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holllandtrash · 2 years ago

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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 · 1 year ago

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 · 6 months ago

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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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t0mcruize123 · 9 months ago

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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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sergeantbarnessdoll · 8 months ago

Text

Make It Up To You » Lance Tucker

Pairings: Boyfriend!Lance Tucker x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Lance makes it up to Y/N for flirting with another girl.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, Lance’s tattoo, name calling (slut), use of pet names

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!!🔞

“Baby, I told you I was sorry.” Lance says, closing the door to yours and his apartment behind him.

You and Lance went to a bar for a couple drinks and have a nice night, but he couldn’t even keep it in his pants for a couple hours. You went to the bathroom and came back to see him flirting with another girl.

“It’s pathetic how you think you can apologize when you can’t keep your fucking dick in your pants for two fucking hours!” You say angrily.

“You’re acting like I fucked her and you damn well know I didn’t. You’re the only girl for me, baby girl. You know that.” He says, wrapping his arms around you.

You pushed him away and stormed off to yours and his shared bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Lance sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He went to the bedroom, opening the door when you were undressing. He closed the bedroom door behind him before approaching you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

“I’m so sorry, babe.” He apologizes again, kissing along your bare shoulder. “Let me make it up to you.” He says.

One of his hands slid down your stomach and inside of your panties, feeling how wet you are for him.

“You know, for someone who’s pissed off at me, you’re wet like a little slut.” Lance says with a chuckle.

His fingers rubbed in between your wet folds to your tight entrance. He slid two fingers inside of your pussy, moving them at a decent pace while his thumb rubbed your clit. Your eyes fluttered shut and your head fell back against his shoulder, melting into his touch. His lips kissed along your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin hard enough to mark you up.

“Lance…” You moaned breathlessly.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Moan my name.” Lance says in your ear.

His name kept leaving your lips as his fingers sped up. His other hand moved up your body, stopping underneath one of your breasts and gave it a squeeze causing your cunt to clench around his fingers at the feeling.

“You’re so tight, baby.” Lance whispers in your ear. “Can’t wait to feel this sweet pussy around my dick.” He says huskily.

His thumb applied more pressure on your clit as he continued to rub it, along with his fingers moving faster. You reached your hands up to his head, your fingers finding their way to his hair and tugged at it, making him moan at the feeling.

“Oh Lance…” You moaned.

Your moans went straight to his cock. His cock was starting to feel uncomfortable in his jeans. His started to grind it against your ass for some relief, making you gasp.

“You feel that, baby?” He asks. “You feel how hard you make me.” He says in almost a whisper, continuing to grind his cock against your ass.

His fingers hit your sweet spot causing your cunt to clench around his fingers. Lance’s thumb rubbed your clit faster as his fingers began to move faster, helping your orgasm build up. Your fingers tightened their grip on his hair.

“Lance, I- oh fuck!” You moaned.

“I know, baby. Cum for me.” He whispers in your ear.

His thumb applying more pressure on your clit sent you over the edge. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came. Lance gave your clit a particularly rough rub before pulling his fingers out of your pussy and licking your release off of them.

“Such a good girl for me.” Lance praises softly.

Lance guided you to the bed and gently laid you down. You watched as Lance undressed himself, licking your lips when you seen his tattoo. You voluntarily spread your legs and he got in between them, his hand pumping his hard cock.

“You want the gold, baby?” He asks huskily.

You bit your lower lip, nodding your head eagerly. Lance rubbed his cock in your wetness before lining himself at your entrance. A moan fell from your lips when he slid his cock inside of you. When his cock was deep inside of you, he leaned down and gave you a sweet kiss before he started thrusting. His thrusts were fast and loving. Lance’s hands roamed your body, giving your breasts a light squeeze before sliding down your sides and stopping them on your hips. You were looking down at where the two of you are connected, completely mesmerized by his tattoo. You couldn’t help but reach a hand down and trace it with your fingers.

“You like my tattoo, baby?” Lance asks, watching your fingers trace his tattoo.

“I fucking love it.” You moaned, biting your lower lip.

You wanted him closer to you so you wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back. That gave Lance a new angle. His cock hit your sweet spot. A loud moan of his name left your lips, throwing your head back in pleasure. Your hands found their way to his back, your nails digging in his skin. Lance hissed at the feeling.

“I love it when you mark me with your nails, babe.” Lance says in almost a whisper, kissing just below your ear.

Lance marked your neck up more while your nails marked up his back. The neatly trimmed hair at on the base of his cock rubbed against your clit, stimulating it.

“Fuck, Lance!” You moaned.

Your moans encouraged him to thrust faster, his tip hitting your sweet spot every time. Lance watched as your face contorted as pleasure took over your body. Your lips parted, breathy moans and his name leaving your lips. His fingers found their way to your clit, rubbing it fast. You pussy clenched around his cock at the feeling of him rubbing your clit.

“Lance, please!” You begged, not knowing what you’re even begging for.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Lance says.

You weren’t sure what you were begging for. All you know is that you didn’t want him to stop.

“Harder!” You tell him, finally knowing what you were begging for.

Lance didn’t need to be told twice. He unwrapped your legs from his waist, hooking his arms under your knees and began fucking you harder.

“Oh fuck yes!” You moaned loudly.

Lance kissed you sloppily. Your lips parted just enough for his tongue to slip past your lips and explore your mouth. You moaned against his lips when his cock hit your sweet spot repeatedly.

“I’m so close, Lance.” You whimpered.

“Cum for me, baby.” He says huskily in almost a whisper.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you threw your head back in pleasure, moaning his name loudly as you came. Lance fucked you through your orgasm. His started to become sloppy as his orgasm started to build up quickly.

“Fuck!” Lance moans as he came inside of you.

His thrusts came to a slow stop. Lance pulled out of you and laid down next to you. Both of you stared up at the ceiling and panted.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized, looking at him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby girl.” Lance says, turned his head to look at you.

“Yes I do. I accused you of cheating when I saw you flirting with that girl.” You say.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world and I still flirted with another girl.” He says.

“I forgive you.” You say, kissing his lips.

Lance smiles against your lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“I love you, Lance.” You say softly, laying your head on his chest.

“I love you too, baby.” Lance says in almost a whisper.

🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅🏅

-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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scrollonso · 5 months ago

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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 · 5 months ago

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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 ago

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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 ago

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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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gryphon1232 · 12 days ago

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Morning After - Alance Oneshot

Hey all, this popped into my head at like 1AM last night, and I was plagued by it until I wrote half of it in my notes app and then passed out only to wake up and immediately finish it.

This is just another cute fluffy little one-shot fic about the two of them waking up in bed together after a good night. It does get a tad steamy, but it doesn't go beyond some making out, so enjoy!🌹❤️

(Ficlet Below)

The morning sun was streaking through the windows, casting long shadows across the hotel room. Lance woke slowly, the warmth surrounding his body and the feeling of Alexandre’s fingers tracing over the sensitive skin of his back threatening to lull him back to sleep. Instead, he let his eyes flutter open, clearing his throat.

“Oh.” Alexandre startled, pulling his hand away. “Good morning.”

Lance missed the feeling of Alexandre’s hand in his skin immediately, making a sound of discomfort as he tried to shuffle back on the bed, closer to him. When it was clear that he wasn’t going to take the hint, he sighed, turning his head to look at the Monégasque.

Alexandre looked beautiful in the early morning light, even if his curly brown hair was a mess, sticking every which way. The sun was cast across his tanned skin perfectly, his green eyes sparkling in the light as he stared back at him.

“Morning.” He craned his neck in lieu of stretching. “What time is it?”

“Just past seven,” Alexandre said, shifting a bit. Lance could see a purple bruise forming at the base of his neck — a remnant from last night.

Lance groaned. “I have to be downstairs in the gym with Mark at 7:45.”

“Perfect.” Alexandre gave him a toothy — mischievous grin. The one that the cameras never saw — the real one. “We have time.” A moment later, Alexandre leaned in to press a kiss to Lance's lips.

The Briton sighed into it, angling his neck to deepen the kiss as his hand slid up, gripping the man’s neck lazily, pulling him in closer. He could feel the short curly hairs at the back of Alexandre’s neck against the palm of his hand, his thumb searching over Alexandre’s neck blindly.

Alexandre pulled back now, staring at him, “Think anyone from the team heard us last night?” Lance was staring at him in tired disbelief, staring at the wicked grin on his face.

It was easier now to find the spot, and finally after a few moments, he pressed his thumb into the hickey-bruised skin of his teammates neck. Lance had his own grin now, reveling in the sound of Alexandre’s quiet groan, swallowing it up as the Monégasque fell back against him, slotting their lips together once more.

Their languid kisses grew more charged now. Lance’s thumb was smoothing over the skin of Alexandre’s cheek now as the Monégasque’s hands roved over his bare, muscular back. His fingers found purchase in a particularly sore spot on his right shoulder — a bite mark if his recollection of the night before was anything to go off of. Alexandre’s fingers traced the ridges of the mark made by his own teeth, pressed down on the bruised skin faintly, just to even the score.

Lance groaned back now, his hand sliding back around to grab a loose fist-full of Alexandre’s hair. He used his leverage to change the angle of the kiss — pulling slightly just to hear the sound the Monégasque would make. Alexandre’s hands flew back down to the wide plane of his back, his short nails scratching into it as he held on. They both liked it a bit rough — loved the rise they could get out of each other — liked knowing the other would feel it later. A reminder of what they did.

A few minutes later Lance’s alarm went off, breaking them from their bliss. He groaned, breaking their kiss despite the protests of the man in his arms.

“I should take a shower.” He watched Alexandre’s eyes rove over his body. Knew he was doing the same.

“You could always skip the work-out.” Alexandre grinned, shifting them so he was sitting on Lance’s hips, leaning down to give him another kiss.

“Mark would kill me,” Lance responded, flipping them again so he was hanging over Alexandre. He let his hand trail down to the flank of smooth, soft skin on the Monégasque’s flank, massaging over his ribs.

“Worth it.”

“No,” Lance said, finally breaking the contact as he rolled off the bed, “I can’t — sorry darling.” Alexandre muttered a few words of protest in French as he left.

“Darling,” The Monégasque parroted in a poor attempt at Lance’s accent from where he was still wrapped in the blankets, “so sweet to me.” Lance rolled his eyes, disappearing into the bathroom.

When he came out about ten minutes later, it was in a humid puff of steam, a towel wrapped around his bare waist and moisture clinging to his skin, making it glisten faintly in the light.

He was already moving about the room now, checking his phone — 7:30 — then he was heading over to the dresser to pull out a pair of gym clothes. He let the towel drop as he began getting dressed, smirking to himself when he caught Alexandre ogling him in the mirror — eyes raking over his body.

He made a bit of a show out of it, pulling his clothes on slowly, paying attention to the way his hands drifted over his skin. He wasn’t really one for showing off outside the track, didn’t really like it honestly, but the rise he could get out of Alexandre was more than worth it.

Finally, he pulled on a loose fitting tank top — just some old workout shirt he’d owned for years, and turned back to Alexandre, ready to grab his stuff off the end table and leave.

“Right, I need to head down now, but you have my spare key card — just let yourself — what?” Alexandre was staring at him, jaw hung open slightly. He put his hands on his hips. “Is this because…” he trailed off, pointing back to where he’d been standing before.

“Lance you can’t wear that shirt to the gym…” Alexandre said once he was finally able to close his mouth.

“What — why?”

Alexandre’s eyes flashed towards the mirror, and Lance angled his head — looking back to see what Alexandre was staring at. His eyes were immediately drawn to the bite mark on his shoulder, just in his peripheral vision, a vibrant purple-red colour. When his gaze landed on his reflection in the mirror, he could see a perfectly clear set of red scratch marks across his shoulder blade, peeking out of the tank top.

“Christ…”

“Yeah,” Alexandre huffed out.

“I can’t wear this.”

“I just told you that, no?”

“Shut up,” Lance rolled his eyes, already digging for another shirt. He pulled out a black form-fitting nylon top, using one arm to pull the first shirt off and discarding it on the floor.

“That was hot,” Alexandre said from behind him as he pulled on the new shirt.

“You’re too easy.” Lance grinned now that his shirt was on, walking over to grab his stuff off the end table for real now. He gave Alexandre one final quick kiss on the lips, and then he was heading for the door, “don’t let anyone see you on —”

“My way out, yes, I know. You still act like this is our first time doing this.” He could hear the fond annoyance in Alexandre’s voice. “Enjoy your work-out.”

“I won’t,” he turned back with a grin, then slipped out the door into the empty hallway of the hotel, missing the comforting warmth of the bed already.

#Gang I was inspired #f1 writing #f1 #f1 ocs #f1 oc #f1blr #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula one #oneshot #scratching #making out #bite marks #DRS Universe #Alexandre Lareaux #Lance Adams

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yorshie · 1 year ago

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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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uninspireddreamsandwhims · 2 months ago

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Summer Camp Klance Drabble

Another Klance fic I wrote a little while back. I have this idea for a bigger summer camp au but I don't have the motivation to write it all right now, so I wrote out one of the scenes I'd been thinking about.

Thanks for reading! Here's the AO3 link if you'd prefer to read it there: (https://archiveofourown.org/works/58880770) ______________________________________________

The one-hour block between lunch and the next scheduled activity was a sacred time. One meant for napping, reading, or hanging out by the lakeside with friends. The camp staff occasionally used the time to prep for upcoming activities or to work on admin duties - Lance’s least favorite task. God, he wished he was doing admin work right now.

Instead, Lance found himself in the middle of a battle field, his thoughts of a peaceful afternoon floating in the lake drowned out by the insanity surrounding him.

Kids were screaming and cheering, sand was spraying as bodies were dragged back and forth. Lance’s hands burned every time the rope slid across his sweaty palms, the invisible fibers digging into his skin. The sun was brutal, and the mid-afternoon summer heat was unbearable. Lance’s already flushed and sweaty skin felt hot and tight.

Pidge was somewhere on the sidelines, huddled under an umbrella, three layers of sunscreen, and burrowed into a hoodie to prevent another summer of peeling, sunburnt skin. Lance laughed at the thought but the sound was snatched away by the shrieks of, “Pull, pull, pull!” from those around him. His ears were ringing from their voices. Lance tightened his grip and gave another tug, the muscles in his arms aching and his hands cramping. But he powered through it. He dug his feet into the sand and leaned his body backward to help with momentum.

It was no use. While Lance’s side had more people, the other side had mostly older kids, in addition to Shiro and Hunk. Lance could see the muscles bulging in Shiro’s arms, shimmering with sweat, from across the pit. Carver was somewhere behind Lance, acting as the anchor for their side, but he was half Shiro’s size and couldn’t compare to Hunk, the anchor for the other team. Allura, the other instructor on Lance’s team, was a few people ahead of him, her body almost parallel to the ground as she pulled. A few of her cabin kids huddled around her, clinging to the rope in a futile act of support.

“Let’s go beast mode!” Carver bellowed from the back. Lance felt his arms begin to give, the phrase killing any desire he had left inside of him to try and win. Around him, other campers were groaning.

“You’re so old!” Someone shouted down the line. Lance snickered. In his distraction, the rope jerked in his hands and they all went stumbling forward, sand spraying into his face as bodies tumbled, jostling one another.

“Fucking Shiro,” Lance grumbled, spitting out the grit. Some of the younger campers had the idea to try and pin the rope beneath them, hoping to use their body weight to prevent the rope from being pulled further. They quickly realized why that wouldn’t work. Lance grimaced.

“Everyone get up! If we’re down it’s easier for them!” Lance grabbed the closest camper - Henry? Harry? - and pulled him to his feet. Some of the other kids started doing the same and it helped to hold down the line. It hardly seemed worth it, the knot in the center of the rope wiggled dangerously close to the other team’s goal line, but Lance would feel awful quitting now. He didn’t like disappointing the kids.

Across the way, Lance caught Shiro’s eyes. Shiro grinned, annoyingly smug for someone with sweaty hair and a reddened face. He gave a small wave, face full of mischief, before grasping the rope with both hands and giving another massive tug.

Lance was going to kill Shiro.

Hands gripped the rope next to Lance’s, breaking up the momentum. Someone wedged between Lance and the camper behind him, their body hot and firm as Lance was jostled backward.

“Careful,” a rough voice said near to his ear. Lance jerked, recognizing the voice in an instant. Keith was on his left, his forearms flexing with the strain of holding the rope in place. “Shiro’s showing off,” Keith muttered, voice low but still close enough for Lance to hear. Lance’s eyes lingered a moment too long on Keith’s arms. “He’s being a pain,” Lance grumbled, voice drowned out by the shouts of encouragement from the younger campers as their side took back a few inches.

“That’s Shiro for ya,” Keith deadpanned. Lance hadn’t realized how close Keith was until Keith leaned back and, raising his voice to be heard among the cheers, shouted, “On three, everyone pull! One, two, three!”

If it had been any other event, Lance would have resented being bossed around by Keith. But he was tired, sore, and dying to wipe that smug look off Shiro’s face. Lance dug his feet into the sand once more and heaved, his body straining and his breath catching in his chest as he tugged on the rope until his limbs ached. The campers were doing the same, feet planted, bodies slanted, faces contorted in concentration as they pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

Keith was panting in Lance’s ear, quick hot bursts of air fanning his face, as he grunted, straining with all his might to tug the rope back as far as possible. Lance felt light-headed and fuzzy. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the exhaustion, but his pulse was racing and his head was beginning to swirl.

Mere seconds before his grip gave out, the line slacked. There was a brief moment where he felt weightless, the tension in his body holding him still. And then, all at once, they tumbled back like dominoes. Lance crashed into the sand, clenching his eyes against the spray and biting his lips shut to keep it out of his mouth. Someone landed on top of him, the weight making him groan. Whoever it was had Lance completely pinned.

Lance lay there, eyes still shut, body shaking as the adrenaline flooded out of him. His palms were throbbing but weirdly enough, he felt giddy. His chest trembled as he fought to contain his laughter. The weight on top of him lifted and the sun blazed against his shuttered eyes.

“You good?” A voice asked. Lance cracked his eyes open, squinting up at the figure above him. Keith was above Lance, his hair haloed by the gleam of the sun’s rays, their faces a few inches apart. It almost looked like a coronet. The laughter did finally bubble out of Lance, a small giggle at first before it built into something deeper. “Why are you laughing?” Keith asked, his voice lightening as he fought off the smile threatening his lips.

“Because,” Lance gasped. “Shiro was so…cocky about it. He was so smug,” Lance wheezed out another laugh. “I wish I could have seen his face when you joined our side.” Keith did smile then, a soft chuckle slipping out as he did so.

“Damn, I forgot to look.” Lance gazed up at him, taking in the way the sweat on his forehead made his hair stick to his face, his usually pale skin slightly tanned and a bright red. He wouldn’t be surprised if Keith got a sunburn after this. Lance’s eyes met Keith’s and for a moment he simply stared, absorbed in the deep grey of his eyes.

Feet pounded against the ground. In seconds, Keith was hauled up by his brother, Shiro, and enveloped in a headlock. His shirt was dark with sweat and stuck to his skin as he pressed Keith’s face against his body, a grin split across his face. Keith let out a muffled yelp.

“Ugh, Shiro! What did you do, dunk yourself in the lake? Let me go!” Keith pushed against his brother’s chest, struggling to free himself from the brick wall of a man.

“What sort of blackmail did Pidge have on you that got you to join?” Shiro was saying to Keith, giving him a hearty shake that lifted Keith off the ground. Keith thrashed violently in his brother’s grip, but Shiro looked wholly unbothered by Keith’s efforts. Lance watched on with amusement, definitely not using the time to appreciate the full view of Keith’s ass clad in his denim cutoffs.

Feeling someone’s eyes on him, Lance glanced up to see Shiro shoot him a knowing wink that made Lance’s cheeks burn.

#klance #keith x lance #lance mcclain #lance voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #summer camp #voltron au #alternate universe #fanfic #voltron #voltron legendary defender #new to posting

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