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holllandtrash · 2 years

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6 to 1 | lando norris (part 1)

paring: lando norris x leclerc!reader part 1 in the 6 to 1 series

being charles' little sister has its perks, such as traveling to the races, meeting a variety of people and becoming friends with the drivers. but when one driver is offended by your personal ranking, he makes it his mission to change your mind

word count: 5.7k tags: established friendships, minor social media au aspects, its just a soft start to a whirlwind series also poorly translated Italian and French, this whole series is a friends to lovers trope

Of course you had favourites.

Charles was number one, he was your brother.

Carlos next, obviously. You were a Ferrari fan through and through.

Daniel Ricciardo was still a favourite, reserve driver or not, you made your support for Daniel very clear and would post photos of yourself in his merch any chance you got.

And then Pierre. He was Charles' best friend, someone you had also known for years. He spent Christmases with you, countless birthdays, everything. You wanted to see him succeed.

“I’m fifth?” Lando couldn’t believe your ranking and how low he was. He hit his hand on the table, causing your glass of water to shake. “Fifth? You’re joking.”

You pondered it for a second before nodding your head. Lando took a sigh of relief, thinking he made it past number five in your standings.

“You’re right,” you said. “I am joking. You’re sixth. I’ve kind of been rooting for Lance recently. The Canadian’s wormed his way into my heart.”

Lando leaned back in his chair looking absolutely defeated. “Unbelievable,” he huffed out, crossing his arms across his chest. The pout that played on his lips made him look about four years younger and it only made you laugh as you reached across the table and ruffled his hair playfully.

“Relax, Norris, at least you’re in the top ten.”

“But six!” He exclaimed. “Danny’s not even driving.”

You shrugged and took another sip of your water, “Still love him.”

“Is that why you’re wearing DR3 merch instead of mine?”

You looked down. You were in fact wearing a t-shirt from Daniel’s newest collection that recently dropped. He even had the heart to sign the back for you before personally delivering it.

“I never wear your merch.”

“Because you hate me.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re dramatic.”

You jumped when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. You barely had time to glance up before your sunglasses were pulled from your head and the perpetrator, your brother's teammate, slid into the chair next to Lando.

“Give them back,” you reached for the glasses but Carlos only dodged your hand and put the dark shades on his own face.

He turned to Lando, a cheesy grin plastered on his face, “How do I look?”

Lando, still grumpy, said, “Like someone who doesn’t consider me one of her favourite drivers.”

Carlos had a good laugh at that, “Really, Y/N? He’s not in the top three?”

“Not even in the top five!” Lando shouted, gesturing towards you as you innocently spun your straw around your glass. “Lance bloody Stroll booted me to sixth.”

“He is higher than you in the driver standings.”

“That’s it,” Lando grumbled, standing up from the chair so harsh that it would have fallen backwards if Carlos hadn't caught it. Lando furiously pointed a finger at you and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. “I will work my way up to being your favourite driver, mark my words.”

You shrugged again, “You can certainly try.”

Lando proceeded to muter a few choice words under his breath as he stalked off, leaving you and Carlos to burst out laughing.

“Why do you give him such a hard time?” Carlos asked.

“It’s entertaining for me.” You turned your head, just able to see a sliver of Lando before he disappeared into the Paddock crowd. The corner of your lips curled upwards, “And now I want to know what sort of plan he’s going to come up with.”

Your conversation with Lando had slipped from your mind by the end of the race weekend. In fact, you had been so caught up with Charles’ performance on Saturday and Sunday that you weren't thinking about the McLaren driver until he was right in front of you.

You walked behind Charles down the tarmac towards the private jet that would take you two and Arthur back to Monaco. Usually you claimed the seat on the right at the very back of the plane but when you walked in and saw it was taken by the British boy with curls atop his head, you were thrown for a loop.

“Morning,” Lando greeted. He wore a matching jumper and sweats set from his own Quadrant line. On the small table in front of him he pushed forward a small white box as you slowly approached. “For you.”

You shot a glance at Charles, one that basically asked what the hell was Lando doing here. Charles laughed as he searched for his headphones, “We’re all going to the same place.”

“He’s in my seat.”

“This is your seat?” Lando sounded apologetic. You looked back at him and watched as he rushed to collect his things, except for the white box, and he moved to the seat on the other side of the aisle.

You were confused, that’s for damn sure. Lando never just casually caught a ride with your family. But you were also tired and didn’t care too much about his presence as long as he left you alone for the duration of the flight.

You made yourself comfortable in the leather recliner, closing your eyes almost immediately. They would have stayed closed had you not heard Lando obnoxiously clear his throat.

“Lando, if you're trying to move up my driver ranking, this is not the way to do it.”

“Can you just look in the box, please,” Lando sighed. He was leaning over the armrest of his seat, practically falling into the aisle.

A defeated sigh escaped you and you reached for the box, flipping the lid open. If you were being honest with yourself, you had absolutely no idea what was going to be inside. Lando was an enigma. You would have been equally as shocked to see a live frog as you would to see a blade of grass.

But it was neither, thank god. It was a doughnut. And not just any doughnut. It was a filled pastry with a layer of chocolate and cookie crumbles on top, coated with a drizzle of white chocolate. Something that would undoubtedly give you a toothache, but it was mouthwatering nonetheless.

“Chocolate explosion cheesecake doughnut,” Lando explained.

You glanced up at him, eyebrows raised, wondering why he would have bought this for you before the flight this morning.

Lando sighed, as if he was offended you were confused, “You love cheesecake. And chocolate. And doughnuts.” He gestured to the treat, “This is the perfect combination of all three.”

He wasn’t wrong, you did love all three of those things. But how did he know that?

“Thanks,” you offered Lando a smile. “But you didn’t have to-”

“I know, I know, But I passed a bakery this morning after my jog,” Lando explained, waving his hand as if to brush off the gesture like it was nothing. “Just thought you’d like a treat during the flight is all.”

“You know, this isn’t going to make me like you more than Lance.”

Lando’s features fell. Just for a moment, but you caught it. He was hoping this one simple doughnut would push him up your standings and he was very wrong.

“Lance didn’t buy you a doughnut.”

“Lance also didn’t take my seat.”

“I gave it back!” He exclaimed loudly, causing Arthur and Charles to both turn their heads to see what was going on. Lando leaned further across the aisle, lowering his voice. “I gave it back.”

“He finished sixth this weekend.”

“I was struggling with tyre degradation.”

“Not my problem,” you shrugged. To be fair, Lando had a pretty decent weekend, but he still finished below Lance and you were going to hold onto that just because you knew it would get under Lando’s nerves.

“You talk to me more than you talk to Lance.”

“No, you talk to me.”

“I. Bought. You. A. Doughnut.” Lando went back to his strongest argument.

“It’ll take a little more than a pastry to move up the rankings.” You leaned into the aisle as well, catching Charle’s eyes. “Posso spingerlo giù dall'aereo?” Can I push him off the plane?

“No,” Charles chuckled, glancing at Lando who was trying to recall the very minimal Italian that he knew. “Sii gentile con lui” Be nice to him.

“Gentile?” Lando repeated, looking back and forth between you and your brother. It was the only word he could pick up on. “Nice? Did Charles just call me nice? Thank you Charles, I’m trying to do a polite thing for your sister and she’s not being respectful.”

You dropped your face to your hand, “Lo spingerò giù dall'aereo.” I’m going to push him off the plane.

“Y/N don’t do that. Lando, Mate I don’t think bribing Y/N with a doughnut is going to do you any favours,” Charles retorted, still laughing. At this point, the only person not laughing was Lando. “Now put your seatbelts on.”

You and Lando exchanged a similar look, a challenging one. Eyes slightly narrowed, a smirk playing on your lips. He was going to make it his mission to become your favourite driver and you were intent on not letting that happen.

Once you were in the air, Charles got up out of his seat to come and talk to you about plans for dinner this week with your mum. You brought one leg up to your chest as you spoke to your older brother, switching between French and Italian throughout the duration of the conversation. That was common for you two, but you noticed that Lando was watching intensely, probably trying to figure out if you two were talking about him.

Charles noticed too and dipped his head in an attempt to stifle his laughter, “Tu seras sa mort.” You’ll be the death of him.

“Possibly, but that’s what makes this fun,” You swiftly turned your head to face the British driver. “Right?”

Lando held his hands up defensively, “I’m not agreeing with anything you just said. I don’t even know what you said.”

“Then stop trying to eavesdrop,” You stretched your hand out to land a playful hit on his arm. One would have thought you just bruised his bone with the way he reacted, retracting his arm into his chest and inhaling a very dramatic breath. You rolled your eyes, “We weren’t talking about you, by the way. We were talking about plans for dinner.”

“For tonight?” Lando asked, face lighting up immediately. “Perfect. I’m in.”

Charles’ head fell back with laughter as he turned around, leaving you to deal with this conversation on your own.

“No, you idiot,” you stared at him in disbelief. “With our mother, later this week.”

“Oh,” he nodded, poking his tongue out to lick his lips before his eyebrows pinched together, “So what’s happening tonight?”

“Nothing’s happening tonight.”

“So you’re free for me to take you out on a date?”

Charles’ and Arthur’s laughter echoed through the plane and it took everything in you not to laugh as well, but you genuinely couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. You were also very taken aback by his abruptness of the question, like this was casual, like you guys had hung out outside the paddock before, you hadn’t.

“Lando if this is about my driver ranking-”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” Lando shrugged, but his cheeky grin told you it was. He reached across the aisle and nudged your arm, “Come on, Y/N, let’s do something fun in Monaco.”

When it clicked for all of you that this wasn’t a joke, Charles stood up from his seat, eyes darting back and forth between you and Lando a few times before landing on him, “No, absolutely not. You’re not going on a date with my sister.”

“Don’t think that’s up for you to decide.” Lando looked at you expectantly. His hazel eyes bore into yours and with the way the early morning sunlight flooded through the small windows, he seemed to quite literally be glowing.

You almost said yes because of the way he was looking at you. A hopeful, boyish smile on his lips. Chin rested in his hand so innocently. Head tilted the slightest bit. How could you say no to that?

You had to.

“Lando, I’m not going on a date with you.”

To end the conversation, you found your airpods and pulled out your phone, making yourself look as busy as possible, even if you were just scrolling through different social media platforms. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Lando shift in his seat, trying to decide if he should interrupt you or not.

Eventually he decided not to. Probably figuring that asking you out on a date for a second time wouldn’t go over well with you, or with Charles for that matter.

But that didn’t mean he was done trying.

ynleclerc

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 17, 932 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

ynleclerc spanish grand prix but im the only one that looks good

view all 2,301 comments

charles_leclerc i don't like this

carlossainz55 why did you include that one of me

ynleclerc because it made me giggle ynleclerc ti amo❤️

dailyyferrari y/n is really out here giving us the ferrari boys content

hamileclerc okay but can we talk about her style

sunshinemick paddock queen

16paddocks idc what anyone else says i think her and carlos would make the cutest couple

helpmelando charles would never let her date a driver LMAO

------

When you stepped off the plane, Lando was quick to take your bags from you so you didn’t have to carry them to the car that was waiting for you. Charles lightly smacked him upside the head, muttering something under his breath about how Lando wasn’t allowed to hit on his sister.

Lando ignored it, like he ignored most signs and instructions. He waited until getting to the car, making sure to grab the door and hold it open for you.

“Being chivalrous isn’t going to do anything for my driver ranking.”

“I’m just being nice.”

“You have ulterior motives.”

“No,” Lando argued. Your eyebrows pinched together and he changed his answer. “Okay fine, yes I want you to like me more. Let me take you out, Y/N. It’ll be fun.”

It wasn’t like Charles controlled your life, but you did worry about what he would think if you and Lando did go out, even just for an innocent dinner. Lando could sense your hesitation as you glanced at your older brother a few feet away and he just nodded and drummed his fingers against the car window.

“I’ll see you around, then,” taking your silence as an answer. He gave you a gentle smile, one that matched the rest of his soft features before shutting the door.

You didn’t expect to hear from Lando until the next race and honestly, that would have been for the better. That plane ride with him was enough. And him asking you on a date? Where the hell did that come from? You understood that Lando just wanted to move up your personal driver rankings, but you were conflicted about that potentially leading to spending more time with him.

Lando was someone you’ve known for a few years now. You were always friendly in the paddock or any social events, you shared some entertaining banter, but never once did you spend time together in between races.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, you did like Lando and his company, but similar to Carlos or Daniel, he was a friend. A friend you saw when you watched a grand prix and nothing more. It didn’t make sense to see him on a more regular basis.

Also Charles would kill you if you went on a date with a driver.

Luckily for you, the second you stepped into your flat, all thoughts of the McLaren driver left your mind. You had to unpack, you needed to do laundry, you needed to meal prep for the upcoming week. You’d been gone for four days so god did you need to clean. Basic chores kept you busy for the majority of the day until you found yourself needing to make dinner.

You had just placed a homemade pizza in the oven and licked some excess tomato sauce off your thumb when there was a knock on your door.

This didn’t alarm you. You ordered a lot of packages, you figured this was another one. Or maybe it was one of your friends because they knew you were back home. It wasn’t strange that someone was stopping by.

It was strange that the person on the other side of your door was Lando.

You had half a mind to shut the door in his face.

“I said no date.”

“This isn’t a date!” Lando defended himself, but the single daisy between his fingers told you otherwise. Lando noticed you eyeing it and he held it out towards you, “I passed a shrub of daisies, what was I supposed to do? Not grab you one?”

Reluctantly, you took the flower from him, spinning it between your forefinger and your thumb. Dozens of questions flooded through your mind, but instead of making him stand in your foyer as you pondered which one to ask, you nodded your head to invite him inside.

Lando smiled and shut the door behind him. He had changed out of his jumper from earlier, now in a pair of black joggers and, of course, a Quadrant t-shirt.

You had changed as well, now in a matching cotton pj set that was beige with little red hearts on it. You noticed that Lando’s eyes lingered on your bare legs for longer than he probably should have.

“How’d you know?” You asked.

Lando cleared his throat, “How’d I know what?”

“That I like daisies.”

He shifted onto the balls of his feet, “You have a daisy tattoo.”

Your eyebrows raised due to suspicion, “Not anywhere visible.”

The small flower was inked into your side on your ribcage, just below the curve of your breast. It wasn’t everyday you walked around topless, so you were certainly confused as to how Lando of all people had become aware of it.

Lando knew he had been caught out. He inhaled a sharp breath, quickly trying to figure out how to get out of this grave he had dug for himself.

“Word spreads,” he shrugged.

“Word spreads?” You repeated back to him. You knew exactly what that meant. You pushed on his chest and reached for the handle of the door, practically shoving him out. “Get out of my flat, Lando. And take your fucking daisy.”

You crumpled it between your fingers until the pedals turned to remnants of what it used to be before throwing it in his face. Lando didn’t let you shut the door though, he kept his palm against the surface and pushed it open. You were strong, but nowhere near as strong as a Formula 1 driver.

“Hey, come on,” Lando tried to reason with you. “I’m not the one who talks, Y/N. I didn’t tell anyone, I swear. It’s not my place.”

He leaned against the side of the door, refusing to break your stare until you believed he was telling the truth. You pressed your lips together tightly, telling yourself that Lando was only the middle man in this unfortunate turn of events. You were annoyed, definitely, but you didn’t need to take it out on him.

“I want to know what he said,” you decided, swinging the door open for the second time.

And that’s how you found yourself on the couch with Lando as he relayed to you everything that Pierre had told him.

It was a mistake, honestly. One that you didn’t think you regretted that much, but now you were thinking otherwise.

Last Christmas when Pierre came to visit the Leclerc family, the two of you ended up splitting a bottle of wine, or maybe two, and when the end of the night came, instead of going to his hotel, Pierre came with you back to your flat.

You had known Pierre for years through Charles, but that night there was a magnetic pull that had you craving him. It was probably the wine.

He kissed you, something that you shouldn't have let happen but you were giddy and drunk and it was the holidays so all logic slipped from mind. Pierre kissed you and for the rest of the night, nothing else seemed to matter.

But when you woke up in your bed the next morning, limbs tangled with his and the sheets, you both agreed that it could never happen again. You also agreed that you would never talk about it. The last thing you needed was Charles’ finding out about a one night stand between his best friend and his sister and neither of you wanted to start any gossip in the paddock.

That’s what you thought, at least. Because apparently Pierre had told Lando every stupid detail about that night, including the tattoo that he had noticed on your side.

“È uno stronzo," He’s an asshole. With your arm resting along the back of the couch, you dropped your face to rest in your hand. Lando knew just enough Italian that he didn't have to ask for a translation. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Who else knows?”

Lando shrugged and usually that was a cop out answer, but you believed that he truly didn’t know. “I don’t think he told Carlos. Danny might know. Yuki? I don’t know, Y/N, I’m sorry. Pierre loves to talk.”

“I just don’t want this to get back to Charles.”

He nodded, understanding where you were coming from, “If it helps, I haven’t told anyone.”

You couldn’t help but glare at him, “What do you want? An award for doing the bare fucking minimum? You could have told Pierre to not talk about me.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Lando cowered back into his corner of the couch. He felt bad about this situation, but you also sort of intimidated him. He didn’t know how to help. It just seemed like everything he said or did made it a little bit worse.

He was so tense that when the timer on your oven went off, he flinched in response.

You slid off the couch and headed towards the kitchen. When you put the pizza on a cooling rack, you glanced over your shoulder to catch a peak at Lando, only to find him watching you. You nodded your head towards the plate in your hand, “Did you want some?”

“Of what?”

He didn’t think sometimes. “Lando, what the hell does it smell like in here?”

“Piz- oh, yeah sure I’d love a slice,” his boyish grin returned and you grabbed a second plate out for him. You also grabbed a bottle of wine from the cart in the corner, but Lando’s voice stopped you from popping out the cork. “Oh I’m okay, I don’t actually drink wine.”

You had nothing against drinking alone, but for reasons you couldn’t really explain, it felt wrong to pour yourself a glass of wine and enjoy it in Lando’s presence.

So you opted for a few bottles of Perrier instead. You balanced the plates on one arm and carried the sparkling water in your hand. When you came back to the couch, Lando was quick to take the dishes from you so you could get comfortable in your spot.

He took a bite of the pizza and immediately sucked in a breath as if that would help cool it down. You wanted to roll your eyes at how daft he could be sometimes. It was a wonder how this man could memorise over twenty different track layouts and withstand up to 5G, but couldn’t remember to let his food cool down before eating.

Lando must have noticed you smiling to yourself and he took a sip of water before asking about it, “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” you were still smiling, “You’re just funny, is all.”

“I’m funny?” He repeated, mirroring your expression as he saw it as a compliment. The slightest bit of an ego boost did wonders for his mood. “Why thank you.”

You were starting to learn which battles to pick with Lando. Correcting him about your concerns regarding his mentality was not one of them.

“So you came over here for what reason?” You asked, eyeing the crumbled up flower near your front door.

“For a date,” Lando answered like it was the easiest question in the world. “I just assumed you had to say no earlier, for Charles’ sake.”

You scoffed, “I said no because I didn’t want to go on a date with you.”

“So what are we doing right now?”

He had you there.

You may not have gone out and done something ‘fun’ but you did invite him inside and now you were sharing a few slices of homemade pizza. You almost opened a bottle of wine.

“This isn’t a date,” it was a piss poor argument, but it was all you could come up with.

“Agree to disagree,” Lando looked pleased with himself. “And I don’t see Lance showing up at your door, with a flower, wanting to hang out with you.”

“Maybe because Lance lives in Montreal,” you retorted. “And he also has a girlfriend.”

“So why do you like him more than me?” Lando raised his voice but there was still a lingering playful understone.

“He’s a better driver,” you took another bite of pizza, ignoring the way Lando was staring at you like you offended the last five generations of his family. When you finally looked up, you rolled your eyes at his dumbstruck expression, covering your mouth with your hand as you finished chewing. “Lando, he’s literally sitting at ninth in the driver standings. Your tenth. Maybe get some points and I’ll like you more.”

“You’re harsh,” Lando shook his head at your words as he stood up from the couch. For a second you wondered where he was going but he just pointed at the kitchen, “Mind if I grab another slice?”

“Oh, you like my cooking?”

“I do, actually,” Lando chuckled. He put a few more slices on his plate. “You’ve got some good culinary skills. This crust?” He lifted his fingers to his lips, kissing the tip of them to express his appreciation for your homemade pizza. “You should open up a restaurant.”

Your head dipped backwards as you laughed, “You’ve tried one meal. I could be absolute shit at making everything else.”

“I don’t believe that,” Lando shook his head as he returned to the couch. This time when he sat down, you noticed he positioned himself more towards you than forwards.

“Why not?”

Lando hesitated, taking a breath before answering, “I don’t think it's possible for you to be shit at anything. If you have the same determination as Charles, which I think you do, it’s probably safe to say that when you put your mind to something, you excel.”

It was a nice compliment, but you didn’t let his words affect you the way he would have hoped.

“You’re still sixth in my ranking.”

“For now.”

“Forever.”

Lando opened his mouth only for his jaw to immediately close. You straightened up and nudged his foot with yours.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Whatever you were about to say”

��I forgot,” Lando shrugged it off, but you knew he was lying. He had a horrible poker face. It also didn’t help that he quickly scarfed down the rest of his pizza and stood up, avoiding this conversation.

You watched as he walked to the kitchen and turned the tap on to start washing the single dish he used. You braced your arm over the back of the couch, “Just leave it, I can clean it later.”

His jaw dropped in fake astonishment, “Leave it? I was raised better than that. You fed me, I can clean. Equal trade.”

“Lando-

“Shut up Y/N, let me do the dishes.” He then moved to grab a few cutting boards and other utensils you used and left out.

You weren’t sure what was going through his mind as he cleaned up your mess. You just watched, trying to piece together the puzzle that was Lando.

This was his first time at your place, so it took a while for him to figure out where you kept your dish rags and soap, but it was entertaining watching as he navigated through your cupboards and drawers.

After a few minutes, he wiped his hands on his pants and made his way towards the back of the couch. You stared up at him, but instantly regretted that as he flicked his hand in front of your face. A few stray drops of water landed on your cheeks and you pushed on his abdomen.

“Oh you asshole,” you wiped your face as Lando only laughed and grabbed your now empty plate. You followed him to the kitchen this time though, nudging your hip against his so he would move out of the way for you to grab a towel.

“You could always hire me as a dishwasher if being a driver doesn’t work out for me,” Lando suggested.

"One, I'm not opening up a restaurant," you started, hearing a scoff from Lando. "Two, hiring you would mean I have to see you all the time."

"That's not so bad."

You didn't answer, relying on your judgmental eyeroll and pursed lips to get the message across. Lando snatched another towel from the drawer and rolled it up, snapping it against your bare forearm.

"Ouch," you hissed at him, grabbing the spot that had just been hit. Now it was Lando's turn to roll his eyes.

He pushed your hand out of the way and brushed his thumb against the faint red mark on your arm that would certainly disappear within the next ten minutes. You may have reacted dramatically.

Okay, you definitely did. You grew up with three older brothers. A little roughhousing was not going to be the end of you. Lando knew this.

"Oh you're fine," he assured you, his fingers lingering on your skin longer than they needed to before he turned back around.

You wiped down the counter and Lando grabbed a few dishes that had been sitting in the drying rack. As he turned around, he placed his hand on your waist to gently move you out of the way so he could put the plates in the cupboard. A much nicer gesture compared to you just pushing against his side earlier.

Even though this was the first time Lando was visiting your flat, you two managed to fall into a pretty good flow as you finished cleaning up your kitchen. What started as just picking up after dinner turned into tidying everything else up.

Conversation flowed as well. He didn’t bring up your driver ranking, he asked what your plans were this week. He asked about any upcoming modelling projects you had lined up. He wanted to know if you’d be at the next race and he seemed excited when your answer was yes.

Before you knew it, almost two hours had passed of the two of you just standing in your kitchen, talking. It was easy to talk to someone who made you laugh every five minutes and Lando just didn’t seem to have an excuse to leave, so he didn’t.

This was the most amount of time you had ever spent with the British driver.

And you didn’t hate it.

It wasn’t until a yawn slipped out as Lando was talking did you both realise what time it was. Lando pulled out his phone at the same time you did. Either you put it on silent and didn’t notice or you had just been too engrossed with Lando and your conversation to notice that Charles had texted you a number of times.

“Everything okay?” Lando asked, noticing your expression.

You briefly skimmed the messages, but then decided you didn’t want to deal with your brother right now, “Yeah just Charles. I’ll call him back in the morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to ignore-”

You raised a hand to stop him mid-apology, “Don’t apologise, really.” You glanced around your pristine kitchen before your eyes landed on his, momentarily asking yourself why you turned him down in the first place. “Tonight was…weirdly fun. Even though you showed up unannounced and I found out Pierre told half the grid that we hooked up.”

Lando clenched his jaw and inhaled a sharp breath, “Yeah, sorry about that. Not about showing up unannounced, I don’t regret that, but about the whole Pierre thing.”

Leave it to Lando to not feel any bit of remorse for crashing your do-nothing plans after you rejected a date with him.

You walked him to the front door and leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, watching to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. He then looked down at the flower right next to his feet.

“Sorry,” you muttered. You could admit you overreacted.

“Don’t be,” Lando shook his head. “I’ll just get you a bouquet next time, it’s probably harder to destroy.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, “Next time?”

Lando tilted his head, that same cheeky grin making a reappearance, “Oh. Yeah. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m still on a mission.” He gestured towards your kitchen. “I can’t believe I cleaned for you and you still like Lance better than me.”

“I mean,” you inhaled a heavy breath. Were you really about to say this? You could already see Lando’s expression turn hopeful and you had to avert your gaze, looking up at the ceiling instead. “It’s probably safe to say that Pierre isn’t on that top five list anymore.”

“He’s bumped down?” Lando asked. You nodded and you could tell how ecstatic he was over this news. “So by default, I’m number 5?”

“Sure, by default you’ve made it into the top five.”

Lando actually fist pumped the air. You rolled your eyes, dragging your hand over your face before reaching for the door. You pulled it open and for the second time tonight, you were pushing him out of your flat.

“Goodnight, Lando.” you went to shut the door, but just like earlier, he stopped it.

He stepped closer, his line of sight trailing upwards, taking his time to really look at all of the details on your face. Like how no matter how hard you were trying to look annoyed, a sliver of a smile still poked through. There was an indent above your right eyebrow, he hadn’t noticed it before and he made a mental note to ask you about it the next time he saw you. He then landed on your eyes and he cleared his throat, suddenly feeling his mouth becoming very dry.

“In all honesty, thanks for inviting me in,” Lando told you. His words sounded genuine. It almost made you forget about his ridiculous move-up-your-ranking operation.

“Yeah, just don’t make a habit of showing up uninvited,” you said.

“No promises.”

He shot you a wink before taking a few steps backwards and away from your flat. You watched for a few seconds, making sure he got into his car safely. Once he turned it on, you shut the door and released a breath you weren’t even aware you had been keeping in.

As you heard him drive away, you ignored an unfamiliar twisting feeling in the pit of your stomach. You also paid no attention to the fact that your flat just seemed so empty without him and almost eerily quiet after his laughter filled up the space for the last few hours. And of course, you refused to let yourself think about what would have happened if you did agree to the date.

But you did ask yourself one question.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

a fun new little lando series (will be about 5-6 parts) can't wait to hear your thoughts

masterlist here part 2 here

#lando norris #lando norris one shot #lando norris au #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris fic #f1 requests #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #holllandtrash

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sp0o0kylights · 10 months

Text

Part Seven/ Part Eight (YOU ARE HERE)/ Part Nine

Ao3

Monsters aren't real.

The thing that's flying towards him is--a hallucination. A figment of Gareth's imagination.

The same way the feeling of time slowing to a crawl is just a trick of the light playing with his anxiety.

He'd be fine.

(It won't hurt.)

Gareth's limbs froze, locking him in place even as the manticore bore down on him.

Thankfully, Steve did not have that problem.

Gareth's shirt was snatched from the back, choking him as Steve yanked him out of the way.

It was just in time--the Manticore blew past seconds later, too-large body so close Gareth could feel the air move past him.

The stench was unimaginable.

A fuckload of noise exploded in Gareth's ears as time kicked back in. He fell hard, behind Steve as the older teen swung his nail bat with his left hand.

Huh. Gareth thought distantly as wood, nail and flesh connected. Steve's ambidextrous.

He never would have guessed.

Doesn't think anyone would.

(Should Gareth survive this, he will immediately tease Steve about it. Right after profusely thanking him for saving his life and having a meltdown about honest to God monsters existing in Hawkins.)

The fucker barked a noise, and the only comparable thing Gareth could relate it to was a seal--if a seal had played with some of the sound effect pedals the music store.

Maybe got run over by a car right after for good measure.

In one breath, the monsters' weird, elongated hand-paws raked lines through the floor.

In the next, a wing smashed high over Eddie's head. The finger-like claws at the crux of it pierced through Stewart's still-stuck door, balancing itself as it turned.

This brought the manticore's gore-filled hole of a mouth so close to Eddie's head Gareth thought it forfeit, and it was only Steve's interference that kept Eddie the Banished from being Eddie the Buried.

"Come on!" Steve bellowed.

He smacked the bat into the floor, as much a challenge as it was a distraction.

Thick saliva dripped to the floor in clumps as the manticore's head, a bulbous thing composed of five petal-like slices of flesh and too many teeth rattled in response.

A car horn trumpeted again--and if it was a warning it was one coming far too late.

The Manticore dropped its chest to the ground as it took the bait. A dark, black tipped scorpion tail rose over the back of the beast, stinger longer than Gareth's arm and wider than a sword.

Faster than Gareth could track, almost faster than Steve could parry, the tail lashed forward, stinger out like a lance.

(But Steve, wonderful, amazing, athletic Steve, caught and parried it with his bat.

Then and there, Gareth swore to never mock a jock, ever again.)

The bat met armored exoskeleton with a sickening crack!, the force of the hit shaking Steve's arms. His right foot slid back, biceps flexing as the stinger pushed against him, straining hard against nail and wood.

Steve grunted, shoes squeaking as he was forced to give ground, the Manticore overpowering him by the sheer strength of its tail.

The entire encounter had barely lasted a few seconds but without interference?

Steve would be thrown aside--and impaled.

Before Gareth could think about how stupid it was, he was on his feet and rushing to help.

He grabbed the fire poker off the ground and thrust it forward, towards the manticore's not-a-face.

Screamed “Go back to hell you piece of shit!” So loud his voice cracked.

It worked.

The beast flinched, tail rocketing back as it rose back up on all four paws, hissing in outrage.

Steve staggered with how fast the tail had moved, but caught himself, bat wavering in the air, and--

There was no reprieve.

No moment to breathe, because as soon as the stinger's gone there's a grotesque, hand-like paw swiping at them both.

Gareth fell back, only to realize he wasn't the target.

Steve was.

The claws flash in the flickering overhead lights and there wasn’t any time.

He's as good as dead and Gareth can't do anything to save him--

But Eddie can.

Sometime during the last few seconds, the older teen had pulled his knife. Jammed it deep into the back of the manticore's front leg, and twisted after the blade had sunk down to the hilt.

This, and the resulting aborted attack, saved Steve's life.

The thing wailed as the struck leg crumpled, sending the fucker’s head on a collision course with the floor.

Stewart's door jumped in its frame as the wing-claws, dug in deep into the wood, caught the manticore. Two flesh-petals scraped the floor, but the move kept it from falling-- at the cost of putting its full weight on the door.

A door already bowed. Hinges pre-fucked with, thanks to Eddie’s early meddling.

It didn't hold.

Hinges screamed as the wood bent, before gravity asserted itself and shattered it. Massive wood splinters shoot out in an explosion of wood, more than one piece embedding itself into the manticore.

Eddie scrambled backwards half turned to protect his head, saved from two large chunks of wood only by the grace of his thick leather jacket.

Several things happened at once.

The car outside honked a third time.

The manticore lunged.

And Eddie tripped.

One petal of teeth tore into him--a graze that left his leg a bloody mess and ripped a scream from his mouth.

Gareth and Steve both shot instinctively: Steve to attack the side of the manticore's head, Gareth to slam the fire poker into a wing.

(One second turned into three.)

The manticore in turn, leapt backwards, head shaking with the hit of Steve's bat--and Gareth had exactly one half-second to realize all they had done up until this moment was piss it off before the wing he'd struck swept out.

It struck him in the gut and Steve in the chest, sending both of them flying.

Gareth's back met the floor a second time expelling all the air from his lungs, vision going dark at the edges as his head hit the floor.

(Three seconds turned to seven.)

This time he physically couldn't move, too stunned as Eddie screamed Steve's name.

Stewart, Gareth realized, was screaming too.

(Seven seconds became eighteen, until Gareth's chest could take in air again, the loud ringing in his ears easing somewhat.)

He kept blinking, thinking the weird streaks of orange light was his vision blurring, until his brain kicked in and informed him that no, those were flames he was seeing.

Gareth pushed himself up on his elbows to find that reinforcements had arrived.

Flames flew in an arc as another on-fire tennis ball struck the Manticores side. The ball bounced, flames trickling down to the floor as the monster beast shrieked.

A third ball had it slamming itself into the wall as Gareth whipped his head to the opposite end of the hallway.

Tiff and Dustin were spraying a can of something onto a number of tennis balls--the ones Gareth knew Tiff kept in her car for tennis.

Lucas loaded one into his slingshot, drawing the rubber bands back and holding so that Jeff’s lighter could turn it into a proper weapon.

He launched it once flames encompassed it fully, and Gareth watched as it flew true.

Landed to the right of the muscular, lion--like chest, flames catching every piece of skin that was touched.

A part of Gareth expected this to only distract the fucker, the same way the pieces of wood sticking out of it’s sides had barely slowed it down--but fire, apparently was its weakness.

The manticore reacted like it was being burned with acid more so than fire, dropping and rolling and ping-pinging between walls as more and more of its wing was overtaken.

Its screams turned into rapid, wracked yelps, until finally it threw itself so hard into a wall that it fell through it.

For a moment a dark hole remained open.

Gray pieces of ash lazily floated out, giving them all a glimpse into a terrifying, dark blue forest, red lightning slashing the sky above before the hole re-sealed itself.

(It closed the way a wound did. All sides creeping in at a speed far too fast for human skin, but was just slow enough to make the wall appear like a living membrane instead of wood and plaster.)

For a long moment, the only thing Gareth could hear was all his friends' harsh panting.

"Did you kill it?" Stewart asked, head peeking around the corner.

Eddie looked to Steve to answer.

Which he did.

"Rule number two, man.” Steve raked a hand through his hair, trying to comb out the sweat that had collected at his temples after he climbed to his feet. “If you can’t see the body, it’s not dead.”

Stewart crept cautiously into the hall, looking as shell shocked as Gareth felt. "Why the hell isn't that rule one?”

"I don't know, the kids made the rules. You can ask them.”

Gareth’s head pulsed unhappily, but Gareth had other concerns as he made his way to his feet.

“How bad is it?” He asked as he made his way over, Eddie still on the ground.

“I’m alright.” Eddie lied, as if they all couldn’t see the sticky patch of blood on his torn jeans.

"Stop talking, start walking!" Dustin yelled at them.

“Eddie’s injured, give us a minute!” Steve yelled back. “God. Go make yourself useful and get my medkit!”

“I’m fine, it’s fine! ” Eddie yelled out right after, voice waspish in his pain.

It convinced absolutely no one, and in fact, caused several people to come down the hallway towards him.

Lucky for him, Steve made it there first.

Dropping to his knees in front of Eddie, he gently moved a ringed hand away from the wound, giving it a critical once over as Gareth and Stewart hovered.

“It’s not bad.” Eddie tried to argue, wincing as he poked around his leg, Steve continually having to bat his hands away. “If we can wrap it I’ll be able to walk out of here.”

“I won’t know until I see more of it.” Tiff said, Jeff and Grant right on her heels to circle Eddie and Steve. “But he might be right for once--there’s not much blood. You’re gonna lose the pants though.”

“Noooo.” Eddie said, in a poor mimic of one of his D&D voices.

“Not to rush you, but we need to get out of here.” Jeff cast an anxious look over at the wall, and Gareth nodded his agreement.

This wasn’t a safe place right now.

(Had likely never been a safe place, if it was birthing out monsters like the manticore.)

Steve looked up at Eddie, holding his gaze.

“Think you can hobble over to the cars if two of us help?”

He got a sharp nod back.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Now hop to it.” Tiff said with a clap. Her voice was dry, tone almost sarcastic, but Gareth heard the unease in it

Not that anyone needed any convincing to get the hell out of dodge.

("I'm going to take up running." Eddie told him later, hands shaking from pain as Gareth drove Van Helsing after FrankenCar, Grant's Ford Escort

They had managed to wrap Eddie’s leg up in a quick bandage with the medkit. Gareth hadn’t truly been able to bring himself to look at the wound, but he’d caught a glimpse.

The fang marks stood out on Eddie’s pale skin, and ran in so many rows it looked like he’d shoved half his leg into a shark's mouth.

Tiffany insisted it was more horrific looking than it was actually horrific, and given Eddie had made at least three “am I gonna lose the leg, Doc?” jokes, Gareth believed her.

Still--it was weird, to drive Eddie’s van.

Weirder still to see Steve's Beemer (unnamed on grounds that Hellfire couldn't decide between the Batmobile and the BeemHolder) lead their little procession--though it had been a fight to get Steve to drive the car instead of ride along with Eddie.

"We both know you’re not seriously considering going running.” Gareth told him, voice shaking. “Which is unfortunate, because I'm going to make you anyway."

His fingers tightened hard on the steering wheel.

“I’m going to make everyone go running.”

It was a testament to how scared both of them were that they ended the conversation there.

No joke, no walking back what they'd said.

Running apparently, was back to being a core survival skill and Gareth very much enjoyed staying alive.)

xXx

Gareth hadn’t asked why the Byers house was the chosen place to regroup.

Had kind of assumed that it had been picked because Will’s mother wasn’t home.

Definitely was not expecting an adult to come flying out of the door with the air of a frazzled border collie, herding kids inside before freezing when she caught sight of Eddie.

Or rather: Eddie being carefully pulled out of Van Helsing by Steve and Jeff, cursing and whining the whole way.

“You big baby, you’re not that hurt.” Jeff huffed as Eddie’s squirming almost forced him to let go, resulting in Eddie gripping at Steve’s sweater like a liferaft.

“You can talk when you’re the one that got bit by a monster, Jeffrey.” Eddie snapped back, hopping on his good leg. “I almost died!”

“Steve said it just barely grazed you--”

“Steve was busy trying to keep it off of me to really notice what was happening! Unlike you. What were you doing, Jeff? Honking the fucking car horn?”

“I wasn’t the one honking--”

They continued to bicker as Miss Byers marched forward.

Gareth expected her to yell--and given the way Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sight of her, possibly even deny them entrance.

Shoo them away or send them home.

It wouldn’t be the first time a member of Hellfire had been beaten, only for the adults around them to act like they were the ones causing trouble.

Instead, she earned Gareth’s respect immediately by moving alongside Steve and asking; “Is anyone else injured?”

Barely waited for the shake of Steve’s head before spinning on her heel and heading back inside, yelling all the way.

“Will, fetch me towels. Jonathan--get the medkit! ”

“No worries, Miss Byers. Stevie here already has one.” Eddie said, before his attempts to charm her fell utterly flat when he accidentally jostled his leg and hissed out a curse.

“Steve’s not as good as mine, hun.” Her eyes swept over his leg, calculating. “Is that bite what I think it is?”

“Related.” Steve answered, starting the lengthy process of getting Eddie inside.

“Shit.” She sighed, and for the first time that night Gareth realized she too, wore the same haunted look Steve did.

Which meant she'd believe them.

A part of him, the part who was still a teenager, a kid in his own right, relaxed that an adult knew.

As with most of Hellfire, Gareth didn’t typically trust adults, but his relationship with his own parents was slightly better than most of the others. It led him to such beliefs like that maybe, just maybe, this would be the end of the monsters.

That he’d never face a thing like that outside of D&D, ever again. That whatever events haunted Steve would be handled by the proper authorities.

(That they’d be okay. Everyone would be okay.)

Sirens sounded in the distance, and even as Gareth walked inside the house he knew it wasn’t true.

Whatever all this was?

It wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Munson?” A rumpled Jonathan Byers said, blinking like an owl hit with sunlight as the Steve-Eddie-Jeff procession went past.

He got a half-assed roguish grin and a waggle of fingers while Steve rolled his eyes over Eddie’s head.

“What happened!?” Jonathan asked, as Joyce bustled past him, relieving Jonathan of the medkit.

“It’s a long story, but we have a code red at the lab.”

Gareth knew he was frazzled, purely by the fact his hands once again went to mess with his hair, right after helping Eddie down into a chair.

“Which they knew apparently.”

‘They’ was accompanied by Steve jerking his thumb towards the living room--where the kids were talking to themselves in a huddle.

Outside, the sirens grew louder.

Jonathan looked to the living room and back, before heaving a sigh so world weary it was almost impressive. “Of course they did.”

“Demodog?” Miss Byers asked as she laid out various medical supplies on her kitchen table, pausing every so often to stare at Eddie’s leg.

“It was a manticore!” One of the kids yelled.

Gareth wasn't surprised to learn some of the brats were listening in.

There was a pause, as Miss Byers stared quizzically at Steve.

“It's like a demodog but much larger?” He told her, making an awkward shape with his hands that explained absolutely nothing. “With wings? Oh--and a scorpion tail.”

“It was terrifying.” Stewart added in a mutter, all of Hellfire awkwardly camped themselves around Eddie.

Which wasn’t good, given the frown on Miss Byers face as she carefully cut away even more of his jeans and their shitty attempt at band-aiding his wound.

It was the face of someone who was about to cause pain in an attempt to heal, and knew it.

For all that he was their front-man and self-proclaimed shepherd of Hellfire, Eddie's pain tolerance was absolute shit.

The guy could take a punch well enough, and the rings on his hands meant business when he hit back--but when adrenaline wasn't flowing?

Eddie broke down faster than his van did.

This whole thing was a bit of a sore spot. Something Eddie had admitted once under extreme duress had come from his father repeatedly telling him a man needed to be tough, and a Munson man even tougher.

(The duress in question was during one particularly animated D&D fight.

Eddie had gotten too excited and slapped an open palm down on top of a pointy figure, embedded it well into his skin.

The incident had derailed the campaign entirely and caused Hellfire as a whole to learn that their fearless leader really hated people watching him cry.)

Needless to say, a room full of children, his friends, his crush, and one of said kids' mothers wasn't exactly an ideal set up for Eddie to lose it.

So Gareth set himself up as a sort of barrier, blocking Eddie's view from the living room (and hopefully, vice versa, before making eyes at his friends to do the same.

Thankfully Jeff at least, caught on.

Communication was given through pointed looks and nudging elbows, but quickly enough, Hellfire managed to make a decently solid barrier between the kids (and Jonathan, who was doing an amazing job of chewing out said children) leaving Steve and Gareth as the sole onlookers.

“Alright, someone start talking.” Miss Byers loudly commanded, as she finally unearthed Eddie’s wounds.

To Eddie, she offered a well-used bottle of Tylenol, muttering quiet apologies before she began cleaning his very gross looking wound.

“Hey--” Gareth himself muttered, half praying he’d magically think of an excuse for Steve to fuck off, only to realize Hellfire’s jock had actually moved into the kitchen.

A line of mismatched mugs and cups was taking form on the counter, and it took a minute of carefully looking anywhere but at Eddie as Miss Byers worked to figure out Steve was making hot chocolate.

Figured that was probably smart, given Grant looked so tense Gareth expected his head to explode at any second.

(The loud arguing from the kids as they tried to explain didn't help any.)

A thought that Jonathan also seemed to have, given he put on a voice that sounded far to fatherly for Gareth's comfort and bellowed;

“Alright, enough!”

--which at least got him the silence he wanted.

“One at a time!” Jonathan parented from the living room. “Will, you start. Dustin you’re up next, then Mike, then El.”

He put his hands on his hips and Gareth nearly laughed aloud, because apparently the children weren't the only ones picking up Steve's mannerisms.

“Start from when you decided to sneak out without telling anybody but Steve.”

“If it makes you feel better we didn't actually tell Steve.” Dustin chirped.

Jonathan stared at him, and judging from his face alone Gareth expected utter hell to erupt from his mouth.

Instead they got a sort of quiet: “That does actually make me feel a bit better, thanks.”

Steve scoffed from the kitchen in response, which thankfully covered Eddie’s pained hiss from where Miss Byers was patting hydrogen peroxide into his bite mark.

Unfortunately for Jonathan, the kids came up with their own order and as always, let Dustin and Mike be their talking pieces.

“Like we told everyone else, it started because Will and El sensed something--” One began, right as red and blue lights splashed across the walls.

The source of the siren--a police truck that, judging bu the loud crunch of tires sliding on gravel and a shriek of breaks--had arrived.

Several of the children (plus Grant) cursed.

“Who called Hopper?!”

“He’s El’s dad idiot, of course someone called him.”

“Come on Max didn’t we talk about calling people names--”

Eddie tensed, as did the majority of the room, as loud, pounding footsteps tore up the front porch.

“I called him.” Miss Byers said as she rose from her crouch, apparently done re-bandaging Eddie.

She weaved her way through the room and was nearly taken out by her own front door when it was flung open to reveal the man himself, who looked like he’d spent the night fist-fighting his way through a bar, in the dark.

“El?!” He bellowed, eyes frantically scanning the room before landing on her.

The relief was so immediate it seemed to make him slump for a second.

Or rather, long enough for him to draw in enough air to get out a proper yell. “Someone better start explaining, right now. Starting with you Michael Wheeler!”

It was only then, as the man himself stepped into the light, that Gareth finally figured out why he looked sort of--off.

Unreal even, like a figure stepping out of a dream and into reality.

Jim Hopper, Chief of Hawkins Police Department, was wearing Scooby Doo pajamas.

The top was a faded orange color, boasting an image of a footstep in the center of a magnifying glass.

The bottoms were green, the head of the famed Great Dane patterned all over.

Combined?

It was Gareth's last straw.

‘You cannot be having a panic attack over the Chief’s pajamas.’ A far away part of Gareth thought hysterically, as his vision kaleidoscoped.

God, was he so fucking lame.

#adopt a jock #pre steddie #steddie #gareth emerson #steven harrington #eddie munson #the hellfire club #the party #and #a manticore #0o0 fanfics #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #hellfire adopts steve #RIP to hellfire you had a good run not knowing about any of this lol #tw small injury mention #tw panic attack mention there at the end #cause Gareth just kinda paused his while fighting for his life lol

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kkochang · 5 months

Text

Do you also just think about klance and how domestic they could've been if DreamWorks weren't cowards?

Like, it's canon that Keith is an early riser and Lance likes to sleep in late. So, I'm imagining Keith trying to get up for training and stuff, but he finds himself pinned down by his boyfriend, leg over his hips and arm resting on top of his torso (I like to think that Lance has a habit of keeping his palm on Keith's chest, where he can feel his heartbeat). So, Keith finds himself in a heated argument between wanting to get out of bed and not wanting to wake Lance up.

He sighs heavily, having been over this more than once, and tries to slid out of his boyfriend's embrace carefully. But, of course, he fails (because Lance is a clingy bastard) and the half-embrace only grows tighter, a sleepy 'don't' leaving Lance's lips.

Keith's gives up for now, sparing some time for his dear lover, scattering messy kisses all over his face and playing with his soft bed hair with one hand, while the other one rubs mindless circles on Lance's tanned skin. It's lazy and cozy but then Lance finally rolls to his other side because Keith runs hot, which gives the latter the perfect possibility to start his day (of course, only after giving Lance one last kiss on the temple).

Since Lance has lots of siblings and stuff, he had to learn how to cook from an early age, tho with all that world saving and now forming a steady ground for peace he doesn't have much time left for that. So, whenever he has time (and energy) he cooks some delicious meal, taking the kitchen all to himself (music blowing and his singing+dancing combo in its full glory). Keith does offer his help, but the most he's trusted with are vegetables cutting and mixing the ingredients.

But most of the time he just likes to hug Lance from behind during those rare moments as he stands relatively still or annoying him, teasing and messing around at 'his' kitchen. Keith also knows how to cook but it's something easy and quick.

Imagine Lance catching a flu and Keith is freaking out, because he has no idea what to do. He never takes care of himself nor did any of his foster families offered him enough love and care. So, he remembers all what Shiro and Adam did when he was sick as a teenager and does the same for Lance. He cooks a chicken soup (bland and the chicken is a little rubbery, but, hey, it's the thought that counts after all), brings him warm tea with lemon and honey, never leaves his side and makes sure he has every needed medicine or whatever his poor boyfriend wants.

At first, Lance is perplexed by this side of Keith, the one he rarely lets slip out to the surface. But he soon finds himself completely pampered in love and care, trying to cover his flustration by teasing Keith for being a mother hen. But deep down he's endlessly grateful.

Both of them suffer from nightmares, so they learned all the best ways of how to calm each other down, how to show support and what lines aren't supposed to be crossed.

They both require physical contact, for Lance it's a tight hug, whilst for Keith it's hand holding or a gentle hand in his hair because he hates feeling trapped in his panicked state the most. For the most part of the night afterwards, none of them gets to sleep, so sometimes they watch a show or just hold each other close as if giving silent promise to protect one another no matter what.

#klance #voltron #voltron legendary defender #keith kogane #lance mcclain #lgbtqplus #fluff #klance fluff #domestic fluff #domestic klance

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 8 months

Text

All To Myself » Lance Tucker

Pairings: Boyfriend!Lance Tucker x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Lance doesn’t care who sees just as long as he has Y/N all to himself.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, window sex, praise kink, spanking, hair pulling, Lance’s tattoo, pet names (baby, baby girl)

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

You and Lance were making out as he bursted through the motel room door with you in his arms. He kicked the door shut, pushing you further into the room. You pulled away from him to strip yourself from your clothes. Lance watched with hungry eyes. You were about to take your red lace panties off, but Lance stopped you.

“Leave ‘em on. You look fucking hot in ‘em.” Lance says.

You watched as Lance took his shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the room and took off his track pants and boxers. You licked your lips at the sight of his tattoo and hard cock. You approached him, your fingertips traced his tattoo.

“You gonna fuck me, Coach Tucker?” You asked seductively.

“You know it, baby.” He almost whispers. “Go to the window.” He orders.

You walked over to the window and leaned against the small window ledge, waiting for further instructions. Lance approached you, towering over you. He yanked opened the curtains and turned you around, almost manhandling you.

“Are you going to be a good girl for your Coach, baby girl?” He asks.

“I’m always a good girl for you, Coach.” You say, biting your bottom lip.

Lance rubbed his fingers over your wet panties before pushing them to the side, rubbing his fingers between your wet folds. You moaned and grinded your pussy against his fingers only for you to earn a smack on your ass.

“Patience, baby.” Lance says.

Lance lined his cock at your tight entrance, rubbing his tip between your folds teasingly, making you whine.

“Lance!” You whined.

“What is it, baby? Tell your Coach what you want.” He says.

“Fuck me.” You say.

Lance didn’t need to be told twice. He slid his cock in your pussy in one thrust, making you gasp loudly.

“Oh my god!” You moaned loudly.

Lance’s hands found their place on your hips and began pounding your pussy. You placed your hands on the window in front of you to keep yourself from falling.

“Always so god damn tight for me.” Lance groans, smacking your ass.

The sting from the spank felt good. Once of Lance’s hands left your hips and grasped a handful of your hair, pulling you back so your back was against his chest. His lips found your neck and began marking you up. His other hand left your hips, finding its way to your clit and began rubbing it in circles causing your eyes to nearly roll to the back of your head.

“You like that, baby?” He asks.

“Mmm fuck yes!” You moaned.

Your attention was briefly directed to the person walking in the parking lot outside of your motel room.

“Lance!” You say with a moan.

“Yea, baby?” Lance asks.

“Th-There’s someone in the parking lot.” You say, trying to remind him that the curtains are wide open.

“What’s your point, baby girl?” He asks.

“He can see us!” You say.

“Let him see.” He says.

Lance’s hand left your hair, placing it on your shoulder and shoved you forward against the window, a small thud could be heard from outside of the motel room when you hit it. The man walking to his motel room noticed and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Is he looking?” Lance asks.

“Y-Yes.” You moaned, making brief eye contact with the man as he went inside of his motel room.

“Good.” He smirks. “I don’t care if he sees cause I have you all to myself.” He practically growls.

Your pussy clenched around his cock after he said that.

“Oh you like that, don’t you, baby girl?” Lance chuckles. “You like the thought of someone seeing me fuck you?” He asks.

You moaned and nodded.

“Me too.” He moans.

Lance looks down, watching his cock disappear inside of your pussy which was glistening with your wetness.

“Fuck.” He moans.

A high pitched moan left your lips when his tip hit your sweet spot.

“Right there!” You moaned in almost a scream.

Lance continued to hit your sweet spot. His fingers quickened their rubbing against your clit causing your orgasm start to build up. Your jaw dropped, your breath fogging up the window.

“Lance, I’m—” A moan left your lips before you could finish your sentence.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Lance asks.

“Yes, fuck!” You moaned.

“Cum for me, baby girl. Soak your Coach’s cock.” He says.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a loud moan left your lips as you came hard. Your cum soaked your panties and dripped in between your thighs and Lance’s lower abdomen and front of his thighs.

“That’s fucking hot.” Lance moans.

One of his hands slammed against the window to brace himself. A loud moan of your name left his lips as he came inside of you. His thrusts came to a slow stop. You two stood there panting and all sweaty with his cock still inside of you.

“How do you feel, baby?” Lance asks.

“Amazing.” You say, placing your forehead against the cool window.

“Amazing enough to go for a round 2?” He asked, placing kisses along your upper back.

“Fuck yes.” You say.

Nonetheless to say that the night didn’t go to waste, but you two did get a warning for a noise complaint that you guys could care less about.

🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅

-Bucky’s Doll

#lance tucker #the bronze #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #lance tucker x female reader #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker x y/n #lance tucker x you #lance tucker smut #lance tucker one shot #lance tucker imagine

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t0mcruize123 · 7 months

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Deeper desire🖤

Guys I’m actually addicted to writing Lestat smuts I can’t stop💀💀 this is ofc 18+, though it’s actually not as hardcore as my last one this ain’t too bad🥴 if I traumatise you, YOU WERE WARNED👹

Two twin bursts of fiery pain lanced my neck, causing my entire body to jerk. The burn traveled all the way through my body, stunning me in its intensity. I couldn't move. I couldn't even scream around the pain.

His arm around my waist was like an iron vise as he drew long and hard from the wound his fangs had created. I shook, eyes peeled wide as my hands fell to his arm.

The burn, the deep, staggering pull against my throat..within mere seconds of when he'd sunk his fangs into me, everything changed.

The intense hurting became something else, something overwhelming in a wholly different way. A new ache erupted inside me, heating my blood until it felt like every part of me was filling with molten lava.

My wide eyes were unseeing as the heat filled my chest, my stomach, and pooled in the space between my thighs. His mouth tugged on my throat once more, and this time, that pull went straight to my very core. My body jerked with a flood of pounding arousal.

Lestat groaned, his arm tightening around me, and I felt him, hard and thick against my rear. I gripped his arm as tension coiled inside me-

And without warning, he ripped his mouth from my neck.

He let go, and I stumbled forward, nearly falling. Trembling with confusion and the desire still sparking inside of me, I turned to him.

He stood several feet from me, his chest rising and falling with rapid, short breaths. His eyes were wide, red smeared his lips.

I lifted my hand, pressing it to my neck. Wet warmth greeted my fingertips. I took a step back.

"I can't believe it," he shuddered, and he ran his tongue along his bottom lip. His lashes swept up, and his pupils were so dilated only a thin strip of amber was visible. "But I should've known.”

Before I could figure out what he meant or what would happen next, he was on me, moving so fast I couldn't track him. His mouth crashed into mine as one hand shoved into my hair, his other arm clamped to my waist. I wasn't just kissed.

I was devoured. I tasted my blood on his lips, on his tongue. I tasted him.

I wasn't sure exactly when I kissed him back. Was it after A few seconds, or had I been kissing him from the moment his mouth touched mine? I didn't know. All I did know was that I was starved for him, right or wrong, I wanted him.

That's why I didn't fight him when he brought me to the ground. The contrast of the cold snow against my back and the heat of his body pressed to my front drew a gasp from me. I didn't think he heard it as it was caught up in his hungry kisses, and I realized then that he'd been holding back when he kissed me all the times before. Now, he wasn't hiding who he was.

Lestat rocked against me as he slid his hand over my waist to my hip. We moved, straining and gasping, his teeth catching my bottom lip. A brief sting registered, and he shuddered, groaning as the metallic taste renewed.

Breaking the kiss, he lifted up enough to look down at me. "Tell me you want this." His hips were still churning against mine, my skin burning beneath the layer of clothing between us, “Tell me you need more."

"More," I whispered before I could even think about what we were doing, what we'd done-who he was.

“Thank fuck," he grunted, and then he reached between us, his finger snagging the front of my dress. Buttons popped free, flinging in the nearby snow as he pulled hard enough to lift my hips.

"Fuck,” I murmured, and he barked out a short, harsh laugh as he shoved my dress down until one leg was completely free, and the fabric snagged on the other ankle. "You know this shirt is beyond repair, right?"

"Wha-?"

The sound of cloth tearing was my only explanation. His hand tore at his shirt whilst his eyes tracked down to my stomach, moving over the hardened tips of my breasts.

He kissed me as he settled over me, grasping, clutching, devouring until my entire world spiralled out of control. There was no slow seduction this time, no long and drawn-out caresses and kisses. There was a wave of discomfort, but it quickly gave way to the aching, pulsing pleasure, and there was no room in my body or mind or between us for there to be anything other than what we felt. It was just him and me, the taste of my blood and his on our lips, and this need I didn't quite understand.

He pushed into me and I could hardly breathe, feeling him everywhere, knowing I’d feel him in the morning and every day after. I groaned, feeling myself stretch as he sunk deeper and deeper to the hilt. I savoured the feeling of his tip hitting my spot and spread my legs wider. Around us, the snow fell heavier through the trees, soaking his back and my hair as we clutched and grasped at one another. There were only the sounds of our wet kisses, our bodies coming together and parting, and our moans.

I sucked in a whimpering breath and his hand clamped over my lips, muffling my loud moans in the open space. I rolled my hips forward, moving him impossibly deeper and wrapping my hands around his neck.

One long, dragging kiss ensued, and then his mouth moved from mine to my chin and then lower, his lips and those sharp teeth gliding over my throat. His actions elicited a shiver that curled its way down my spine as he stilled above me. Was he...was he going to bite me again? Instead of fear, there was a rush of wicked heat. The pain from his fangs had been brief, and what had come afterward...

I squeezed his shoulders, too lost to even wonder if I shouldn't want him to, too far gone to think about the consequences if he did.

I felt his tongue against my skin, circling and laving over the sensitive mark he'd left behind. Then he lifted his head eyes and his eyes were on mine once more.

His hips retreated and then pushed back in, rolling and going as his fingers played with my breast. He moved slowing now, so lazily that I felt as if I were being strung out. I shuddered under him, slipping my hand into his snow-damp hair as I stretched and he plunged deep.

The tension was building again, coiling until I couldn't take his slow, measured movements any longer. His teasing grinds and rolls. I lifted my hips, trying to urge him to move faster, go deeper, but he held back until I cried out and pulled at his hair.

He half-laughed, half-growled as he lifted his head. "I know what you want, but-“

Heart racing out of control, I squirmed under his weight, "But what?"

"I want you to say my name."

"What?"

His hips continued moving in maddeningly slow circles, “I want you to say my real name."

My lips parted on a sharp inhale.

He stilled once more, his eyes luminous. "That's all I ask."

All he asked? It was a lot.

"It's acknowledgement," he said, his thumb swirling and tugging,"It's you admitting you are fully aware of who is inside you, who you want so badly, even though you know you shouldn't. Even though you want nothing more than to not feel what you do. I want to hear you say my real name."

"You're a bastard," I whispered.

One side of his lips curled. "Some call me that, yes, but that's not the name I'm waiting to hear, Princess."

I wanted to deny him. Gods, did I ever.

"How bad do you want it?” he asked.

My grip tightened on his hair as I yanked his head down.

There was a flash of surprise in those glowing eyes. "Bad," I snarled. "Your Highness."

His mouth opened, but I lifted my legs, curling them around his hips. Taking advantage of his surprise and tapping into my own anger, I rolled him onto his back, fully intending to leave him there, but I hadn't foreseen what the move would do when I rocked back.

I sank down on his length, my body shockingly flush with his. My shout ended in his groan as I planted my hands on his chest. Gods. The fullness was almost too much.

"Oh," I whispered, taking ragged breaths.

His chest was moving just as unevenly under my hands, “You know what?"

"What?"

Wetness glided down my thighs onto his cock.

"I don't need you to say my name," he said, his eyes half closed. "I just need you to do that again, but if you don't start moving, you might actually kill me.”

A startled chuckle burst from me. "I...I don't know what to do."

Something about his features softened even though stark need shone through the thin slits of his eyes. "Just move." His hands went to my hips and he lifted me up a few inches and brought me back down. A deep sound radiated from him and I would’ve given anything to hear it again.

"Like that. You can't do anything wrong. How have you not learned that yet?"

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I mirrored his movement, moving up and down as snow fell across his shirt.

My palm slipped, angling me forward. A spot deep in me was touched, sending out bolts of intense pleasure in waves.

“Like that?" I breathed.

His hands tightened on my hips. "Just like that."

With each move of my hips, streaks of bliss shot through me straight for that spot. Before I knew it, I was moving faster above him, and I knew he was watching me as my eyes drifted closed, and my head fell back. I knew his gaze was fastened on my breasts and where we were joined, and that knowledge was too much.

I felt an orgasm building and rolled my hips forward, my skin flushing with heat as his grip tightened on my hips. The tension shattered and I cried out, my body spamming as intense ecstasy sliced through me.

He moved then, rolling me back under him and thrusting his hips against mine. His mouth claimed mine as his body did the same, pounding against me, into me until the pleasure seemed to crest once more, the fierceness shocking as he seemed to lose all sense of control. His large body moved over mine, in me until he pressed hard against me, his shout swallowed in our kisses as he shuddered.

I didn't know how long we lay there in the falling snow, our hearts and breaths slow to steady, my grip still tight on his shoulders, his forehead pressed to mine. After some time, I became aware of his thumb moving along my waist in idle up and down sweeps.

"I wish we could stay here forever," I muse.

"Oh, you're not moving anytime soon. Your ass is too nice to look at."

I shoved him back with a small smile but after a moment he paused, “Have you ever-“

"Anal?" I cut in, "Well, considering I've only had sex once before you, I'm sure you know the answer to that."

I certainly wouldn't have done that the first time, no matter how naive I was. And since Lestat and I haven't done that, then of course, the answer is no.

"So we're virgins then," he says, his tone making it sound like he's kind of enjoying that idea.

"Yeah, virgins," I grumble. "And I plan on dying one, because there's no way you're sticking that in there." He snorts, breaking into a laugh, then moved up towards me. I arched my back as his teeth glided across my skin, sending a shock down my stomach and straight between my thighs. He slides his hand under my chest, cupping my breast and I'm already turned on.

Again.

I groan, my eyes damn near rolling into the back of my head as his mouth trails down my neck, devouring me in hot, demanding kisses. He grinds his hips into me, and I feel the hardening bulge between his legs.

"Talk to me," he whispers. "I need your words."

Talk? Now?

His hand glides down my bare back, brushing my hair and making it tickle my skin. He takes my ass, kneads it, and without thinking, I bend my knee to the side, opening myself for him.

He groans, nibbling my ear and dipping his hand between my legs, his fingers sliding inside of me. My eyes fluttered, the pleasure of him filling me making me wet instantly. His fingers come out, swirling around my clit, and I shuddered as my hips jerked up to meet his touch.

“What do you do when you’re alone?” He murmured against my ear, pushing two fingers deep inside me, “Do you think about me? Rubbing you gently just like this?”

My lips formed a tight line as I nodded, unable to form a response. He grinded himself against me and hit my spot at the perfect angle with his fingers.

“Do you finger yourself imagining I’m right behind you? Watching in the shadows and growing hard with need?” His fingers quickened their pace and I gasped at the pressure building, “Use your words darling.”

“Yes,” I breathed as a wave of pleasure filled my thighs, “I lay in bed unable to stop thinking about you. I get hot and I…”

“And you?” He whispered, pulling me onto his lap.

“I pull up my shirt.”

“Yeah?”

“I imagine you there, watching me finger myself.”

“Don’t stop.”

"My skin was damp with sweat, because it was so hot," I whimper, holding the back of his neck, "and I slid my hand down my panties.”

"Did I like what I was seeing?"

"Yeah. I wanted you to see me and need to be inside me."

"Did you cum?” he growls low in my ear as I rock into him, “Did you cum, thinking about me watching you?"

I nod, completely lost in the vision and his thrusts. "I knew I'd do anything you asked me to. I'd let you have anything you wanted."

"Is that true?"

"Anything."

He removes his fingers from inside me and brings them up to his lips, licking them clean, “And what do you want?"

I watched as his saliva mixed with the juices still soaking his fingers. I know what he wants. My heart is pumping wildly, and im shaking with need.

I lean my head back again, gasping over his mouth. "I want you everywhere."

I feel his smile curl over my lips right before he kisses me. He moves his fingers between my thighs again, rubbing and getting me wetter with need.

"Everywhere?" he whispers.

I nod. I'm his. All of me.

I want him all over me.

His breath shakes over my lips. "Don't do this because you think I want it," he pleads. "I only want what you want to give me.”

I sunk into his mouth, “I want you.”

He swirls the wetness between my legs farther up, and I slide my hand between me and the floor, rubbing my clit as he positions himself. I'm throbbing everywhere, and my heart pounds in my chest as he pushes the tip in and stops. I gasp, feeling a tiny burn.

I contract around him, breathing hard and rubbing myself faster.

“I want more,” I barely finished my sentence before he slid all the way in, making me cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. I arched my ass up to give him a better position.

I close my eyes, every nerve alive and pulsing with need. He comes down on my back, kissing me as he thrusts out and back in.

"Ah," I moan into his mouth, "Go faster."

He smiles, holding himself up with one hand and holding my thigh where my leg and hip meet. Intense pleasure washes over me as I arch my neck back to meet his lips. He bites my neck and starts fucking me harder, not holding back and neither of us being quiet.

For the rest of the night.

#fanfic #tom cruise #romance #smut #dark romance #lestat de lioncourt #interview with the vampire

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scrollonso · 3 months

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First Kiss (Ending 1)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (3.4k words, angsty ver) [@v3lnys @biancathecool] {I almost made them happy but then i rewrote it so it's really a sad ending}

last part - masterlist - alternate ending (just for u guys)

The private villa Lawrence rented for his son's party buzzed with the sounds of Lance's 19th birthday celebration. The expansive terrace was draped in fairy lights, and the tropical decor gave a nod to the vibrant culture of Brazil. The night was warm, the air filled with the mingling scents of barbecue and the fresh tang of lime from caipirinhas.

Lance was at the heart of it all. His Racing Point jacket lay tossed over a chair, his cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and alcohol. The F1 season had just concluded. It was a fitting end to a spectacular year.

"Happy Birthday, Bubu!" Nico Rosberg called out his smile audible, navigating through the crowd with a bright grin. He embraced his teammate warmly.

"Thanks, Nico!" Lance replied, his smile wide. "This is the best birthday I could ask for." He slurred, head laying on the older mans neck "You're so nice Nico, please don't die"

The German man couldn't help but laugh, patting the Canadians head as he shook his head at his drunken state.

Sebastian emerged next, carrying a brightly wrapped gift, pictures of his face littered on the paper. "Lancey! I got you something special," he announced, his German accent thick. "Open it later when you can stand straight."

Lance laughed, pulling Sebastian into a hug, trading one German shoulder for another. "Thanks, Sebby. You always know how to make it fun."

Across the terrace, Fernando Alonso watched his boyfriend with a loving smile. Once he made his way over, he slid an arm around Lance’s waist. "Mi sol, are you enjoying your night?" he asked, his Spanish accent colouring his words.

"The best, Nando," Lance responded, leaning into Fernando, clingier than he usually was now that he had practically drank his body weight in expensive wine. "It’s perfect because you’re here."

Fernando kissed Lance on the cheek. "Am glad, Lancito."

Sebastian raised his glass, a gleam in his eye. "To Lance, the youngest ever F1 race winner!" he toasted, his voice carrying above the music.

The crowd echoed the cheer, their glasses clinking in unison. Nico leaned in with a grin. "How does it feel, being a nineteen year old?"

"God, I'm just glad we're in Brazil and not America" He shook his head, wiggling the wine glass in his hand.

The night continued in a blur of dancing, laughter, and endless drinks. Lance, feeling beyond tipsy, found himself on a plush lounge chair with Fernando at his side. Sebastian animatedly recounted a moment from free practice, shaking his head as he explained the argument he'd gotten into with an engineer.

"Seb, how are you ever gonna get a seat!" Lance exclaimed, his laughter unrestrained. "You’re crazy."

Fernando, his arm securely around Lance, whispered, "You okay, mi vida?"

"Better than okay," Lance replied contentedly.

As the party began to wind down, Lance and Fernando decided it was time to head back to their shared room. They bid goodnight to their friends, with Nico and Sebastian giving Lance one last hug and a few more jokes.

Back in the quiet of their hotel room, Fernando helped Lance out of his shoes and jacket, noticing how after they'd left he got quieter. "Tired, Lancito?" Fernando asked gently, his Spanish accent soothing as he looked up to the Canadian.

"I can't do this anymore" A now tipsy Lance muttered, face barely illuminated in their shared hotel room.

"What?" Fernando laughed, unsure what Lance was talking about, he never made much sense when he was drunk.

"I can't hold you back like this" He confessed, eyes foggy as he looked up at Fernando.

"Lance, you're not holding me back, what are you talking about, Mi sol?" The Spaniard consoled, cupping the boys face in his hands

"Nando, i'm not gay"

"You're joking" Fernando laughed, patting his cheek slightly before folding his dress shirt and placing it on the chair in the corner of the room

"I can't be gay, I- I know we've done things and i've said things but- but none of it was real, Nando" A now shirtless Lance stumbled over his words, picking at his fingernails as he spoke.

He didn't respond, simply stepping closer and pressing their lips together, trying to pull his boyfriend out of his head, stop the thoughts from consuming him.

The Canadian kissed back, of course he did, his body knew how he wanted to react. His brain was just in denial.

Just as it seemed to be going back to normal he pulled away, the back of his hand wiping his lips. Wiping away Fernandos kiss. It hurt.

"Stop, don't- don't kiss me." Lance moved back, needing distance between them

"What? Am I making you feel sick?" Fernando scoffed, sucking on his teeth as he waited for a response. Waited for the next piece of bullshit Lance was going to spew. He wasn't upset before, but Lance wasn't drunk enough for this to be excused.

"It's not like that." Bullshit.

"You cant just lie to me, Lance, I know you- you feel the same, I know you do, but you have these feelings, these thoughts, these concerns, but I'm here to help." He was confused, they'd been fine all week, they'd been fine for months, and suddenly Lance was breaking up with him? "What happened, Lancito? Who spoke to you? What are you hearing? Let me help."

"Stop, Fernando." He spat, speaking to the older man as if they really were nothing "I can't, this is over"

"No, I won't let you do this."

"You have no choice. If I dont leave you'll never be happy."

"I want to be happy with you, Lance, I want to do this with you. I'll help you deal with whatever youre going through but you cant just- you can't give up on us like this" Fernando felt as if all the wind had just been knocked out of him. Seriously, where was this coming from? "What am I going to do without you?"

"Continue racing, win your third world championship, fall in love, really fall in love, not like this. You want a family, I can't give you that. If you're ever done racing then retire and live out the rest of your life like I never existed, find paradise, Fernando, I'm not everything."

"I have found paradise, with you, Lancito. You're my everything. You're my life. My sun. My soulmate. You can't just leave me as if you don't feel the same."

"I don't." He confirmed, standing up and weaving by Fernando to grab his shirt and slip it on before leaving.

"I'll never love racing the way I love-" slam. "-you."

He left everything else that he had but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't go back. If he did he'd never leave.

Fernando didn't go back to his hotel that night, he went to Marks.

He wasn't sure why.

He needed someone.

As soon as the Australian opened the door Fernando broke out into sobs, coming undone in the hallway of some random four star hotel in Brazil.

"Fer" Was all Mark said, pulling his friend into his arms as he pushed the door shut.

It was pathetic. Fernando thought. Crying.

That night he slept in the taller mans hotel, the wrong taller mans hotel.

He slept in Marks arms with tears dried on his cheeks as his chest rose and fell with every shakey breath.

Everything was wrong.

Fourteen years. That's how long it was until Fernando saw Lance again.

He retired after his rookie year, there was hardly ever any new information about Lance released to the public for fourteen whole years.

Fernando hadn't dated since Lance. Hadn't looked at any girls, let alone another boy, since Lance left him after he turned 19.

Fernando had gotten more involved with his karting brand since then, doing anything and everything to distract himself from the memories of the boy he loved so dearly all those years ago.

He arrived at La Conca Circuit, seeing the boys and girls already in their Karts and practicing for their upcoming races, he couldn't help but smile as he walked closer. There'd been a lot of new students enrolled since the last time he'd watched a practice. Seeing them at the earliest stages of their careers made him happy, it temporarily filled the whole in his heart he left reserved for his future children.

One student in particular caught the Spaniards attention, his helmet a familiar hot pink with hollographic lettering on the side, as he watched the boy absolutely dominate the track he noticed him coming to a stop, exiting his vibrant FA kart and pulling off his helmet then his balaclava.

Fernando stood up, making his way over to the boy in an effort to learn who his new student was

"Fernando Alonso, how long have you been karting with us?" He held out his hand, the boy's head shooting up, a shocked expression on his face as he quickly took the mans hand

"Nik-" The boy spoke, practically choking on his words "I'm Nikola- I've only been racing here for a few weeks"

"How do you like it, Nikola?" The older man asked, smiling slightly at the boy

"I love it, I've been in karts since I was four and it's so great to be in an environment like this" The teenager nodded, the accent attached to his words bringing memories flooding back

"Are you from around here?" Fernando asked, aware the boy wasn't just by the way he spoke

"No, I'm from Canada. My dad's here on business and the schedules just lined up perfectly" He answered, helmet tucked under his arm

The Spaniard nodded, eyes falling down to the helmet "Did you design it yourself? Your helmet."

"My helmet?" Nikola echoed, holding it out to show Fernando "No, my dad had a similar helmet when he was in F1, I wanna make it too so I figured the helmet might bring me luck"

Fernandos mouth went dry, eyes glued to the pink helmet with NS on the side, "Nikola Stroll" written in small letters just barely above the holographic logo

"Stroll, You're Lance's boy?" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes meeting Nikola's, it made sense now that he knew. He looked just like Lance, it was unsettling.

"You know my dad?" Nikola asked, eyebrows raising as he awaited a response

"We used to be close, very close, he was in Formula 1 when I won my second championship." Fernando smiled at the fond memory "We haven't spoken since he retired, though."

"What? Why? You guys have to talk now." Nikola insisted, reaching out and grabbing the Spaniards wrist to pull him over to where Lance was lingering, distracted on his phone as he waited for his son to be finished.

"Dad!" The boy called, the now older Canadian turning back instantly

"Nikola, mi sol, how was-" He stopped mid sentence, look on his face changing as he registered the man behind his son, swallowing dry as the two came closer

"Why didn't you tell me you were friends with THE Fernando Alonso when you were in Formula 1?" The teenager asked, letting go of Fernando as he gazed up at his dad, not noticing the shakey breath escaping his lips

"Can you give us a second, Nik?" Lance asked, eyes not leaving the Spaniard. His son didn't protest, just groaned as he went back out to the track

The roar of engines started up again and the smell of gasoline filled the air at the circuit. The sun beat down on the asphalt, making it shimmer in the afternoon heat. Spectators cheered from the stands, but Fernando and Lance were oblivious to the noise around them.

Fernando stood by the outskirts of the circuit, his face flushed with anger. He had no idea what to say, his heart pounding in his chest. It had been 14 years since they last saw each other, but the intensity of his emotions hadn’t dimmed. Lance stayed a few feet away, the tension between them palpable.

"So, you are a father?" Fernando spoke up, uncomfortable with the silence between the two.

"Yeah, He'll be thirteen in December." Lance nodded, running his fingers through his now shorter hair, the Spaniard unable to ignore his ring finger "You aren't?"

"No." He responded simply, eyes following the Canadians hand as it settled against his hip "Are you married?'

"Yes." Lance responded, trying everything to avoid looking the man in front of him in the eyes

"Oh" Fernando hummed, unable to tear his eyes away from the Canadian in front of him "You look good, Lancito"

"Nando-" He started, stepping back slightly "Fernando, I can't- don't call me that."

Fernando scoffed, looking around to see if people were watching before he spoke "Don't call you that? Lance you literally call Nikola mi sol. He just found out we knew eachother back then today. You can't tell me not to call you Lancito then send your son to my karting school and call him what I used to call you. Is not fair."

Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fernando, this isn’t the time or place-"

"Don’t you dare tell me what the time or place is!" Fernando’s voice rose, drawing the attention of a few passersby. "You owe me this. After all these years, you owe me an answer."

"I- God." Lance licked his lips, desperately trying to get moisture back into his mouth, voice scratchy from nerves "I know, of course I know it's not fair. It's insane. I should be working but you've been going to tracks a lot more recently and I couldn't stop wishing I was there to see you. Just one more time. I needed to see you." He spoke fast, barely avoiding stumbling over his words

"Do you have any idea how selfish that is, Lance?" Fernando asked, voice shaking as he moved closer to the man in front of him, he really was a man now. "You left me. You retired and cut all contact with me fourteen years ago. You got married. You had a child. You're all i've ever wanted. I haven't looked at another person the way I looked at you in more than a decade and you needed to see me?"

Lance looked down at the ground, shifting uncomfortably. "What do you want me to say?"

"Do you want to be with me or do you want to be with her?" Fernando's voice cracked, the raw pain evident. "Answer me, Lance!"

Lance's eyes met Fernando’s, filled with a mixture of guilt and sorrow. "Marilou...she’s my wife now. We have a life together."

"And what about us?" Fernando’s eyes blazed with anger. "What we had meant nothing to you? Fourteen years, Lance. Fourteen years and not a word from you. And now I find out you’ve been living a lie with her?"

Lance stepped closer, lowering his voice. "It’s not a lie, Fernando. I loved you, but things changed. People change. I couldn’t keep living in the past. That was the only lie."

Fernando shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "You didn’t even give us a chance. You just left. Disappeared. Do you know how much that hurt?"

Lance reached out, but Fernando recoiled. "I’m sorry, Fernando. Truly, I am. But I’ve made my choice."

Fernando’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. "Then why did you come here? To rub it in my face?"

"I didn’t know you’d be here," Lance lied. He'd just told Fernando the truth and now he was going back on his words like he thought the Spaniard was some fucking idiot. "I came to watch Nikola race, to clear my head. I never expected this."

Fernando turned away, staring at the karts zooming around the track, a blur of color and motion. "I loved you, Lance. More than anything. But you made your choice. Do you expect me to just live with it?"

"I knew this was a bad idea. Tell Nikola I'll be waiting in the car" He muttered, turning away and rushing off, not expecting the Spaniard to chase after him, grabbing his arm roughly and turning him around, not wasting a second before crashing their lips together.

The kiss was fierce, raw, and filled with fourteen years of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Lance stiffened at first, shocked by the suddenness of it, but then he melted into the kiss, his hands finding their way to Fernando's back. The world around them seemed to blur, the sounds of the karting track fading into a distant hum.

After a few moments, Lance pulled away, breathless. "Fernando, we can't..."

"Why not?" Fernando's voice was hoarse, his eyes searching Lance's. "Because of her?"

"Because it’s not fair to anyone," Lance replied, his voice shaking. "Not to her, not to me, and certainly not to you."

Fernando's grip tightened on Lance's arm. "But this, us, it's real. You can't just walk away from this again."

Lance looked torn, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions. "I have responsibilities now, Fernando. A family."

"And what about your responsibility to yourself?" Fernando countered, his voice softer now but still intense. "What about your happiness? You can’t live your life for others at the expense of your own heart."

Lance closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I made my choice. I have to live with it."

Fernando let go of Lance's arm, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "So, that’s it then? You’re just going to keep running away?"

Lance opened his eyes, filled with unshed tears. "I’m not running away. I’m trying to do what’s right."

"For who?" Fernando's voice trembled with emotion. "For Marilou? For your son? Or are you just trying to convince yourself that you're doing the right thing because it's easier than facing the truth?"

Lance's jaw clenched, a tear escaping down his cheek. "I'm trying to do what's right for everyone. Including you."

Fernando scoffed, wiping his own tears away angrily. "Don't you dare pretend this is for my benefit. You left me, Lance. You walked away without a word. Now you expect me to believe that staying away is for my sake?"

Lance looked away, unable to meet Fernando's piercing gaze. "I thought it would be easier for you to move on if I just disappeared."

"Easier?" Fernando's voice rose again, raw with pain. "Do you have any idea what it was like? Wondering every day where you were, why you left, if you ever cared at all? And now you come back into my life, tell me you’ve moved on, and expect me to just accept it?"

"I never stopped caring," Lance whispered, finally looking back at Fernando. "I thought about you every day. But I couldn’t see a way for us to be together without hurting everyone around us."

Fernando took a step closer, his voice softening. "I can't believe you still care what people have to say about you. Running away doesn’t solve anything, it just proves you're nothing but a fucking coward."

Lance's resolve seemed to waver, his eyes searching Fernando's face. "What do you want from me, Fernando? What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to be honest with yourself," Fernando said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Stop hiding behind your responsibilities and ask yourself what you really want. Because I can’t keep living in this limbo, wondering what might have been."

Lance took a deep breath, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "I..." He stopped, expression changing "I can't do this."

Fernando scoffed, scoffing at the Canadians response. "I still love you, mi sol. And I believe deep down, you still love me too."

Lance swallowed hard, his emotions a tangled mess. "I have to leave, I need to forget about us. I owe my wife that much. And myself. And you."

Lance paused, swallowing the words desperate to come out, before walking away, his heart heavy with the choice he'd made. Fernando watched him go, hope and fear battling within him.

He was never good at keeping a poker face. Fernando knew straight away his Lancito didn't love that woman. His Lancito didn't love women. But this man wasn't his.

He didn't know who Lance was anymore and Fernando just had to be okay with that. He had to be okay with that being their last kiss.

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robthegoodfellow · 3 months

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Fingers-in-my-word-doc Friday:

In honor of Friday, gimme a line several paragraphs from your latest WIP or project that involves hands. (Search-find hand, hands, fingers, fingerpad, nails, wrist, palm, thumb, heel, lifelines etc)

Tagged by @ihni, who has excellent timing. Using this as excuse to post preview of long delayed next chapter of Only One Bed:

The Catholic church on the edge of town rang its bells thrice a day—six in the AM, noon, six in the PM—and that first round of distant, steady clanging roused Billy from fitful sleep, however briefly, every morning without fail. He was used to it, even before moving to Hawkins; the Lutherans liked to do the same at his childhood church in San Diego.

That morning, he would’ve drifted off again—closing shift later—if not for a couple distracting factors. Number one, he had to piss, and usually he’d just roll out and stumble back without a thought because Ed slept like the dead once he was down, except that, number two, cuddled along Eddie’s side, his arm looped limp around her back, was… Chrissy. Who’d shifted, eyes fluttering, the moment Billy sat up.

Her enquiring hum was more a soft grunt.

“Sorry,” he whispered, barely audible over the hiss of the sheets as he slid free. “Gotta pee.”

Another hum, faintly acceding, like I’ll allow it, and Billy bit down on a bubble of mirth, spent his time before the porcelain throne and his foggy wander back to the bed a bit dumbfounded, awestruck in a way that made his chest tight, this balloon inside expanding past capacity.

It was Sunday. This time last week, he’d been bracing to lose something, not… find something. Gain something.

He’d assumed pushing Chrissy and Eddie together would necessarily push Billy and Eddie apart. Billy would be the one giving, not… getting.

Never in his wildest imagining had Billy anticipated last night. That, holding Eddie out to her, poised for release, Chrissy would grab onto them both. Together, but also—separately.

And Billy never expected he’d so badly want to grab onto her in return.

Quiet as he could, he slipped between the sheets, sat propped against the headboard, and seeing them snuggled in the dark set off that same buoyant burst as before. Not just for Eddie. The pang of possessive fondness… it was for her, too.

Possessive and protective. Chrissy had fallen apart, let him tend to the pieces, bundle her up safe, and it was almost desperate, irrational, how much he wanted to be there when she needed that, but also…

He swallowed, rubbing his chest like that would calm whatever was wrestling for purchase, and tried to parse the chaos, the known and familiar feelings from the rest.

Because the past week had stomped all over the sandy bottom of his psyche, stirred what he tried so hard to keep submerged until it was nothing but swirling murk. And when it got like that, the best thing to do was keep real still, wait for it to settle.

Slight movement beneath a pillow, and his gaze cut to the slender hand as it emerged to nudge his own, resting on the mattress by his hip. Chrissy gave no other sign of being awake, and maybe she wasn’t, maybe she was just stretching in her sleep… but when he turned his hand, lightly held her fingers, brushing his thumb over soft knuckles, she squeezed, a brief pulse, weak from lying lax so long.

It lanced through him, this urge to scoop her up and really squeeze, so tight and consuming that it smothered everything bad.

Clingy, he diagnosed. He, Billy Hargrove, was feeling fucking clingy.

zero pressure tags: @imsodishy @fizzigigsimmer @passivenovember @shieldofiron @spaceofentropy and anyone else who wants to 💛

#it's... coming??#it's coming #only one bed #turns out reacquainting oneself with FOUR concurrent POV/timelines after a year away #is rather difficult #but we're back i think we're back in business #harringrovesoningham #billy hargrove #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson

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racinginchid3nt · 1 year

Text

I’d Probably Still Adore You | Part Six

Y/N x Lance Stroll, Y/N Best Friend x Pierre

Gasly

In which a night at the club and a game of never have I ever turns into something new

Inspired by 505 - Arctic Monkeys

Warnings: Smut, smut, and more smut. 18+

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

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The lights were off when you entered the room, but it didn’t matter. You’re back was up against the door before it even clicked closed. Two hands tightly gripped your waist, a denim clad thigh sliding its way between your legs.

Lips trailed their way along your shoulder and up to your neck. As they reached your ear, he spoke for the first time since he dragged you out of the club.

“Are you going to introduce yourself now?” He said.

A breathy moan slid past your lips. It hasn’t occurred to you until just now that the two of you had never shared names. You knew his, his status as a driver ensured that, but not the other way around.

“Um, it’s Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you again Y/N, I’m Lance.” He replied.

“I know who you are, you didn’t need to introduce yourself.” You whispered.

“Yeah actually, I did. I’d be more than happy for you to call my Daddy the rest of the night, but something tells me hearing you scream my name will be better.”

With that he released you. Sliding your body slowly down his until you landed wobbly on your high heels. He ran his hand along the wall, flipping the light switch on. A soft glow covered the room and he stepped further inside before settling on the small couch.

You stared at him, unsure of what to do next, his words still fogging your mind. He reclined backwards, making himself comfortable in the chair. You were confused, this wasn’t your first one night stand but you certainly didn’t have loads of experience. What you did know, was that this wasn’t normal, him sitting around in silence staring at you.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“You wanted to put on a show earlier. I figure that must mean you like to perform, and who am I to prevent you from doing that.”

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he opened his music app, before setting his phone on the coffee table. As the opening notes of the song started, you finally understood what he meant.

I left my girl back home

I don’t love her no more

And she’ll never fucking know that

These fucking eyes that I’m staring at

You slowly brought your hands to your hips, gliding them along your sides as you began swaying your hips to the music.

Let me see that ass

You bent forward, your ass just inches away from his lap.

Look at all this cash

His hands grazed your hips, touching lightly as you moved.

And I emptied all my cards too

Now I’m fucking leaning on that

As the song continued on, you lost yourself in the music. Sliding across his lap, you felt his enjoyment though he stayed silent. You knew the song well, and you decided that if he wouldn’t take it further you would.

Bring your body baby, I can bring you fame

You reached for the neck tie of your dress, untying the knot that kept it on your body. It slid to the floor in a heap, and you heard his intake of breath.

And that’s my motherfuckin words too

And with that he flipped you around, dragging you onto his lap and grinding you into him.

Just let me motherfuckin love you

“Fuck you can dance.” He whispered through batter breaths. “Do I want to know how you learned that?” He asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Fuck no.”

And then his mouth was crashing into yours, one hand in your hair and the other along your hip. As you reached for his shirt, he let you go momentarily, lifting his arms so you could pull it off. His tongue collided with yours, his hand in your hair pushing your face into his. You knew your lips would be bruised in the morning, but it didn’t matter, you were too lost in him to care.

Your hand slid off his shoulder, down his chest to the button of his pants. You loosened his belt, unzipping his pants and sliding your hand inside. Gripping his through his briefs, you heard him let out a hiss.

Before you knew it, his hand dropped out of your hair and joined the other on your waist. Grinding against his thigh, you pulled him out. Hard and warm in your hand, your mouth watered and your blood heated.

His hands ran under the waistband of your panties, before harshly gripping either side and ripping them off your body. He shifted slightly, pulling himself from your grip and then guiding you up on your knees. He broke the kiss, watching you inhale harshly, trying to catch your breath. Pulling the condom out of his pocket, he rolled it on.

And as he locked eyes with you, he pulled you down onto him. With one thrust he sank into you, your eyes rolling back. The sudden intrusion was harsh, your walls stretching to accommodate. It wasn’t until you looked back into his eyes that he started moving.

With each thrust, he felt you tighten around him. Your slick heat enveloping him, so wet you could both hear it. His hands moved to your ass, gripping it tight. You could feel each fingertip digging it, until a hint of pain sunk in.

His thrusts were relentless, pounding into you. As he shifted his weight, leaning forward. The change in angle had your clit grinding against the material of his pants. As you came, he reached for your breasts.

“Do you like that? Dirty girl, I bet you do.”

Moans rolled out of your mouth, whispered gasps of his name threaded between. He continued his pace, not stopping for you to recover. As the orgasm began to wear off, you felt another one building. Too desperate and sensitive, his harsh voice brought you back to the moment.

“Your turn baby. I’ve had my fun, it’s your turn to ride.”

His hands slid to his sides, eyes sliding over your body as he stopped fucking up into you. A desperate whine escaped your mouth, your legs shaky. You didn’t know if you could hold your own weight, nor did you want to.

One hand lifted off the couch to slap your ass, “Get to it. Make me cum.” He said.

Getting your bearings you leaned up, bringing your mouth to his ear, you whispered “Make me.”

With that the hand on your ass came off again to hit back harder. A stinging sensation left in its wake. Simultaneously his other hand gripped your neck, squeezing it lightly.

“Move.”

With that one word you raised up and took over. Bouncing on your knees and shifting you weight you got lost in the sensation. His breaths turned harsher by the minute, eyes focused on where you two joined. His dick sliding smoothly in and out of you.

A harsh “Fuck” fell from his lips. You were close, teetering so near the edge of another orgasm he felt your walls clenching around him. As one hand reached for your clit, the one on your throat tightened. You moans became whispered gasps, your airflow being slowly cut off. It was then you fell off the edge, losing yourself in him once again.

One thrust and he was done, emptying into you. A low moan slid from his lips, his head falling back onto the edge of the couch.

As he softened in you, he stayed inside. The longer he waited, the longer he could put off ending this moment.

He had wanted to do more. Ever since he saw you grinding in the club, your legs so exposed in that mini dress, he wanted to wrap those tan thighs around his face.

When you had brought his hand to your throat on the dance floor, he fantasized about you on your knees. Hair still messy from the club, images of his dick sliding between your lips. He wanted to watch. Wanted to see your eyes water as he fucked into your mouth, one hand in your hair. Wanted to watch you swallow down his cum, one hand around your throat as he felt it slide down.

But he should’ve known better. The race earlier that day, well technically the day before, had been grueling. He had fought hard for those points. Combining that with the lull of alcohol fogging his mind, he couldn’t wait. He took you hard and he wasn’t sure if you’d be able to go again anytime soon.

Finally sliding out, he flipped you, setting you down on the couch. He reached for his fly, pulling his pants back up. So lost in the moment he hasn’t even taken them off before he took you.

As you lay there, exhausted but sated, you watched him slip down the hall. Opening a door he stepped inside before returning with a rag. He bent down, eyes focusing on your cum as it dripped down to the fabric of the couch. He whipped you clean before reaching down to unstrap your heels.

Then he rose, grabbing a glass from the minibar and filling it with water, he set it on the side table. You curled into yourself, too tired to leave the couch. He reached for the edge of the bed, pulling the throw from the end and covering you up.

And as your eyes began to close you called out, “Lance?”

“Yes baby?”

“I liked those underwear.”

He chuckled under his breath, as your eyes closed and your breathing evened out.

He spent the rest of the night packing, having already scheduled an early flight that day. And as he snuck out of the room just a few hours later while the sun broke the horizon, he took you in one last time.

————————————————————————

A knocking broke you from your slumber. The room was empty, all that remained was your purse and discarded clothes. Tucking the throw blanket around you, you shuffled to the door, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Hello?” You called out.

“I have a delivery for a Y/N Y/L/N, curtesy of a Mr. Stroll.”

“Could you just leave it in the hall please?”

“Of course ma’am.” The voice replied.

You waited a full minute before you cracked the door the tiniest bit, looking to see a black gift bag sitting outside the door.

You grabbed it and pulled it back into the room. Reaching inside you felt a familiar feeling. Pulling the item out, the green teal lace of the lingerie set took you by surprise. The brand was familiar, one you had never let yourself buy from due to the steep cost.

You spruced yourself up to the best of your ability, thankful that at least you wouldn’t be commando as you made your way through the hotel lobby. And as you left the room, you closed the door behind you, running your hand over the 505 on the door before making your way to the elevator and back to your hotel.

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A/N: this is where I had initially intended to end the story, but I think there’s still more that could come. Would anyone be interested in it extending?

#lance stroll x you #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly #alpine #aston martin #formula one #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x you

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thevoidscreams · 1 year

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Hello 🌺 How are you? I hope you are doing well✨ I'm not sure that you can write requests so often. But I dreamed about this plot and have been spinning in my head for a couple of days😅 I need to share this with someone)) Sanguinius / reader (not officially married, but live as spouses). As soon as peace negotiations were held on the entry of a rich and developed planet into the Imperium, everything went smoothly and the government surrendered quickly. Thus, Sanguinius and his Astartes did not have to show their tough fighting side. Everyone on the planet considers him a peaceful, calm person with a beautiful appearance. So it is with his legion. And so, while the last negotiations were taking place, the reader (she constantly accompanies the primarch on his campaigns when the fighting remains on the flagship with trusted bodyguards) is walking with several Astartes through the water gardens when she is attacked by a group of dissenting rebels. Although they are quickly disarmed, they manage to injure the reader. How would Sanguinius react and what did he do? Maybe he fell into the Black Fury? And let him, as a result, be very worried about what the reader now thinks of him. But she will say that in anger he looks even hotter and sexier than usual)))

I like this idea :3 I kinda diverted a bit, though. Sorry.

Also, I'm sorry they keep taking so long.

TWs: Gore, blood and death. (You live though bby don't worry 😘)

It was like the stories of old. The fall of the mightiest angel of God.

His wings blotted out the sun as you feebly looked up from the blood-stained water of the cute fish pond you'd been admiring, not even five minutes before.

Your blood flowed from a gash across your chest and over the opulent white marble and mingled with the blood of the rebels as your guards cut them down.

Your smile was one of shock, and your head felt light with blood loss. He was coming to save you. He didn't draw his sword to fight, and you were certain, in your heart, that he would scoop you up and fly you away to safety. But he didn't, and you became entirely aware of the horrors before you as you saw the love of your life land in the fray, rending tiny human forms to bloody piles of meat and sinew and bones by hand. Steaming, stinking offal was scattered over stone and foliage as he ripped his way through terrified men and women. His eyes black as pitch and his pristine white feathers that had been so clean and perfectly preened through all the peace talks were now stained a violently bright crimson. He opened his mouth, and your whole body rang as he roared in furious hatred.

Now you understood why he'd never let you see him after a fight. Why you always had to wait for him to wash and clean his armor after taking the field of battle.

But what you weren't prepared for was the sheer animalistic nature of the man you loved. As he tore the upper half of a man away and poured the blood into his mouth, squeezing the body to paste to get even more of the coppery liquid.

A shakey hand raised up as your fingers slid over the gapping wound in your chest, and your stomach turned.

There was so much violence around you that you figured you'd gotten lost in the uproar. But those pitch black eyes found you, bleeding and alone by the water side. His face softened, and something like sanity returned to his face, then guilt and terror and panic. He stole towards you, his arms reaching out for you. You felt a pang of fear lance your racing heart, as you tried to push yourself up your shoulder was caught by the heavy boot of a fleeing rebel and your body slid over the edge of the pond.

It was deeper than you thought it'd be, the pond that is. It was at least ten feet in the little divet your body settled in. It was oddly quiet, too. The sound of bolters was muffled by the deep layer of water, and the pressure made your ears pop. Bubbles flowed up from your lips and rose happily towards the surface. But they were broken apart by a massive golden gauntlet. The gauntlet became an arm and then a shoulder and then the rest of the primarch as he came in after you.

The fresh crimson was diluted in the water as he scooped up your small delicate form and hauled you out from under the surface with ease.

"Darling?!" He called down to you. Your eyes glazed and unfocused. You must have looked like a drowned rat in his arms. The last thing you remember as the world went dark around you was the look of shock and pain in his eyes as he shook you gingerly and called your name. Then, nothing but fragments of hectic scattered dreams and dark eyes and crimson stained lips.

The medical wing was never a comfortable temperature, and the beds were always a bit too hard for your liking. So it surprised you to wake up in a comfortable bed in a comfortable room. It was dim, and your eyes were blurry, so your surroundings were a bit hard to make out.

You were dry and in a fresh medical gown. The gash in your chest was sore, and the stitches were still fresh.

As you got up, you realized you were tied to several machines that read out your condition. Heart rate, blood pressure, and other things you weren't sure what they were.

With a tug, you pulled the sticky pads from your arms and unlocked the finger monitor. The beeping became a quiet alarm as the rate on the monitor dropped to zero, and you giggled as you watched the line go flat.

Just as you were about to turn to look for someone to ask about the events prior to you waking up here, the door burst open. Sanguinius stood in the doorway, his wings puffed up with panic as he surveyed the room, which you were just realizing was yours and his.

His ruffled wings calmed as he made his way around the bed and scooped you up into loving and gentle arms.

"Please, don't do that again." He kissed the top of your head as he returned you to the mattress and pulled the blankets up over you.

"What happened?" You asked, Sanguinius looked a bit uneasy at the question and took a deep breath.

"You were attacked by a group of insurgents who were unhappy about the union of their planet and its government and the imperium." He watched you carefully as he gave his answer and then you asked another question. One that made his hearts drop.

"And what about you? What happened to you down there? I've never seen you like that before."

Sanguinius looked ashamed, like he'd been caught in the act, doing something indecent. He sat on the edge of the bed, and his head hung low, wings similarly drooping.

"I... " He wasn't sure how to begin, but he knew he could no longer keep it from you. His beloved one, his own angel. His light.

"I lost control, I fell to my rage. After I heard over the vox that you'd been attacked... that you'd been hurt. I fell to the darkness inside me, and I let it guide my actions." He breathing quickened. And he turned to look at you, his eyes sincere and brimming with tears. "I would never hurt you. I promise, my rage could never be for you, I love you, and I would die before I lost control like that around you ever again. I promise you are safe." He assured. Sanguinius seemed almost desperate for you to believe him, as though your belief would make it true.

"I believe you, Sangy. I love you too." You got out from under the blankets again to go to him. Crawling onto his lap and pulling his arms around you. "Thank you for coming to save me."

The angel seemed surprised and then very, very happy. "Of course darling. I would never leave you for dead."

"I know you wouldn't." You assured him and took his large hand into yours. "If I'm being honest... I kinda liked it." You admitted quietly.

Sanguinius face twisted to an expression somewhere between horror and revulsion. "What could you possibly mean by that?" The primarch asked, his voice still gentle despite his sudden sinking, disgusted feelings. How could you have enjoyed a display like the one in the gardens?

"You were angry; angry because I got hurt. You loved me enough to tear the gardens apart to save me. I liked that you love me enough to feel that kind of anger. It proves to me that you really do view me as more than just another base line human." Your cheeks felt warm as Sanguinius hugged you even closer.

"Well of course, but I would have thought that would be evident by all the other things we do together."

He kissed your cheek, then moved down to your throat and kissed it too.

You sighed happily and shivered with pleasure. You still couldn't help but feel a certain sort of heat as you pictured his angered form descending from above to destroy his enemies and protect you.

"There's also a certain kind of beauty to your rage. A dark beauty that feels forbidden. And the danger of it is alluring."

"You're playing with fire here." He whispered against your tender neck. Feeling his fangs score your skin, you shivered again, half in fear and desire.

He laid you back but stopped suddenly as he heard you hiss in pain.

"Darling?"

"Just the wound." You admitted sheepishly.

"Ah, of course. I am sorry for my thoughtless behavior, I should not be getting riled up when you are this injured. Forgive me." He placed you down so softly, so sweetly, you could have never been mad.

"All is forgiven, although you didn't need my forgiveness." You kissed him, and he felt that bone deep need to care for and protect you. His most precious one.

Sanguinius stayed until you were asleep again, leaving you with a soft kiss on the forehead.

"I will be back soon my dove."

The planet's leaders had been truly contrite about the garden incident. Handing over all of the surviving rebels to be dealt with as part of their deal to keep peace. Sanguinius had demanded it, demanded justice be left to him to deliver. They'd agreed, not wanting to anger this angel of death.

Sanguinius made his way down to the Red Tear's brigg, his anger growing as he went. He'd have his justice for you himself now that he knew you'd live. He'd not even let himself consider the other side. Losing you. And his heart was ever so lighter for not losing you.

But still, that darkness roiled under the surface, the need to punish them for trying to kill you growing with each step.

By the time he'd made it to the cells holding them, he'd made up his mind. For your sake, he would be just... and make it quick.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #40k #fanfiction #primarchs #primarch #primarch x reader #sanguinius x reader #sanguinius #my writing #he bout to kill them bitches #he really does love you

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yorshie · 1 year

Text

Battered - TMNT snippet

Bayverse leo x GNreader

SFW little blurb cuz I couldn't sleep. It's bascially injured reader, Leo's trying to be a good s/o. Mention of reader not wearing pants but it's the 'injured: had to take one pair off, can't get the other pair on' situation.

Your hip twinged, and you leaned heavily against the tiled wall, panic a sharp lance through your ribs. The floor swayed under your spotty vision.

“Leo?”

He was there in an instant, hand on your arm, the appendage sliding to your back when you didn’t move.

You heard the creak of his gear as he shifted, looked you over, and you fought the nausea in your throat to voice what was wrong.

“I can’t- see.” You blinked, fingers digging into the groove between cold ceramic as the movement only worsened your condition, your heartbeat picking up until it added to the pain in your ribs.

His hand gripped your far elbow, plastron an edge against your side as he moved closer. His other hand slipped over your features, wiping away your hair, tilting your head back to bring your face into view.

“Look at me.” He ordered softly, and you turned to where his voice was, trusting he would keep you upright.

His thumb slid over each eye, and your lids fluttered at the contact, the digit merely a grey smudge amid the darker floating puddles. He lifted one lid, and you felt his breath as he leaned closer, studied the way your eyes reacted to the light.

“Let’s go to Donnie.” He decided, but you wavered, uncertain.

“Leo.” You caught at his hand when he tried to pull you from the wall, your hip giving a painful reminder at the movement. “Leo. I don’t have on any pants.”

He made some small noise at that reminder, hand still curled around your bicep to keep you steady, and you knew from the sway of body heat that he was looking for the spare change of clothes that you were already suppose to be in.

“Got it. Here, lift your leg.” He set your hand back on the wall, stooped to tap your nearest ankle.

You pulled in a whistle of air with a hiss, trying to do as he asked, leaning more against the wall and dipping your torso when your hip refused to bend.

He made another noise, some concerned warble deep in his chest, and you felt his hand curl around the back of your knee before he slowly forced your leg to rise.

You started shaking at the effort, but he tucked your foot into the correct opening quickly, repeated the process with your other leg before you could protest. His knuckles were a rough point of contact as he pulled the sleep shorts quickly up your thighs.

“Alright.” You could feel him fiddling with the draw strings, pulling them tight to keep the too large fabric from falling. “Alright. Pants on.” His arms slid around your waist, pulled you from the wall again. “Let’s go see Don now.”

You hissed out a cry, hobbling in his grip, and you could feel him hesitate, shifting back and forth, concern and worry bleeding out before he could reel the emotions in.

He wanted to carry you. There was no way your battered body would let him. The bruises were settling fast, every joint practically crying out at the prolonged torture of staying upright.

You felt tears start tracking down your face, and the dark grey smudge that was Leo disappeared even more.

“Hold on.” His arms banded across your back, your thighs, pulled you upright against him. Any other time you would have laughed at the image of him carrying you like a fence post through the lair, but every muscle hurt so badly you seized up, stiff in his grip.

Your head arched back automatically, knocked against his jaw, but he didn’t pause. Through the darkness of your vision and the spike of pressure in your veins you could hear him calling frantically for Donnie as he shoved through the Lab’s door.

#my writing snippets #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse tmnt #bayverse leonardo

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glowing-blue-feathermage · 3 months

Note

Hallo beloved! you know who I haven't heard about in a long time? Solona! Could she and Anders get into some worrisome hijinks with a bit of [ COAT ]: sender removes their jacket and drapes it around the shoulders of the trembling receiver.

pretty please? 🥺

helloooo love! ty for the prompt! some Solona Amell & Anders, cw: blood, blood-magic

for @dadrunkwriting

The last of the darkspawn fell to the arrow lodged in its throat. When he was sure it wasn’t going to get up again, Anders stepped over it into the next room.

The silence that followed was incongruous, broken only by the hiss of cold wind around the bones of the farmhouse.

Dust and detritus covered the floor, scuffed with footprints. The smell of wet wood and decay filled Anders’ nose as he picked his way around weather-rotted furniture to the back rooms.

The first thing Anders realized as he moved down the hall was that there were no voices. The templar that had led them here in search of a renegade mage—one they meant to rescue—had said there was a trap door in a storage room, and Solona had gone with him. The darkspawn had attacked from the fallow field behind the abandoned lot, and Solona hadn’t come back. Anders had a sick feeling, holding his breath until he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He shouldered the door open at the end of the hall, the coppery tang of blood making his nose tingle.

“Solona?” he called.

She didn’t answer, but the sun streamed in through the broken window on the north-facing wall, making a wan pool of wintry light in the center of the room. It glinted off silver armor, picked out the auburn in Solona’s hair and made it shine like fire, and illuminated the lake of blood on the floor.

The Warden-Commander was standing over the body of the templar, her arms limp at her side. A knife was in her right hand and a slow trickle of red seeped from her exposed arm, sliding down the pale, freckled skin and dripping to the wooden beams at her feet.

“He didn’t remember me,” she said at last, because Anders was still standing in the doorway staring.

Anders looked at the templar again and her words fell into place easily enough. His throat felt dry and a sharp pang of hatred and anger lanced through his chest.

“Your face was the last thing he saw,” Anders told her firmly, stepping into the room at last. The floor was sticky and slick, but he made his way to her.

“Once—” She stopped, her voice hitching briefly. When she spoke again, it was more of a hiss. “Once was not enough.” The hand holding the dagger was trembling.

Anders wasn’t going to try to take it away from her or heal the cut on her arm. They’d learned long ago that Solona’s own spirit wanted no other to care for her wounds.

He could, at least, comfort her. Practical gear was something Solona insisted on. Tevinter-style robes might look pretty, but they were lacking as armor and insufficient in cold weather. Solona herself, though, never wore anything with thick sleeves, nothing that she couldn’t shuck quickly or cut through to get to her flesh with a blade.

Anders shrugged his own coat off, ignoring the prickle of gooseflesh that stung his arms. He moved closer until she could see his face, until he could meet her eyes before he gently draped it over her shoulders.

It made her look small, almost waifish. Her face was ashen, her blue-gray eyes feverish, auburn hair stuck to her forehead beneath a tacky smear of blood.

“He didn’t remember me,” she told him again, like she’d forgotten telling him a moment before.

Anders swallowed around the knot in his throat and carefully put an arm around her. “He’s dead now,” was the most comforting thing there was to say. The only thing that really mattered.

Solona said nothing for a moment. Then the dagger in her hand slid back into the sheath on her opposite arm and she leaned forward and spit across the ravaged, blood-stained face of the dead templar. Anders felt the tug of the Fade around them seconds before the corpse erupted in flames.

“I want them all,” she whispered.

“So do I,” Anders told her. And she finally let him guide her out of the burning room.

#dadwc #dragon age #dragon age origins #solona amell #my ocs #anders #anders & solona #prompt fill

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downwiththeficness · 8 months

Text

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Thirty Seven

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction. Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed. You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen eyes. This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

Word Count: ~3,200

Start from the beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist Read on AO3

Eva didn’t so much wake as she roused from a half waking state. Sitting up, she blinked blearily until her vision focused enough so that she could stand. The sunlight was streaming through the windows and she could hear birds chirping in the trees. It was a morning very much like every other morning since Eva came to the house—with one glaring exception.

Above, the shower was running.

She sidestepped her heels on her way to the stairs. Her body ached from having laid on the couch all night. Eva couldn’t decide whether or not she should have just gone to bed. At the time, the choice had been impossible. Even now, Eva struggled with knowing she wouldn’t be able to take Horacio’s rejection—real or imagined.

With each step, Eva cringed. She hadn’t mapped the creaks and groans of the house yet, didn’t know how to move silently from room to room and floor to floor. She would forgo her usual walk today and start working on it. Come evening, Eva would know exactly where to step.

Moving lightly down the hall, Eva slid into the guest bathroom and emptied her complaining bladder. She washed her hands, keeping her eyes from the mirror. Eva didn’t want to look at herself.

On her way out, she glanced longingly at the open bedroom door. Horacio was still showering and she might be able to get a change of clothes and get back into the hall without him noticing. He had a long morning routine, taking his time shaving and running gel through his hair to tame the wild curls.

Deciding against it, Eva hurried back too the stairs. Her steps were, perhaps, too hasty. She stumbled over the runner on the second stair and quickly tipped headfirst into a fall. Her arm clipped the banister, but the momentum of her body kept her from getting a good grip. Instead, the limb slipped between the spindles so that her wrist took almost her entire body weight.

Lips pulled back from her teeth, Eva hissed in pain. Her feet pushed into a stair so that she could sit upright. Every move sent a lance of pain from her wrist up her arm and into her shoulder. She eased her arm from the spindle and dropped down the remaining stairs on her butt. Her wrist was throbbing with pain and already swelling. Eva rolled her shoulder and found that she had full range of motion. Her wrist, on the other hand...

The shower stopped.

Injury cradled into her chest, Eva scrambled to standing and scurried to the kitchen and through to the back porch so that she could think about how she was going to handle being a complete klutz on top of her argument with Horacio.

Breathing through the pain, Eva sat down on the porch stairs. She looked down at her wrist and winced. The inside was raised and bruising slightly. Careful fingers prodded at it. Didn’t feel broken, but it was a hell of a strain.

Booted feet dropped down that stairs.

Holding her arm into her belly, Eva prayed that Horacio would just grab his lunchbox and go so she could deal with her arm in peace. Her prayers weren’t answered.

The back door opened and Horacio poked his head out, “I’m heading to work.”

Eva half turned and replied in a bright tone, “Okay! I’ll see you when you get home.”

He paused and looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. A nod, and he closed the door. Eva listened for the engine of his truck to turn over before she got up and went back into the house.

A quick search of the freezer produced an ice pack that she gratefully laid against the hot skin of her wrist. She loosed a relieved sigh and leaned against the counter. God, she was an idiot. Couldn’t even get down the stairs without fucking up. Eva had to get this taken care of before Horacio got home.

She needed a doctor, possibly a splint, and pain meds. All of which should be easy enough to get. The first step was to call a cab and arrange a ride. Simple. Easy.

Plan in place, Eva held the ice pack to her wrist and (very carefully) went up the stairs to the bedroom. Changing clothes was an act of physical gymnastics that tested her patience and her pain tolerance. As was washing her face and trying to arrange her hair into a clip.

When she felt like a person again, Eva grabbed money from her stash and left the bedroom. She stalled at the top of the stairs. Ice pack dripping over her arm, Eva straightened her shoulders and sat on the first step. One by one, she slid downwards. She felt like an idiot and a child the whole way.

Safely at the bottom, Eva stood and went to the phone. She’d memorized the number of the phone company by now and dialed it in a quick succession of tones. Afterward, she went out to the front porch with her ice pack and waited.

The day was cool and balmy, which helped Eva keep focused while the pain slowly worked its way to the forefront of her consciousness. Her head was slowly pulsing in time with her wrist and it made Eva long for the days when she could get a painkiller without having to go through the messy experience of having to talk to anyone.

It was the one silver lining of living with Josh.

She waited far too long for the car to pull into the drive. The driver seemed to be apologizing, but Eva was in too much pain to do the work of translating. She just held up her wrist and said ‘hospital’. The driver took one look at it and waved her inside. Although Eva wasn’t paying that much attention to the world as it flew past her, she thought they broke a few laws on the way.

After paying the driver, she toddled into the building and looked for the intake desk. The paperwork they handed her felt impossible to read and it took her more than half an hour to scratch out her information. Then, it was a matter of sitting in the lobby until they had a room available for her.

At least they gave her a fresh ice pack while she waited.

Eva waited a long time.

There was no clock on the wall, but she felt every second as it went by. The triage process seemed like it was first come, first serve. Eva counted the people who arrived before her, watching each in turn as she anticipated hearing her name called out by a nurse.

Juliana Carrillo.

It felt strange writing it on the intake form—she’d almost written ‘Eva Moore’ out of sheer habit. Putting pen to paper somehow made it feel more official than looking at the marriage certificate Horacio filed with the government.

Eva’s thumb brushed the inner knuckle of the ring finger on her left hand. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but she could feel the ghost of the one currently stowed away in her jewelry bag as if it were still there. It occurred to her that Horacio wasn’t wearing a ring, either.

She occupied the rest of her waiting time thinking about if it mattered.

Once she got back to the examination room, Eva forced herself to slowly sound out the words. The nurse was impatient, performing the vitals through rote memory. It took effort for Eva to remain calm, but the pain seemed to increase with every misstep she made.

The nurse left and Eva let out a shuddering breath. She swallowed down the inexplicable urge to cry—there was no need for it. In a few minutes, she would have meds and (hopefully) a new ice pack. Everything was fine. She just had to get through another few minutes.

Another few minutes turned into three quarters of an hour.

The doctor was much more kind of to her. He looked at her wrist and ordered an x-ray to make sure it wasn’t broken. She got a shot of pain killer to ease her suffering in the meantime. It wore off by the time the doctor returned with the results from radiology. Only a sprain, but she would have to have her wrist splinted for a few weeks. He encouraged her to make an appointment with her primary physician and Eva didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t have one.

She had to pay the bill up front and was glad she thought to grab money before she left the house. Eva walked out of the building and sat on a bench under the awning of the building. Her wrist was in a splint, she had a bottle of pain killers, and not enough money for the cab ride home. Eva furiously dug through her purse, coming up with only about three dollars. Not enough to get her home.

Frustrated and exhausted, Eva dry swallowed a pill and tried to think. She could go as far as the cab would take her and walk the rest of the way. A look down at her shoes told Eva that she would end out with a pain in her feet that matched the one in her arm and head. Going barefoot was an even less enticing thought.

A small voice in the back of that head reminded her that she had someone she could go to who would give her a ride home. She looked down the street. His office was near enough that it would take no time to walk there. But, then, she’d have to make her way through a bunch of strangers with an arm half wrapped and eyes red from crying. The experience wasn’t exactly palatable.

Or…

Or, she could hang out until he got done with his shift, which would be in a few hours. A few hours didn’t seem so bad. She could do that. Simple. Easy.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Eva got up and started walking. One foot in front of the other, head high. On the way, she passed a little store that advertised frozen Popsicles in a variety of flavors. She bought one along with a soda and a pack of chips.

Eva turned into the parking lot just as the pain killer kicked in. Feeling lighter, she took a turn around the lot to look for Horacio’s truck. Finding it, she dropped the tailgate and hopped up to sit and wait. Legs dangling, Eva ate the Popsicle and watched people as they went about their lives.

Cars whizzed up and down the street. Mothers with babies bought groceries. Couples had meals outside a little cafe. Eva entertained herself by making up little stories in her head—the man smoking a cigarette outside a butcher had three kids that he was supporting, one of which would be a lawyer. The young woman carefully selecting a bouquet of flowers was going to her mother’s for dinner. The kid begging for a candy sucker had a sister at home that drove him crazy, but he’d knock the shit out of anyone who messed wit her.

She continued on like that while she drank the soda and ate the chips. Belly full, Eva could feel fatigue setting in. She slid further into the truck bed and rested against the cab.

“Eva?”

Flinching awake, Eva saw Horacio standing at the back of the truck with a confused expression on his face.

“What are you doing?”

Not entirely certain how to explain the situation, she held up her arm, “I fell.”

He stared at it, “You’re hurt.”

“Doctor said it was just a sprain.”

The confusion on his face deepened and his words were slow, “You went to a doctor.”

Eva nodded, “He gave me medicine and said I have to wear this,” she waved the splint, “for a few weeks.”

Horacio pulled his lips between his teeth, then flicked his fingers at her, “Come here.”

She scooted to the edge of the truck bed until her legs dropped over the edge. Horacio stepped up to her and reached for her arm. Eva held it out to him, watching his face closely for signs of anger.

Horacio inspected the splint with a clinical eye, “Its too tight. We’ll re-wrap it when we get home.”

He guided her down off the tailgate and pushed it closed. Eva got in the truck, feeling the weight of his watchful stare and wondering if they were going to fight again. She folded her hands in her lap and kept her gaze on the windshield while he backed out of the parking space.

“You know,” Horacio said conversationally, “I thought my men were playing a prank when they told me someone was sleeping in my truck.”

Eva almost laughed, “I’m sorry. They wouldn’t bill me for the hospital visit and I didn’t have enough money to get back.”

“You should have called me.”

She said nothing to that. The emotions that went along with her thought process that morning felt raw and vaguely embarrassing.

“Where did you fall?”

This, she could answer, “Down the stairs.”

“Down the—Eva,” there was something similar to anger in his tone. Similar, but not the same, “Is there more than just your wrist?”

She shook her head, “No. Everything else feels fine. Except my head hurts.”

Horacio’s head whipped to the side, “You hit your head?”

“No. Its just sympathizing with my wrist, I think.”

A deep sigh.

Eva was quiet the rest of the drive.

When they got back to the house, Horacio tossed his keys down on the new dining room table and directed her to sit on the couch. Eva listened to him dig around in the hallway closet before coming back with a first aid kit. He sat opposite her and began to slowly unwrap her wrist.

When the bruised skin was revealed, Horacio hissed through his teeth, “This is a deep sprain.”

“Uh huh.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Eva stared at him, chastened by the exasperation on his face, “We had a fight.”

“And?”

“I thought you were still mad at me.” Her voice was so small that it pained her to hear it, “And, you would get more mad at me if I told you I was stupid enough to fall down the stairs.”

Horacio leaned away from her and his eyes flicked across her face. Eva couldn’t tell what he might be thinking, but she didn’t like the way they narrowed at her. “Eva, when did this happen?”

His tone had shifted subtly. It was less confused, less exasperated. More solid. Commanding.

“This morning.”

“When this morning?”

She felt an unseen pressure around her, as if the walls of the room were closing in, “A while after I woke up.”

Horacio’s mouth thinned, “Before or after I left for work.”

Shit.

“Before.”

He drew in a calming breath that didn’t seem to calm him at all.

“Its just that we were fighting,” she said quickly in an effort to explain, “You were so upset last night and I didn’t want to make things worse.” A pause, “I thought I would take care of it while you were at work.” Another, longer pause. Then, softer, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Warm hands covered hers, “I don’t understand how this could bother me. What kind of husband would I be if I got angry just because you were hurt?”

Oh.

The grinding gears of Eva’s thoughts slotted into place and she realized her mistake. And, it was a mistake. A big one. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I’m so sorry.”

Horacio shook his head and worked on wrapping the splint. Eva watched his hands. They were confident and steady as he adjusted the tension, made sure the splint was in the right place. When he was finished, he told her to wait on the couch.

Eva did as she was told, listening anxiously while he moved about upstairs. She thought about taking another painkiller, but she wanted to be alert for whatever came next.

Horacio returned and held out his hand for her. Eva took it and followed him up the stairs to the bedroom. In the doorway, she stopped moving.

The bed didn’t look at all like it was supposed to. Every pillow and blanket in the house, even the ones they bought specifically for a guest room they hadn’t yet decorated, was piled high onto the mattress. She could see a small divot in the middle that was just big enough for one person.

“What is this?” she asked in a voice that cracked with emotion.

Horacio pushed her further into the room, “You’re exhausted and in pain. You need to nest.” When she didn’t say anything or make any movement towards the bed, he emphasized, “Its a nest, Eva.”

“I know what a nest is,” she grumbled. “I just don’t know why you made one for me.”

“Because you need it,” he replied simply.

Encouraging hands led her to the best and helped her to sit. Horacio knelt down in front of her and removed her shoes and socks. Eva watched him with a lump in her throat that she couldn’t suppress. Biting down hard on her lip couldn’t keep the tears back. A whole day of stress leaked out from her body, sucking the energy from her.

Dark eyes glanced up at her. Eva couldn’t take that calm, inquisitive gaze. She covered her face with her hands.

He said her name lowly, rising to sit next to her, “What is it, now?”

Sniffing loudly, Eva gestured helplessly, “You just...did all this,” more helpless gestures, “and I was being such an asshole to you.”

Horacio’s eyes glinted with amusement, but he did not laugh, “I was being an asshole to you, too.”

“No, you weren’t!” she asserted vehemently.

“I was. I shouldn’t have left during our argument last night.”

The man had a point—a point Eva wasn’t going to let him have, “You were right. I was overreacting.”

He laid a hand on her arm, “I think we were both overreacting. But, its done. Lay down.”

Eva didn’t lay down.

She wiped her face and threw her arms around his shoulders to hug him close. Horacio leaned into her, breathing deep. After a moment, he eased her down into the nest. Eva pulled him down with her. Laying on his side, Horacio pushed her hair from her face, “You’ll feel better after you get some rest.”

Eva nodded and lifted her chin to take a kiss. She could feel him smile into it. Her good arm rotated so that her hand could run up the center of his chest. His heart was beating a strong rhythm below her palm and sent a wave of calm through her body.

He pulled away, “You said you had medication.”

She wanted more kisses.

Horacio chuckled as he dodged her lips, “Rest.”

Eva made a disgruntled noise, but snuggled down into the blankets while he rolled from the bed. She was surrounded by their combined scents, but the things that made their life soft and comfortable. The pain in her wrist receded along with her consciousness.

She slept deeply, waking just as the sun was setting. On the nightstand by the bed was her med bottle and a glass of water. Eva smiled and went back to sleep.

#Shadow and Veil #Narcos #Horacio carrillo #carrillo #maurice compte #au #A/B/O dynamics

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the-kittens-of-vol-tron · 2 years

Note

Angst prompt based off something that I overheard that could definitely be angsty:

"Are you stupid? Why are you saying it doesn't hurt when you're in pain?!"

Idk I feel like Klangst

My baby :(

Trigger Warning: - Blood - Major Injury

-----

Lance slumped against the wall, wishing he could slide his helmet off. Every breath stung, sharp pain exploding over his chest as he forced himself to inhale. He pressed the back of his head against the wall, grinding his teeth as his hands held the object lodged in his right rib cage.

Just breathe Lance. This isn’t so bad. Just in and out, he commanded himself. Fighting the urge to scream in pain.

“Alright Paladins, we need to get off the ship before it explodes.” Shiro said, “get to your lions and head back to the castle. Pidge how much time do we have before the bombs detonated?”

“About five dobosh’s,” the green paladin called back.

“How far is everyone from their lions?” Shiro asked.

“Back in Yellow!” Hunk said, peppiness in his voice.

“Almost back to Green!” Pidge called.

“Running up to Red now,” Keith said through panting.

“I’m in my lion...what about you Lance?” Shiro called out.

Lance opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his tongue.

“Buddy?” Hunk asked, anxiety plaguing his voice.

He could only manage a wet cough. Splattering the inside of his helmet with blood.

“Lance?!” Pidge screamed.

“I’m fine- got some metal in my chest...no biggie,” he wheezed out.

Panic exploded over the coms, Shiro demanding to know his location while Pidge frantically scanned for him.

“Just leave- don’t have time,” he took a shaky breath, coughs forcing their way out. “Time to save me.”

“Got him!” Pidge said, “this is where he’s located.”

“I’m closet!” Keith called out. Everyone get out of here. I’m going to go get him.” Keith was already running as he spoke.

Shiro screamed at Keith over the comms, but whatever he said fell on deaf ears. Lance could only focus on the roar of blood in his ears. His speeding heart rate. Does your heart get faster the closer you are to death? He released a morbid laugh, he should have paid attention in health class.

A familiar red filled his vision, hands on his shoulders. “Guys I have him. Lance...can you hear me?”

“Hey," a rattle breath, "Mullet.”

Keith rolled his eyes, “come on. I need to get you out of here.” He slid his arms under his armpits. Lifting quickly.

Lance choked on a scream, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Sorry-shit sorry.” Keith frantically said as he got Lance on his feet. “I'll make this up to you I swear.”

Lance leaned on him, unsure what words were coming out of his mouth. Sleep tugged at him and he wanted nothing more than to embrace it with open arms.

More pain.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” Keith said under his breath as he began to run down the hallway. Carrying Lance bridal style.

Every step felt like fire. Every subtle movement was the equivalent of electricity through his veins. He chew on his inner cheek until more metallic taste filled his mouth. He didn’t want Keith to feel more guilty for trying to help him.

“Just under a dobosh Keith!” Shiro said, panic seeping through his usual collectiveness.

“Coming up on Red now! Is Blue going to be okay?” Keith asked as he reached his lion, holding Lance even tighter.

“Don’t worry about the Blue lion. She will follow you back to the castle,” Allura’s voice made its way through the coms.

“Roger.” Keith panted. He laid Lance down on the small beds each lion has. “I’ll be right back. I need to get us off this ship.”

Lance gave a shaky thumbs up, groaning as the lion began to move.

“Stay awake for me Lance!”

He smiled to himself, of course, Keith would be concerned for him. He was always protective of Lance. “Yes sir,” he slurred out.

He felt himself fading out more, only snapping back some when his helmet was slid off his head. “Almost back to the castle,” Keith’s eyes scanned his body, focusing on the metal still lodged in Lance’s body. “Sorry for moving you. I may have caused more damage doing that.”

Lance lifted his hand weakly, trying to wave his hand. Attempting to tell his fellow paladin that he held no hard feelings. He did save his life after all. “Doesn’t hurt.” He slurred out.

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

Lance closed his eyes, trying to take a deep breath through his nose. “Doesn’t hurt.” He stated again. As if Keith didn’t hear him.

“Are you stupid?!” Keith flicked the other boy’s forehead. “Why are you saying it doesn’t hurt when you’re in pain?!” His voice rose slightly, his eyes scanning his face multiple times.

Lance tried to meet his eyes, but he didn’t have much energy left. “You’re pretty." One more clunky breath. "Even with a stupid mullet.” He slipped into a slumber, Keith’s pleading fading away.

He felt himself falling, strong arms wrapping around him tightly. “Thank goodness you’re okay,” Hunk whispered.

Lance hugged him back, enjoying the strength of the hug. “Think I would die on you? Have some faith.”

Hunk laughed as he pulled away. Wiping his eyes on the process.

Lance looked around at his friend. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Asleep. It’s basically three in the morning.”

“Ah,” Lance rubbed his eyes. “Guess we should head to bed then.”

Hunk smiled, “want some food first?”

The blue paladin shook his head. “Proper sleep first, I’ll eat later.”

“Alright,” Hunk patted his shoulder, “I’ll walk you to your room.”

They whispered back and forth, Hunk giving him one more crushing hug. He slipped into his room. Unzipping the back of the body suit, letting it fall off his arms. Keeping it around his waist. He reached into his closet, pulling out the first shirt he touched.

A hesitant knock sounded on his door.

He tilted his head and made the way to the door, the shirt in his hands. “Yeah Hunk?” He said as the door swooshed open.

Keith stood on the other side. His posture was stiff but his eyes filled with relief. “You’re awake.”

“Keith?” He was about to say more, maybe crack a joke or two but two arms wrapped around him. Causing them both to stumble into his room. The door closed behind Keith. Shaking.

“I’m so glad you're okay. I was so worried about you.” He mumbled into Lance’s chest.

Lance released an uncomfortable laugh, hesitantly wrapping his arms around the other boy. Nothing to worry about, just an attractive man hugging him. “Yeah...I’m okay.”

They hugged for a bit, and Keith pulled back first. His eyes were glued to the white color on Lance’s ribs. A new scar to add to the collection. He pressed his hand against the skin, his thumb moving slightly over it. “We could have lost you.”

Lance swallowed, his eyes glues to Keith’s face. “I’m here.”

“I could have lost you.” The raven boy whispered. Seeming to curl into himself ever so slightly.

“You didn’t,” Lance lifted his head up with his fingers. Gently cupping his face with his hands. His thumbs moved against his surprisingly soft skin. “I’m right here. And it’s all because of you.”

“...you called me pretty.”

“When I was delirious?”

Keith nodded, laughing softly.

“I mean. You are pretty, that wasn't a lie.” Lance said, ignoring the blush rising on his face.

“Shut up,” Keith pressed his face back into his chest. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Lance rested his cheek on Keith’s head. “I promise I won’t.”

-----

Soft Pre Establish Klance

I hope you liked it!

Thank you <33333

#klance #klangst #langst #tw injuries #tw blood #lance vld #lance mcclain #lance voltron legendary defender #keith vld #keith voltron legendary defender #keith kogane #my writing #kat rambles #long post #answer #thanks viv!#sorry for the wait #posted on a03

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ainyan · 10 months

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After the Melee (Woven Souls Snippet)

“Well, that made for a refreshing change. Congratulations on your victory, by the way.” Kal’istae turned to meet Thancred’s single dark eye. He was clutching his side, one dagger sheathed, the other dangling from his hand. As she watched, he straightened with a pained grunt and scrubbed his blade off, then slid it home at his waist. “The Ishgardians certainly seem happy with themselves. I, for my part, am merely glad you did not strain anything in the process of single-handedly winning the battle for them.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I was hardly alone out there,” she muttered, grounding the butt of her lance in the snow as she looked him over thoughtfully. “Aymeric and the others put up their fair amount of fight.” She watched as he touched his side again. “Thancred, please, let me take a look at that.”

Even as she lifted her lance, preparing to send it off into the aether in exchange for her white mage’s cane, he reached out to touch her arm, stopping her. “‘Tis but a scratch, I assure you. And I will not suffer you to worry over me - not when we have a dozen far more important concerns.”

With an exasperated sigh, she lowered her arm again. “I disagree that I have any more important concerns, but if you’re certain,” she said dubiously, her eyes lingering on his with worry. “But pray, do not be brave for me. I am the last person for whom you need grandstand.”

He might have made some response, but a glint of yellow and black told him that Pipin and Raubahn were both approaching, crunching their way through the snow directly towards them. He sighed, closing his eye briefly. “...Make that two dozen. Still, as Y'shtola never tires of telling me, we can but face them head-on, one at a time.” His eye went distant. “One day at a time… as Minfilia would have done.”

“Thancred,” she whispered, and he rubbed his breastbone, his gaze focusing on her for one brief moment, then he turned and walked off without a word, leaving her alone to face the two approaching leaders.

“Thal's balls…” Raubahn pronounced as he and Pipin reached her. “I had forgotten what it was like to feel so alive!” Kal’istae looked amused, tilting her head back to look into his fiercely grinning face. “Not since leaving the Bloodsands have I had the privilege. Not since the Bull of Ala Mhigo hung up his swords.”

Kal’istae’s return smile was wry. “Privilege, is it?” she asked.

Raubahn snorted. “The Warrior of Light! Back then, the outcome might have been different. But I do not begrudge you your victory. I know how far you have come, how much you have endured. Our fight only confirmed it.”

She inclined her head. “And a hard-won fight it was,” she said diplomatically, though in truth it had been nothing of the kind. Still, she saw no reason to be unkind.

Raubahn nodded in firm agreement. “We shall have to do this again one day, when time allows. I shall look forward to it. Now go. Go to the Ishgardians and celebrate your victory. You have earned it.” He glanced down at his son. “Come, Pipin. Her Grace is expecting us.”

Pipin grinned. “Lead on, Father!” As the burly highlander turned away, however, his son paused, peering up at Kal’istae. “Thank you, Warrior of Light. My father has not been feeling himself, not since the events of the Bloody Banquet. Thank you for showing him that even one-armed, he is still the equal of any warrior but the Warrior of Light.”

Her expression grew soft. “That he is. I look forward to trying his mettle again someday.”

The lalafell smiled and swept her a courtly bow. “I look forward to seeing that match. Farewell, my lady.”

She remained standing in the snow as he darted off after his adoptive father, catching up easily to the hulking hyur as they crossed towards the tower where Nanamo awaited her champions. “Said your good-byes?”

She didn’t turn as Thancred came up behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him against the back of her neck. “I am glad to see that Raubahn does not resent my showing him up in the melee,” she replied.

Thancred’s lips twitched. “In all the years I have known Raubahn, I cannot recall ever seeing him look so happy in defeat.” As she lifted her head to study his face, he looked down, meeting her gaze. “Though I dare say defeat to you might well look like victory to anyone else, especially holding out as long as he did.”

Grimacing, she turned her head away. “I hate it when you say things like that.”

He sighed. “Why hide from the truth, Kal’istae?” he asked gently. “It is not your fault that you are the most powerful warrior of this - and possibly any - generation to date. ‘Tis a blessing, not a curse; see it as such.”

“I don’t like being different,” she muttered. “I just want to be like everyone else.”

Didn’t he know it? She was not the only one who felt that way; every Scion had, at one point or another, felt woefully out of place compared to those around them. Reaching up, he laid his hand on her head and she stiffened, then deliberately relaxed. “You are you, Kali, and beloved for it.”

“Beloved as myself, or as the Warrior of Light?” she asked morosely.

She didn’t mean it to be an opening, but damned if he wouldn’t take it anyway. “I can speak only for myself,” he murmured, and she looked at him sharply. “But I couldn’t give a hang about the Warrior of Light. Only you, Kal’istae. Only you.”

Their eyes held for a long, humming moment, then she looked away with a gasp. “Thancred,” she began, but a crunch of snow alerted them both and he dropped his hand away even as Aymeric came into sight.

“My lady!” he exclaimed, then came up short to see Thancred with her. Elezen and hyur stared at each other for a long moment, then the Knight Commander coughed and busied himself with his errand. “Glad am I to have found you. I wished to convey my deepest gratitude to you, for without your formidable presence upon the field, I scarce believe we would have won the day.”

Thancred gritted his teeth as Kal’istae’s shoulders fell slightly; Aymeric may not have noticed, but he certainly did. “I do not believe that for an instant,” she said with false gaiety. “Ishgard’s forces were certainly the equal of those fielded by the Eorzeans. Truly, you have made an excellent case for yourself on why they should accept you once more amongst their ranks, even without me.”

Aymeric’s smile was warmer than strictly necessary. “I would never argue with a lady,” he said, though his tone suggested he wanted to. “But still, accept my thanks. I am to meet with the leaders of the Alliance, but I hope you will join us this evening for dinner. You and your… companions.” His eyes flickered briefly to Thancred, momentarily disquiet, but as his gaze turned back to Kal’istae, it was all hopeful smiles.

What could she say? “Of course,” Kal’istae murmured. “I will speak with the other Scions, and I am certain they will wish to join as well. You honor us with the invitation.”

Aymeric waved off her words. “Believe me, my friend, the honor is all ours. This evening, then.” He cast one last, brief glance at Thancred, then turned and strode away towards where the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance awaited their Ishgardian counterpart.

“Kali,” Thancred began as soon as he was out of earshot, but she gave a quick, sharp shake of her head. He sighed. “Well! Everything seems to be falling into place, does it not? The Ishgardians have claimed their symbolic victory, and the Eorzean Alliance has been strengthened in the process.” Grateful, she turned to gaze up at him. “Be proud, Kal’istae. You made this happen.”

She shook her head. “We made this happen, my friend,” she murmured, and he smiled wryly.

“Very well,” he agreed. “We made this happen. And now we should be heading out of the cold. Maybe you don’t feel it, but believe me when I say that this outfit is better suited a lowlands gentleman than a highlands one.”

She chuckled. “I’d wondered when you’d admit it,” she murmured, and he wrinkled his nose at her. “Come. Let us get out of the cold, and tend to your wounds. We have, it seems, a party to attend this evening.”

“Oh joy,” came Thancred’s droll response, and they started off towards Ishgard to the welcome sound of her laughter, her worries left behind with the churned up snow.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #kal'istae miurani #thancred waters #kalicred #au: woven souls

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