rising to an ultimate bliss when he found that sparkler inside of you. 

at the angle he caressed with his tongue, you bucked your hips into him further. you felt him chuckle into you, his throat vibrating with such a cocky sound. he found a spot that made you fucking tick and you were entirely at his disposal. 

he abused the motion of his fingers, the assault of his tongue. you felt entirely undone by him, progressively getting tighter and tighter at his motions. “come on, baby…” he spoke into you. you couldn’t help the uncontrollable arch of your back. “you’ll be a good girl and come for me, won’t you?”

yes, yes! your mind shouted, fingers hanging onto his hair for dear life. you moaned, soaking further with his words of encouragement, eyes rolling back into your head. ‘course you needed him to talk you through it. how silly of lando with such an oversight. “so good, lan…”

“i’ve got you,” he uttered. “fuck baby, so pretty f’me. come on now,” and you needed nothing more than his sweet praise brushing past your ears to have the coil inside of you snap. 

you saw stars as you came on his tongue, sweet nectar filling his mouth with a gulp. he kissed every part of you, cleaning you with his tongue. you watched, weary eyed, amazed by how hot the action was. your pussy clenched. he felt it. glancing up at you from his position on his knees. 

“taste so good, sweet girl.” he cleaned up the excess from your plump folds with two fingers, bringing them towards your mouth. 

you opened your mouth on cue, his eyes widening with awe. you were fucking perfect. lips latching onto his plush fingers, you sucked them clean amply. you’ve never done such an act before, but it felt…natural. his dick was painfully hard in his pants, almost cumming at the sight of your lust filled eyes.

“my perfect girl…” 

you whined, sitting up on your elbows and clenching your hand to etch him closer. he listened on command, climbing to you. it was his shirt, pants, socks, shoes, everything that was on him that bothered you. 

fingers coming to yank at the hem of his shirt, he swiftly understood your nonverbal wishes. he tore his shirt over his head, throwing it to the corner of the room, and you fiddled with the belt of his jeans. your fingers worked fast and anxiously, throwing the damn belt across the room with a slap. he gripped your chin with a laugh as he loomed above you. 

“want you,” you demanded of him in your sweet, cracked voice. he wouldn’t make you beg this time, pulling his garments down with a swift motion. his cock sprung free and up towards the skin of his lower stomach. you flushed. precum was seeping from his tip, dripping onto your thighs. fuck, you whimpered under your breath. 

he didn’t settle for a grace period to settle from your orgasm. he wasn’t nearly finished with you. his hand came to cup the side of your face, your lips finding the skin of his palm. wet kisses covered the surface. he groaned. “you got me baby. relax for me, yeah?” 

you nodded eagerly, unable to speak as you wiggled your hips from side to side. he bent over and continued to kiss gingerly down your neck, his tip teasing your swollen cunt. you gasped into him, pulling him close to you. he grumbled, finding this angle inadequate. soon enough your legs were over his shoulders with one swift movement. 

lando dipped down for a kiss, his lips hot and feral against your own. soon enough, you felt him clamor inside of you. the stretch was invigorating, your entire body springing to life with his beating cock. “oh my god,” your head flew back into the sheets sinking inward as he felt too heavenly to be real.

“that’s it baby,” your cunt tightened around him with those sweet words. as he progressed further, you felt yourself fall further and further into pure bliss. you’d find no such place elsewhere, only in the comfort of his arms. you knew that to be certain. “taking me so well…”

you sucked in a breath, letting out a hoarse moan when he bottomed out inside of you, walls clenching entirely too tight and he thought he’d cum right then and there. but he withheld the best he could, promising to never cum before you did. he needed to see your face when you’d finish on his cock. 

“fuck…move, move lan, need you.” you whined, adjusting extremely well to his size. he didn’t even need to prod you to beg for him, you were already a willing candidate. he always knew you would. your sweet eyes, droopy and dolled up for him at the races. he’d imagined these scene over and over in his head, and never once did it disappoint when he’d fist his cock. now you were here, and your cunt was even more heavenly than he imagined. 

“anything, baby.” his pace was even and controlled, but you could see that he was tense. through your bedroom eyes, you could feel the tension through his cock. you appreciate the sentiment of taking it slow, but you knew how he was. 

he liked to be fast. 

“more,” you moaned, his head shooting up to look at you with surprise. you cupped his cheeks, flushed face begging him. “fuck me, lan. need you so fucking bad, please, please–”

he would burn the fucking world for you. you didn’t know it at that moment, but he had never been so in love with you than he has been before. he adhered to your wishes, losing the tension in his shoulders as he began a rough pace against your cunt. 

it was his only goal to make sure you felt him in every part of your body. he stretched every corner of your walls, squeezing him at every increasing thrust. he explored you fully and promised to know every inch of you. 

“taking me so well,” he grunted out, hips flexing in and out of you with an egregious pace. it was to your ultimate liking to get fucked so well by him. 

“lan…” you drawed out in a moan, lost in the stars of his throttling pace. “you’re so good. so fucking–” your own pleasure cut you off, squealing when he shifted only slightly and had your core clenching him tight. 

he let out a greedy snicker, knowing he found a spot that made you unbelievably tick. it was his to find, and his to use. you would know no better pleasure than what he awarded you. 

“oh fuck–!” you yelped as your release continued to build, the tip of the iceberg in reach. lando felt it, too, with his own stomach tightening and desperate to cum inside of you. you were a trigger for all his desires, and it would be sent off with a singular please that could leave your lips. the power you held over him and didn’t even know it…

“always gonna make you feel good, baby.” he promised you, dipping his abdomen over yours for a deeper, tighter angle. you whimpered, unable to speak. he would do it for you as he kissed over your cheeks, your jawline. 

his hand came to the column of your throat. your eyes flared with an undeniable attention and intrigue. you clenched around him, and he hadn’t even applied pressure. “always.” and you fucking believed him when his fingers swiped at the sides, applying the slightest pressure of his fingers to your airway. you fell lax against the sheets, trusting him with every part of your body. no one else would feel this way for him. no one except you. 

your eyes swelled with hot tears, breaking when he was firmer with his grasp, even with his hard cock beaming in and out of you. 

he lavished at the sight. he never knew he was so hungry up until now, starving for your affection, your pleasures. how perfect you were could never be summarized in words alone. 

“i love you,” you sputtered out, breathless and flushed hot. lando’s pace didn’t falter, but his grip around your neck loosened. 

“say it again,” he demanded, face pushing up into the crevice of your neck.

“love you so much, lando,” it was a promise you made to him. to yourself. he swore against your neck, his breath hot and humid against your skin. 

“come for me. come on, my love.” his words were only encouraging you towards and ultimate release, your tears hot against your cheeks. “i’ve got you, i’ve got you baby. so good for me, aren’t you?”

“yes, yes!” you whimpered, coil of lust for the british driver snapping a second time, harder, bringing an entire galaxy into your vision. you traveled through time and with lando, you found yourself grounded together in every universe. this was home. 

your cunt tightened, causing his pace to get sloppy, his own release parallel to yours. you milked him dry, panting and chests heaving together. 

he fell on top of you, his full weight comforting against your wet skin. he didn’t pull out yet, too exhausted to find the effort. 

“did you mean it?” i love you.

“yes.”

lando became shy as he found himself brushing your nose with his. “i love you, too. have for a long time.” 

a long time

“i will love you in every life time,” you said, earning you the brightest smile that the driver could muster. a lifetime. 

“a lifetime…” he repeated, in a daze. “love you so much…” he said your name into your cheek, giving you a plump kiss. “infinite lifetimes would never be enough.” 

you peppered his face with kisses. this was your gravity. the force that kept you grounded throughout time. if you ever got lost in the cosmic reaches, you would be able to find him. find home. find the beacon of light that he provided. 

you were safe here, and so was he. and does gravity know no bounds between objects. you would be attached to one another for the rest of your living days, and even further throughout the cosmos. and that was enough for you, for now. 

────────────

weeps;;

i am also open for requests <3

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ʙ ᴀ ᴛ ᴍ ᴀ ɴ ⸻

Pairing: Adult Damian Wayne x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Damian doesn’t fall in love; he descends into it with the same calculated intensity he approaches a fight. It begins innocuously—a mission gone awry, your paths crossing in Gotham’s shadowed streets. You’re a private investigator, clever enough to evade trouble yet stubborn enough to find it anyway. The first time he saves you, it isn’t out of compassion. It’s practicality. You’re in his way, a civilian caught in the web of crime and darkness that Gotham weaves around its inhabitants.

But something about you clings to him after that night. Maybe it’s the way your eyes, so defiant, didn’t flinch when he loomed over you in the Bat suit. Maybe it’s the sharpness of your tongue when you told him you didn’t need his help. For Damian, who grew up in shadows and blood, your fire is intoxicating. You aren’t a mission or a tool; you’re a puzzle, one that he can’t put down.

Damian begins to watch you. Not out of lust—not at first—but out of necessity, he tells himself. You’re reckless, and Gotham devours the reckless. He starts with the basics: tracking your movements, hacking into your phone, listening to your calls. He justifies it as protection. It’s his duty to keep you safe. After all, you wouldn’t last a week in Gotham without his silent interventions.

But it doesn’t stop there. He learns your habits—the café you frequent, the books you read, the way you twist your hair when you’re lost in thought. He doesn’t realize when protection turns into possession. All he knows is that the idea of you existing outside his control fills him with unease.

For Damian, love isn’t soft or tender. It’s consuming, an ache that claws at his chest. He’s never been good at moderation. Raised by the League of Assassins and tempered by the Bat, he only knows how to want completely or not at all. And he wants you.

It starts small—fleeting glimpses of a shadow that seems too deliberate, too familiar. You convince yourself it’s paranoia. Gotham does that to people. But then there are the gifts. A book you mentioned in passing appears on your doorstep. A necklace you admired once in a shop window finds its way into your apartment.

He tailors his interactions with you, ensuring he always appears just when you need him most. It’s a slow burn, one he orchestrates with the precision of a symphony.

But in the quiet moments, his thoughts spiral. He imagines you—laid out beneath him, vulnerable and bare, trembling as he whispers that you belong to him. He dreams of your gasps, your pleas, your moans as he claims you in ways no one else ever could. And these fantasies? They become impossible to ignore.

It’s why he starts leaving little reminders of himself in your life. His scent lingers on the gifts he leaves, his hands brushing against yours just a moment too long during your brief encounters. He needs you to feel him, even when he isn’t there.

And then there are the rescues. Every time you’re in danger, Batman is there. Too quickly, too conveniently. You’re not sure whether to feel grateful or unnerved. The way he looks at you, even through the cowl, sends shivers down your spine. His gaze lingers a moment too long, his touch steadying you when you falter but holding on just a bit too tightly.

Damian doesn’t believe in limits—not when it comes to you. When a petty criminal threatens your life, he snaps. The Bat code—his father’s code—is forgotten. He breaks the man’s arm without hesitation, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. He would’ve done more if you hadn’t screamed his name.

That’s when you realize something is deeply wrong. Batman isn’t supposed to lose control. But Damian doesn’t care. He tells you it was necessary, that Gotham doesn’t follow rules, and neither can he when it comes to you. His voice is calm, but his eyes burn with something you can’t name.

One night, you find yourself in danger again—a gang cornering you in a dark alley. By now, you expect him to come, and he does. He’s a shadow in the night, a whirlwind of brutal efficiency. But this time, when the last thug is down, he doesn’t leave. Instead, he steps toward you, towering over you in his suit, his green eyes glowing behind the mask.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

You snap back, angry at his audacity. “I can take care of myself!”

He’s on you in an instant, his gloved hand gripping your arm—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to show you he’s in control. “No, you can’t,” he snarls. “You’re reckless. Foolish. You don’t understand how fragile you are.”

The tension crackles like a live wire. He’s close—too close. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his gaze burning into yours. And then it happens: his lips crash against yours, rough and possessive, stealing the breath from your lungs.

It’s not a kiss born of tenderness but of desperation, of need. His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him as he devours you like a man starved. When he pulls back, his eyes are wild, his voice trembling with barely restrained desire.

“You drive me insane,” he admits, his words raw and honest. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

After that night, Damian’s control unravels. He stops holding back, his obsession consuming him entirely. He starts appearing at your apartment unannounced, stepping out of the shadows like he belongs there. And in his mind, he does.

His touches grow bolder. A hand on your lower back as he guides you through a crowd, fingers brushing against your thigh as you sit together. He delights in the way you shiver under his touch, even if you won’t admit how much you like it.

But it’s not enough. He wants all of you—your body, your mind, your heart. He begins orchestrating moments where you’ll need him: sabotaging your car so he can give you a ride, pulling strings to ensure no one else can get close to you. He wants you dependent on him, tethered to him in every possible way.

And when he finally has you—when you’re beneath him, his name a broken whisper on your lips—he feels whole for the first time in his life. He takes his time, mapping every inch of your body, leaving bruises and bites as proof of his claim. His voice is dark and velvety as he whispers in your ear, “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

He begins isolating you, subtly at first. Friends cancel plans, your phone malfunctions, and job opportunities slip through your fingers. He doesn’t trust anyone else with you—not Gotham, not its people, and certainly not your own judgment.

When you confront him, his response is chilling in its sincerity.

“Everything I’ve done is to protect you,” he says. “You think you’re safe on your own? Gotham doesn’t care about you. But I do. I always will.”

You try to leave, but Damian is always a step ahead. He knows your every move, every thought before you act on it. He doesn’t hurt you—not physically. His control is far more insidious. He makes you doubt yourself, your reality.

Eventually, you stop fighting. It’s easier that way. Damian doesn’t celebrate your surrender, but you see the satisfaction in the way his shoulders relax, the ghost of a smile on his lips when you stop flinching at his touch.

In his mind, he’s saved you. You’re safe in the gilded cage he’s built for you, even if you don’t see it that way. He tells himself you’ll come to understand, that one day you’ll thank him for his unwavering devotion.

And in the quiet moments, when his arms are around you and his voice is soft in your ear, you almost believe him.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

first fall of snow

how spencer guesses you're pregnant before you actually tell him

fluff word count: 1390 warnings & tags & stuff: pregnant reader, slight issues with mother mentioned?, non-graphic vomiting, mentions/allusions to winter holidays being celebrated, kinda spencer's pov but still 2nd pov, reader is scared spencer will leave her lol, anxious!reader in general, mentions of death?, probably medical inaccuracies ive never been pregnant author's note: hiiii i'm forcing myself to post this because if i don't then i'll never post and i'm being BRAVE. i hope it can be a little comforting maybe. i've realllyyyy been struggling with my take on spencer's characterization lately soo this was kinda like a bootcamp/exercise situation into his mind and less an expression of my writing skills, iykwim. let me know your thoughts if u have any! i love you & have a splendid day!!

Spencer is walking—speed walking—toward his car, away from the case he just finished, away from serial killers and guns and geographical profiling and death.

He places his feet carefully on the snow-covered sidewalk with each step, the cold air biting at his face. He barely notices it, absorbed in the path ahead, as the snow provides a satisfying crunch underfoot—a nice background to his perpetually racing mind.

He doesn’t like the winter. It’s always too harsh outdoors, and too stuffy indoors, and he’s trapped in a suffocating haze no matter where he goes. 

His phone starts to vibrate gently in his pocket, interrupting his racing thoughts for a split second. His pace falters as he pulls it free, a quick smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he sees it’s your name on the screen.

“Hi. How are you?” he asks after picking up, watching his breath come out in puffs of vapor in the cold air.

Winters, however, have gotten progressively better each year he spends with you.

“...I’m okay,” you say, though the crack in your voice reveals the all-consuming ache in your bones and mind.

“No. You’re overwhelmed,” he guesses in his matter-of-fact way, voice gentle. You huff out a soft laugh at his ability to read you, never getting old.

“Yeah, I guess. A little. The holiday season, you know. Are you on your way home?” you ask, voice softer now. You’re sitting on the couch of yours and Spencer’s cozy apartment, wrestling with a blanket to cover your lap, and bouncing your leg relentlessly.

“I’m walking to the car now. Hey, have you done the crossword today?” Spencer asks, words a familiar, tender remedy for your nerves. You told him a long time ago that hearing his voice makes you feel better, and there are times, like these, where he just knows it’s what you need. You rest our head on the arm of the couch, curling up.

“No, I didn’t have the time. Why?”

“There was an interesting question about causes of death in Shakespeare plays, but they completely messed up the part of speech. It read, ‘Popular ways to die by the hands of England’s national poet’. I thought it was ‘poisons’ at first, but it was actually ‘stabbed’, even though the correct answer grammatically should’ve been ‘stabs’ or ‘stabbings’,” he says, his car now in sight through the steady sprinkle of snow coming down. “Do you think I should send an email to let them know? I guess stabbing does make more sense, though, versus poison, because throughout his works, thirty characters out of his 74 that died were stabbed compared to only four that were poisoned. Three were stabbed and poisoned. Did you know that two were actually baked into pies, which is a-”

“Oh my god, the pie,” you groan, cutting him off mid-sentence, sitting up hastily, the blanket falling to the floor.

“Pie?”

“Yeah. My mom coerced me into making it to bring tomorrow.” You pad over to the kitchen and crouch down to peek through the hazy glass of the oven, inspecting it. “Oh,” you murmur. “It’s…not pretty.”

He sandwiches the phone in between his ear and shoulder, gently opening the door to his car to sit down as he listens to you. He turns the heat on, exhaling in an exhausted relief, hovering his hand over where the air comes out. 

“Can you tell me what it looks like? Maybe I can help,” he suggests, leaning back against the headrest and letting his eyes close for a second. You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the counter as you bend down to take it out. “Don’t burn yourself,” he adds, hearing what you’re doing.

“I’m not going to burn my-” you cut yourself off with a huff. “Whatever. It’s just really messy. There’s like… liquid overflowing where the lattice should be.”

He hums. “How long has it been cooking for?”

“45 minutes. My mom sent me this one ancient recipe that I had to use written on parchment paper from like 70 years ago, and it does not have a bake time listed, so I’m just eyeballing it.”

“Okay. You could either put it back in the oven in hopes that more of the liquid will evaporate, or you can leave it out to cool down and hopefully thicken,” he says.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you sound exhausted and need your sleep.” 

You sigh, staring at your mess of a pie, hopes that you’ll appease your mother this year slipping further and further away, soon to be completely buried by the snow.

“Hey. I’m sure it’ll taste really good. Besides, people still liked Shakespeare, and he wrote about much worse pies than you could ever make.” 

A smile pulls at your lips.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll just leave it out to cool and head to bed. Will you stay on the phone a little longer?” you ask, padding over to your shared bedroom.

“Of course.”

He doesn’t start driving as you talk, not when nearly 2000 people die per year due to driving on icy roads, and two thirds of them were people who were reported to not be paying close enough attention.

And especially not when 54 hours ago on your last phone call, he noticed a drastic shift in your behavior, and was quickly able to tell that you were pregnant. 

He had too much waiting for him at home to be spinning out on black ice because he was talking to you and not watching the road.

He chooses instead to look outside at the falling snow, blanketing the city, his city, the very first for D.C. to have this winter out of the septillion snowflakes planet earth receives each year.

…

Spencer gets home a little later that night, holding another pint of cherries in his hands. Not for the pie—which he turns to see resting on the stove and winces slightly at—but for you. 

Cherries, with their 342 mg of potassium per cup, help replenish lost electrolytes and can soothe nausea.

He’s expecting it to start any day now.

He quietly steps into the bedroom, setting his bag by the door to be dealt with tomorrow. The soft glow of the lamp that was left on, presumably for him by your endlessly considerate heart, provides just enough light so he can get changed. He then finally clambers into bed next to you, one hand reaching out to lace in your hair, moving his fingers to gently scratch by the nape of your neck. He lifts the other to rest, like you're made of a delicate china, on your lower stomach, sighing in pure relief the second it makes contact.

You turn sleepily, humming when you’re met with the sight of him. “Spence,” you murmur, contented.

“Hi. I really didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly.

“I'm glad you did. I like it when you wake me.” You tuck yourself closer to him. “I love you.” His hand comes to trace gentle patterns all over your back and arm, and he gives you a little kiss, adoringly.

“Go back to sleep. I love you.”

You let your eyes shut once again, this time much easier now that he’s with you. You inhale his scent, which you swear could repair anything broken or lost in this world. You exhale, wondering if he’d still hold you the same way after learning that you’re carrying his child. 

It’s a scary thought, but you’re comforted by his warm touch, pushing you farther out into the deep sea of sleep.

Once your breaths get steady and your mouth parts slightly, he adds, in a whisper, “Both.”

…

The next morning, when you’re hunched over the toilet bowl, Spencer is there with you, rubbing your back and wiping your teary eyes. You look up to him after brushing your teeth, and no words are exchanged. He tugs you into his arms, silently quelling any of the countless anxieties swarming your mind, at least in this moment.

His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He lets it rest there, cupping your jaw.

“Let’s go shopping after breakfast today, okay? You need prenatal vitamins.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“And a new pie.”

[2tarbell]

i need some blue collar rafe pls. i love that man

can u pls do something with like sweetheart!reader !!

maybe like some slow soft passionate sex before he has to go to work at like 5am

and it’s jus so loving n aww ☺️

anyways i love u and ur mind mwah mwah

BLUECOLLAR!RAFE + SWEETHEART!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

it was no secret that rafe had a soft spot for you. the hardworking, calloused man melted into a puddle for those puppy eyes and that little pout.

he knew you hated when he left, but you’d hate it even more if he didn’t wake you up to say goodbye. what started as kisses on the way out turned into sliding his morning wood into your warmth — watching with sleep glazed eyes as the intrusion slowly woke you.

now he can’t even get out of bed without you pulling on his strong arm, dreamy voice begging for him to stay. you were half asleep, eyes still practically closed, but he couldn’t do anything other than indulge you.

it was how you found yourself being spilt in half at 3:45 am, an hour before he needed to be on the road ‘abandoning you’. rafe never laughed at that joke.

he was holding himself above you, forearms caging in your head. with your hair all disheveled and practically drooling — he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“fuck, how’re you so tight?” he heaved.

his gravelly words raised goosebumps across your pleasure-fuzzy, warm body. you were always so pliant this early, letting him stretch your legs over his muscular shoulders. the deeper press of his cock to your g-spot left you unable to speak coherently.

your hands clutched at his head, holding him close and brushing your soft lips against his with every precise thrust. rafe loved you like this — hips canting and so desperate for release, for him to stay.

“please, daddy— please—“

his hips stayed slapping against yours, the creamy ring of your arousal creating a sopping sound. his pubic bone kept hitting your clit perfectly and pulled whines from you. swollen lips letting out a hiccup when he thrusts in to the hilt.

rafe hummed, a low sound in acknowledgment of your state. he lifts his hand to your mouth, your lips parting against the intrusion of his thumb, taking it in to the knuckle.

“god, you’re takin’ me so well,” he mutters, his hips rolling against yours, “bein’ so good… so perfect for me.”

you let out a garbled moan, eyes drooping from sleepiness and the pleasure he was providing. he just knew — knew how to make you unravel and turn dumb.

sucking on his thumb eagerly as you could manage, languid from sleep and the kiss of his mushroom head against your cervix. with a pop he pulled the digit from your mouth, sliding between your bodies and rolling it over your puffy clit. the gathered spit mixed with the sparkling sheen of your arousal, making the flicks of his thumb smooth and effortless.

“oh my god—!”

you choked out, head diving back into the pillow behind you as his slow, deep thrusts make that coil in your tummy feel almost too tight. the feeling all consuming and unfamiliar.

rafe takes the advantage to sit up on his knees, wrapping a large hand around your throat — tight enough to let you know he’s there, he’s got you.

“mmh, i know, shhh — oh, shit — look at that…”

his hand slides around to the back of your neck, tilting your head down to see what he sees. you watch dumbly as you squirt all over him, coating his abs and dick with your cum.

it’s like you’re out of your body, watching yourself come undone while your hearing goes fuzzy with the intensity of your orgasm.

suddenly flooded with warmth as his pants get more whiny, indicating his own imminent release. he leans down, pressing his forehead tightly to yours and giving a few more thrusts for good measure — squelch sounds punctuating each inward movement.

he shudders against you, feeling tingly from the overstimulation of your pussy still clenching around him. he huffs, trying to catch his breath and shifts your leg off shoulder. you whine lowly at the loss of his weight on you, eyes fluttering and struggling to focus on him.

with a ‘okay, shh, kid’, he reaches out, wrapping his arms tight around your waist, leaning down on you again.

your small voice, already halfway back to dreamland, reached his ears in a contented sigh, “looove you, daddy…”

“mmh, i love you, my messy girl,” his teasing voice made a lazy smile spread across your face, wrapping your limbs all around him. trying to keep him as close as possible.

kisses are peppered along your neck, trailing to your lips with a playful smack. your giggles filled the space, light and airy in the quiet of your shared bedroom.

rafe smirked and pressed his hips forward into yours, swallowing the heaving sound you let out as his cock rubs against your pulsing walls. he spoke lowly against your mouth, pushing in and out — skin sticking to yours.

“how ‘bout… you squirt f’me again and i’ll think ‘bout callin’ out...”

[jayschaconne]

blurb! | Park Jay

summary: Jay being silly and affectionate because he can’t seem to realize how drunk he is.

warnings: slightly suggestive themes.

genre: fluff!

a/n: had to write this cute little thing after those pictures dropped. seriously need to lay off writing smut for a while.

…

Wet lips that peppered sloppy kisses alongside your neck, giggles tickling the soft skin.

Your shared bedroom had fallen silent, with only sounds of Jay’s lips pressing down on skin he so deeply wanted to devour right now.

“Mm, my baby is so pretty,” he slurred sounding half-awake.

It had been 10 minutes with you trying to get Jay to go to bed. It always ended up with him springing back up and unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his belt. He’d slid off straps of your night gown, lips desperately searching for skin to leave his mark on.

“Baby, I wanna make love,” his lips would ghost over yours. A smile teasing as it grew against your lips. His fingers would work the ribbons coming undone on your back.

“Jay,” you’d say, pulling him away from you. “Baby, stop,” gasps would leave you at how much more intense he’d get when intoxicated.

“I just…feel so hot,” a sigh left him. “You keep making me put my clothes back on,” he frowned.

“You’re drunk,” you smiled, hands skimming over his shoulders, gently caressing his face.

“No,” a silly chuckle left his throat. “I’m Jay.” With knitted brows, his fingers were pointing to himself, making it seem like he himself wasn’t convinced.

“Wait…where’s my girlfriend?”

“I’m right here, baby.”

“No, no, no. You’re…” he gasped, his eyes droopy from all that consumed liquor.

“You seduced me, didn’t you?” He started panicking, rolling off the bed. “Baby,” He yelled into his phone. “I promise I’d never cheat on you,” he wept.

“You’re such a baby,” you sat there watching your boyfriend lose his mind over how he thought you were some other girl.

“Do you know how hot my girlfriend is?” He was lying back on the bed now. His words, unintelligible, slid off his tongue.

“Hmm? How hot?” You asked, failing to contain the laugh that slipped past your lips.

“She’s just…oh,” he put a hand over his heart, a drunken smile embracing his beautifully sculpted face. “She is so hot…there’s no way I’d ever have eyes for anyone else.”

“I bet,” you agreed with him, feeling giddy at how he talked about you. “What do you like about her?”

“Like?” He cackled. “I don’t know what you’re on about. I’m in love,” he confessed. That smile never wiping off his face.

You wanted to reach over and wrap him closely in between your arms. “You are so darn cute,” you whispered.

“She’s so much more than just my girlfriend.” He sat up again, a sleeve now sliding off his arm, making you giggle at how messy he was.

“Oh?”

“I can’t wait to marry her. Give her my last name,” he was starting to doze off amidst all his rambling. “Mrs. Park,” he flushed at the thought.

It left your heart feeling so full of him. Not knowing what you’d do with the amount of love that had sprouted deep within every each bone of your body by just the mere thought of him.