#adjustable airflow

[smokedaletobaccousa]

Airis Mega 2000 Puffs Disposable Vape – 10-Pack of Long-Lasting, Flavorful Devices

[amrv-5]

my beautiful new shelf

[awkward-teabag]

I feel like a proper PC gamer now. Got some LED fans (not specifically, they just happened to be the cheapest and less likely to have resonance issues like a non-LED fan I tried) with zero intention to use them but decided to just for the hell of it.

Honestly kinda dig the purple, and I did want to light that area up anyway.

[hvac-eng]

Design Procedures for Cooling-Only Systems: Detailed Airflow Calculation Methodology

Technical Deep Dive: Airflow Calculation Methods for Cooling-Only Systems Following our 8-step methodology for designing cooling-only HVAC systems, this technical supplement provides detailed insights into the critical airflow calculation methods essential for Step 3: Calculate Required Zone and Space Supply Airflow Rates. Understanding these calculation approaches enables engineers to select…

[dykesynthezoid]

Get a juniper they said. They’re great for beginners they said. They definitely won’t try to spontaneously kill themselves for no reason they said

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Forty

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, slight smut, a bit of general anxiety.

Notes — Welcome to Miami!!!!!

2024 (Miami—Imola)

The McLaren garage was quiet in that early-morning lull before the chaos. Screens still black. Tyres covered. Mechanics nursing coffees and stretching into the day. Amelia stood just inside the halo of overhead lights, hands on her hips, watching her car, her car, come alive in pieces.

The floor gleamed with fresh resin. The side-pods were lean, smooth, seamless in their curvature. The front wing was finally the right spec; the airflow data had confirmed it. The new floor geometry played nicer with the updated rear suspension. The whole package, finally cohesive.

It had taken months of pushing. Quiet conversations. Brutal ones. Drawings on the back of napkins, pacing in her kitchen at 2am. And it was all here now, carbon and copper and logic made real.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just circled the car slowly, one hand brushing against the wing mirror, the leading edge of the nose, the curve of the intake. Reverent, almost.

Tom stood a few feet back, sipping from a thermal mug. He was always nearby at the moment; watching and learning. “Looks different,” he said.

Amelia nodded. “This is the car I designed from the beginning. No compromises. No shortcuts.” She crouched beside the floor, fingers tracing the sculpted undercut, the exact shape she’d fought for. “We’ve been patch-working upgrades onto old foundations. But this; this is a clean slate. It’s mine. Finally.”

“So it’s ready?” He asked.

She looked up at him, eyes sharp. “Yeah. It’s ready to win.”

Lando ducked into the garage then, still in joggers and a hoodie, yawning around a protein bar. He caught her eye, then stopped mid-step. “Holy shit.”

Amelia nodded.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. Studied the car with wide eyes, taking in every minor adjustment, every small change that’d somehow made the entire car look different. Meaner.

“It looks fast.” He breathed.

“It is.”

He turned toward her, something quiet in his expression. “You happy?”

Amelia didn’t blink. “I’m relieved. Now it’ll do exactly what I designed it to do.”

Oscar wandered in a moment later, eyebrows lifting when he saw the chassis. “Oh shit, this the final spec?”

“The one I promised you both,” Amelia muttered.

Oscar grinned, circling the nose. “Looks like a weapon.”

Amelia hummed. “That’s because it is. All the patchwork’s gone. This weekend, you’ll both be driving the car I built for you from the ground up.”

Tom, now beside her, tapped his pen against his notebook. “You going to name it?”

Amelia looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “It already has a name — and that name has my initials in it anyway. Why would I give it another name?”

Oscar shrugged. “I name my chassis something new every weekend.”

“That’s because you’re weird.” She told him.

But later, when they were running race simulations and Lando had slipped out for media, she sat alone beside Oscar’s car, one hand resting lightly on the side-pod. Just for a second. And under her breath, too soft for anyone to hear: “Don’t let me down.”

Because it was all here now; her vision, her work, her legacy in motion.

And in Miami, for the first time all year, she was finally going to see her car on track.

—

Even in Miami, the F1 Academy paddock felt smaller. Tighter-knit. Less spectacle, more steel. It reminded Amelia of the early days she’d watched on flickering TV screens—before race suits were tailored, before engineers had agents. When she’d been three feet tall and already knew more about car setup than most of the men working on them.

She walked beside Susie, the low hum of tyre warmers and generators buzzing faintly underfoot. The air smelled like brake dust and fuel. It smelled like home.

“You don’t get much spare time,” Susie said, glancing down at the curve of Amelia’s bump beneath her papaya hoodie. “So thanks for making this one count.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Amelia said, eyes scanning the compact garages. “These girls are the future of motorsport.”

A mechanic rolled a jack across their path. A knot of young drivers stood nearby, still in their fireproofs, talking fast, voices tight with nerves.

Susie called one over. “Chloe. Come here a sec.”

Chloe Chambers jogged over, ponytail bouncing, already grinning like she knew exactly who Amelia was.

“Amelia Norris,” Susie said, pride softening her voice. “Meet Chloe. One of our brightest. She’s been dying to pick your brain.”

Chloe stuck out a hand, eyes wide. “I’ve watched every onboard from Oscar since you started working with him. And you basically built this year’s McLaren, right?”

Amelia glanced at the hand, winced, then gave a small shrug. “Built it. Argued over it. Cried about it once or twice. So—yes.”

Chloe lit up, dropped her hand like she didn’t even register the rejection. “I want to do what you do. I mean—I want to drive first. But also understand the car. Maybe even design one. Someday.”

Amelia's smile tugged sideways, something more serious behind it. “Then don’t let anyone tell you to choose. You don’t have to.”

A few more girls wandered over—Doriane, Abbi, Maya. One asked if it was true she’d rewritten part of the ride height algorithm in the middle of the night, thanks to pregnancy nausea.

“It’s true,” she said dryly. “Wouldn’t recommend it. I couldn’t stand the smell of carbon fibre for three days.”

They laughed, young, high, unfiltered, and something eased in her chest. She didn’t feel like a figurehead here. Not a myth. Just one of them. Older, yes. Blunter, definitely. But still part of it.

“Do you still get nervous?” One asked. “Being Oscar’s engineer?”

“No,” Amelia said. “But sometimes, I get… quiet before an upgrade. Or a tough strategy call. But I trust the hours I put in. That’s how you survive in this job—you trust the work, then you trust yourself.”

They asked for a photo. She said yes.

Afterwards, stepping back into the heat and light, Amelia felt something shift beneath her ribs. Not the baby. Something else.

“These girls,” she murmured. “They’re so—”

“Ready,” Susie finished. “They just need someone to show them what’s possible.”

Amelia looked down at her belly. The baby kicked once, low and firm. She wondered—would her daughter want this one day? The speed. The noise. The risk.

Would she want her to?

She didn’t know.

But she knew this: she wanted the door to be open. And she wanted it to stay that way.

“Well,” Amelia said, eyes back on the track. “Let’s make sure the road stays clear.”

Susie nodded, a quiet kind of promise in her voice. “That’s exactly why we’re here.”

—

The room was dark.

Not pitch-black—just enough light from the closed blinds to trace the edges of things. A spare media suite deep in the team hospitality unit, soundproofed from the bustle outside. Cold air whispered from the vents overhead.

Amelia sat curled up on the floor, back against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled down over her hands. In her lap, she twisted the stim toy between her fingers: click, roll, flip, snap. Again. Again. Again.

Her morning had unravelled in that invisible way it sometimes did. Nothing catastrophic—just too many voices, too many schedule changes, someone touching her shoulder without warning. The wrong texture on the cutlery at breakfast. The wrong smell in the paddock. She’d swallowed it all down with a brittle smile until she couldn’t anymore. Now the inside of her head felt raw and overlit, and only silence helped.

Click. Roll. Flip. Snap.

The door opened.

Soft, slow. No bright light flooding in. Just a narrow slice of hallway glow and a silhouette. Lando.

He didn’t say anything. He just stepped inside, closed the door again behind him. Let the dark settle. He moved quietly, then sat beside her, legs stretched out, shoulder to shoulder with hers.

A beat later, the door creaked again. Oscar this time.

She didn’t look up, but she knew him by the shape of his walk, the subtle way he moved like he was trying not to wake a sleeping cat. He settled on her other side, crossed-legged, just close enough to touch but not quite.

Nobody spoke.

Amelia kept clicking. Rolling. Flipping. Snapping.

And slowly, her breathing evened out.

Lando reached over and gently brushed his fingers across the back of her hand. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. She let him. Then let her head tilt sideways until it rested lightly on his shoulder.

Oscar stayed quiet, respectful in that way he always was with her—like he got it, even if he didn’t always understand. He just existed beside her, like a grounding point.

The toy made a soft clack as she turned it over again, her fingers finding the rhythm she liked best. The baby shifted inside her, low and firm. She exhaled slowly.

They weren’t talking. They weren’t asking her what she needed. They just were. Present. Patient. Steady.

It hit her, then, with quiet force: how deeply she was loved. Just… for being.

She blinked hard. One tear, maybe two. Nothing dramatic. Just the kind that came when the pressure released, even just a little.

Click. Roll. Flip. Snap.

Lando rested a hand on her hip, tracing soft circles on the red, itchy stretch marks. Oscar leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed, humming something tuneless under his breath.

Amelia let the dark hold all three of them.

And she knew that soon, she’d feel okay again.

—

Amelia had gone out for air.

That was the plan, anyway—just ten quiet minutes away from the structured chaos of media day. No cameras, no questions. Just walking, hoodie on, head down, hands in her pockets.

But somewhere along the paddock hospitality row, she saw them—six or seven VIP fans lingering near the McLaren garage, lanyards bright, eyes wide, trying not to look starstruck and failing. Most of them were young women. One had a notebook. Another had made her own earrings out of mini DRS wings. A third was nervously adjusting the hem of her papaya windbreaker.

They saw her before she could disappear.

“Hi—sorry—Amelia?”

She could’ve smiled and nodded and kept walking. Instead, she stopped. “Yes,” she said. “Hello. You’re not supposed to be standing there. You’ll block the tyre trolleys.”

One of them blurted, “You’re, like… kind of our hero.”

Amelia blinked at them. “Why?”

Which made them all laugh awkwardly.

“I mean,” the DRS earring girl said, “you built the car. Everyone knows it. You’re the reason we’re consistently getting podiums again.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Amelia said bluntly. “But thank you.”

The girl with the notebook held it out. “Could I maybe ask you a few questions? Just for fun?”

Amelia glanced around. There was a patch of artificial turf by the hospitality tents where a drinks cooler sat forgotten. No cameras. No execs. No schedule.

“Fine,” she said. “But I want to sit down. And I want something to eat.”

Fifteen minutes later, Amelia was cross-legged on a grassy patch, a fizzy drink in one hand and a half-eaten granola bar in the other, surrounded by a semicircle of fascinated girls. Someone had scrounged up crisps and trail mix from a hospitality unit. It was, essentially, a picnic.

She’d taken a napkin and a pen and was now drawing vortex flows and side-pod shapes in clean, confident lines, explaining how turbulent air off the front wing could be used as a tool, not just a nuisance.

“People always think air is the enemy,” she said. “It’s not. It’s a language. And if you understand what it’s saying, the car will behave for you.”

Someone gasped. Someone else scribbled furiously. One girl offered Amelia a gummy bear, which she accepted without breaking eye contact from the diagram.

“Do you… want your daughter to be an engineer too?” One asked, softly.

Amelia paused. “I want her to believe that she can be anything she wants to be.”

That was when Lando found her.

He was coming from an interview and nearly missed the scene entirely. Then he spotted her—Amelia, sitting in the middle of the grass like a camp counsellor or a pre-school teacher, surrounded by fans who all looked like they were in total and utter awe of her.

Oscar arrived seconds later. “Is this… what’s going on?”

“I think it’s a cult,” Lando whispered. “My wife has created a cult and she is their leader.”

One of the girls spotted them and nudged the others. The whole circle turned.

“Oh. Hi,” Amelia said, gesturing vaguely to them. “They asked me about ground effect. I got carried away.”

Lando sat down beside her without a word. Oscar followed, grabbing a crisp from the communal bowl like this was all perfectly normal.

“We’re learning,” Oscar said solemnly. “Let’s not interrupt the professor, Lando.”

One of the girls burst into laughter. Amelia handed her the napkin diagram and grinned.

And there, in the middle of a media day she’d meant to escape, Amelia Norris held court not to journalists or executives; but to the next generation. Bright-eyed. Hungry to learn. Eager to belong.

—

Later, Lando slipped an arm around Amelia’s shoulders.

“So,” he said, voice light but steady, “when our daughter’s old enough, do we risk teaching her about vortex generators and having her build a wind tunnel in our bathroom?”

Amelia rolled her eyes, resting her head against his chest. “Who knows? She might put us all out of a job.”

He laughed softly. “She’ll definitely get your brains.”

“And your stubbornness.” She gave him a sidelong look. “And adrenaline addiction.”

“Great combo.”

They walked slowly back toward the garage.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If she wanted to race,” Amelia started, her hand moving instinctively to her hip, “would you want that for her?”

Lando scrunched his nose, bit his lip. “God. Uh…” He paused, searching her eyes. “I’d be worried. Not happy about it, but if it’s what she wanted, I’d make it happen.”

She studied him. “You’d make it happen even if it made you unhappy?”

“Worried,” he corrected gently. “Worried sick, probably. I’ve crashed, seen the worst of it. You know how dangerous this sport is. Would you be okay with it?”

She shrugged. “I’d tell her the risks, the stats. Karting? Sure. But racing professionally… I don’t know.” She hesitated, voice quieter. “I don’t know.”

Lando cupped her cheek. “It’s okay not to know yet.”

“I don’t know,” she repeated, staring into his eyes as panic fluttered beneath her skin. “Why don’t I know? I should.”

He pulled her close, voice low. “It doesn’t work like that, baby. I’m sorry.”

She sniffled, clutching his shirt. “Parenting is already hard and she isn’t even born yet.”

“Yeah,” Lando agreed, with a shaky kind of inhale. “Yeah.”

—

Amelia sat on the couch in their hotel room, fiddling with her stim toy, brow furrowed. The past few weeks had been… confusing. She knew about pregnancy hormones, but this sudden surge in her sex drive? That was new and confusing territory.

Lando entered the room, carrying a glass of water. He caught her eye and smiled, but there was a flicker of something (nervousness?) in his gaze.

“You okay?” He asked, voice a bit higher than usual.

Amelia bit her lip. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded quickly, almost too quickly.

“Is it… normal to suddenly want sex all the time? Like, nonstop?” Her voice was blunt but uncertain. ‘I’m nervous to look it up in-case weird stuff comes up.”

Lando’s face flushed, and he scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her. “Uh, yeah. Totally normal. Second trimester… hormones and all that.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Amelia blinked, surprised by his sudden heat.

Lando shifted closer, cheeks still pink. “I mean, it’s… well, you’re pretty irresistible right now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Irresistible?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah. So, uh… we can make you feel better, if you want?”

Before she could respond, he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against hers. The kiss was soft but full of promise, and Amelia’s heart sped up in that familiar way; equal parts surprise and warmth.

When they parted, Lando grinned sheepishly. “You want to?”

Amelia stared at him. “Yeah. Now. And then again a few more times. And tomorrow morning before we go to the track.”

He stared at her for a beat before he smiled wide, sharp little fangs and all.

—

Amelia lay awake.

Her head rested on Lando’s chest, his hand soft against the curve of her belly. His breathing was slow, steady, familiar. She could feel the faint shift of it under her cheek.

She stared at the ceiling, fingers tracing idle circles over the sheets.

She hadn’t expected to want him like that. Not with this body — not now, not so much. And yet…

Flashes of the night flickered across her mind like bright sparks.

Lando’s laugh, half-muffled against her neck.

His voice, rough, whispering, “You sure? You’re sure?”

The way he’d kissed the inside of her wrist every time.

Her hoodie halfway off, clumsily caught around her elbows.

The sound she made when he touched her lower back — sharp, surprised.

His thumb brushing gently over her bump, reverent. “Hi, baby,” he’d whispered, “Your mum’s kind of a goddess.”

She blushed in the dark just thinking about it.

But what stuck with her most wasn’t the heat — it was how seen she felt. How known. How safe.

She’d spent most of her life learning to translate herself for the world. She thought that’s what relationships would always have to be — filtering, explaining, shrinking things down.

But with Lando, she had never once had to do that.

He read the pauses in her voice like she would read telemetry. Felt her silences without trying to explain. Met her confusion with patience, not pity. Anticipated the needs she hadn’t even decoded herself yet.

She tilted her head, studying him in the quiet.

She hadn’t just fallen in love with him all those year ago.

She’d grown into love with him — steady, real, elemental.

And somehow, impossibly, he kept giving her more reasons to love him even more.

She pressed a kiss to his chest, so soft he didn’t stir.

Then closed her eyes, finally ready to sleep.

—

The bathroom lights were aggressively bright for how little sleep Amelia had gotten.

She was perched on the closed toilet lid, sleep-shirt inside out, bump resting on her thighs, and a toothbrush in her mouth. Her phone leaned against a half-used roll of toilet paper on the counter, and Pietra’s face filled the screen, already smirking.

“You look like you’ve been run over,” Pietra said with wide eyes.

Amelia spat into the sink. “I had sex for four hours straight last night.”

Pietra choked on her iced coffee. “Good morning, mami.”

Amelia shrugged like she was reporting on tyre deg. “Hormones.”

“Second trimester hitting like DRS on the main straight, huh?”

She nodded seriously. “It’s physiological. There’s blood flow redistribution and heightened sensitivity in—”

“Stop,” Pietra laughed. “You can’t do the engineering breakdown of your sex life.”

Amelia grinned, a little proud. “I definitely can. Do you want to see my graphs?”

“No graphs.Please. No vibes. How’s Lando coping?”

“Hydrated. Exhausted. Still asleep,” she said, brushing through her tangled hair. “He kept making these noises like he couldn’t believe what was happening.”

Pietra chuckled. “Yeah, he’s down bad for you, my girl.”

“I know,” Amelia said. “He, like, kept kissing my wrist.”

“Amelia. Please.”

“No, like he held it and did it twice.”

There was a pause.

Pietra blinked slowly. “That’s so sweet.”

“He made me feel like myself again.” She flushed.

Pietra was quiet, her smile gentler now. “Because you are.”

Amelia nodded once. “He’s also half-worried that our daughter might invent a bathtub wind tunnel.”

“Oh God,” Pietra said, grinning again. “That little girl is going to make him go grey. I hope she cuts up her dolls and builds a diffuser from their severed limbs.”

“She won’t have dolls.” Amelia said dryly. “She’ll have CFD software.” Even though her tone was flat, the twitch of her lips betrayed her joke.

Pietra laughed. Amelia finished tying her hair into a low, slightly messy ponytail. A streak of sunlight cut through the window, warming the tiles beneath her feet.

“I should go,” she said. “Track walk in forty-five minutes.”

“Tell Lando I said ‘well done’.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “No. That’s weird.”

“You love me anyway!”

Amelia ended the call and stared at herself in the mirror for a second.

Messy. Flushed. A little wild-looking.

Entirely herself.

And deeply, deeply loved.

—

The heat shimmered off the asphalt in waves, the whole paddock buzzing with anticipation. Miami was loud, chaotic, full of pastel shirts and bass-heavy DJ sets; but the McLaren garage felt like a storm waiting to break.

Amelia had one hand on Oscar’s halo as he settled into the car. Focused. Calm. Starting fourth on the grid. It was a good starting position, but they both knew it wasn’t going to be an easy climb through the field — if they even managed to keep their position into turn one.

“Conditions are fine. Brakes might take a while to come in. Let the tyres come to you.”

Oscar looked up at her, half-grinning under his visor. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll scream at you over the radio for being annoying and not listening to me.”

He laughed. “As usual.”

She patted the car once, stepped back, and moved to her tiny little thrown-together desk just as Lando passed her on his way to climb into his car. His hand grabbed her back. Their eyes met. He gave her a look; small, private, thrilling. The kind of look that said: I think today is the day.

She nodded once. Just once.

She’d believed in him for years now — since before Sochi, since before he’d even been given the full-time McLaren seat.

He was capable of incredible things. 

—

The first 20 laps were a blur of strategy juggling and telemetry surges. Amelia was locked into Oscar’s race; managing his energy deployment, traffic, undercut threats.

He was driving sharp. But something wasn’t sticking.

A slow pit stop on Lap 32 killed their momentum. They dropped back into traffic. She clenched her jaw, recalculated in seconds, called Plan C.

“Ducky, don’t lose steam. We’re still in this for good points. Head down.”

“Copy,” he said, clipped. Frustrated, but fighting.

But further up the field, Lando was flying.

And then there was the safety car.

Chaos. All improper preparation and garages rushing.

And then Lando exited the pits. And he hadn’t just made up a few positions — he’d taken the lead.

The garage erupted. Amelia nearly stood up from her station. She felt it before the numbers confirmed it — Lando was about to win his first Grand Prix.

She could barely breathe.

—

Oscar crossed the line P6. Solid points. Not what they hoped for, but not failure.

But Lando…

Lando held off Max for the last five laps like his life depended on it. No mistakes. Just pure, blistering pace and nerves of steel.

And then—

“Lando Norris. That’s P1. You are a Formula One race winner!”

Will’s words cracked through the comms.

The garage exploded.

Amelia didn’t move.

She sat frozen, one hand over her mouth, the other gripping the edge of the console like it would float her back to earth.

He’d done it.

Finally.

No more self-doubt. No more what-ifs.

Lando won.

Her husband, who stayed up with her until 3am looking at ride height data; had won.

And he did it in the car she built for him.

"We did it, Will. Amelia — baby, we did it. We did it!" He said over the radio.  

The first race it was fully her spec — and sure, they’d gotten ‘lucky’ with the safety-car, but luck was insubstantial. His pace said it all.

He’d won. And he’d won by a mile.

—

The moment she found him in Parc Ferme, still helmeted, still breathless, still shocked, she ran.

Not far; just to the holding area, where only a few people were allowed. But she was McLaren’s lead engineer. She was also his wife.

She had every right.

He turned and saw her and the helmet came off in one swoop.

His face was flushed, eyes red-rimmed, disbelieving.

She launched into his arms and he caught her without hesitation, arms around her waist, face buried in her shoulder.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “I won. I fucking won, baby.”

“I can believe it,” she said, steady and breathless. “I knew it was coming. How long have I told you that this would happen for you? You’ve been driving like a winner all year, Lando.”

He kissed her, fast, messy, barely containing the wild joy in him. “Tell me you saw the move on Max.”

“I saw it. It was amazing.”

He laughed against her neck, giddy and stunned and vibrating with relief. “I did it, Amelia.”

“You did.” She leaned into him, eyes pricking with tears. “I am so, so proud of you. So proud.”

—

They went to a few parties. Smaller ones. Danced together — Lando being celebrated in exactly the way he deserved.

He hadn’t been all to keen on the idea of his visibly pregnancy wife going into the Miami nightclub, but she’d insisted they go. Even just for a little while.

Oscar and Lando stayed close — like bodyguards. Max was no better, hovering, constantly bringing her water. It was sweet. It was nice to still be involved in the celebrations.

His trophy sat on their hotel room table.

Lando was in the shower, singing Queen, completely off-key.

Amelia sat on the bed in one of his t-shirts, one hand on her belly, the other tracing the MCL38-AN etched into the side of the silver.

Their daughter kicked.

She smiled. “Your dad,” she whispered, “is a Formula One race winner.”

—

They touched down just before dawn, Heathrow still hushed in early morning fog. Amelia’s body ached with the kind of deep exhaustion that only adrenaline can leave behind; but her hand never left Lando’s.

He’d won. That wasn’t going to stop echoing in her head any time soon.

By the time they got to his parents’ house, the sky had cracked open with gentle rain. The front door opened before they even rang the doorbell.

His mum pulled him into a tight hug, burying her face in his chest. His dad hovered behind, proud and misty-eyed in the quiet way he always was. There were champagne flutes already out in the kitchen, a cake someone had clearly stayed up late decorating — “P1, Finally!” scrawled in sugar icing.

But what caught Amelia off guard was how his mum hugged her too.

Carefully, because of the bump. But tightly. Fully. Without hesitation.

“We were watching,” she said, her voice warm in Amelia’s ear. “I’ve never screamed so loud in my life. He wouldn’t have gotten here without you, you know?”

Amelia blinked. Didn’t know what to say to that. Just squeezed her hand and nodded.

—

Later, in the quiet of Lando’s childhood bedroom, Amelia lay curled into his side beneath soft, over-washed sheets. The walls were still plastered with old racing posters, a few crooked photos of karting days — a little shrine to where it all began.

The trophy was on the dresser.

Not a glass cabinet, not a pedestal. Just… sitting there. Like it belonged next to a lava lamp and a stack of F1 magazines from 2009.

Amelia snorted at the sight of it. “You really just plonked it there?”

“It’s weird, right?” Lando said, his voice drowsy. “Feels like it should be… more. But also not. I don’t know.”

“It’s exactly right,” she said. “It belongs where you started.”

He looked over at her. Tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”

She nodded. Then, after a moment, “It’s strange. Everyone talks about how hard it is to get here. To win. To be part of something like this. But nobody tells you how hard it is to… stop. To come down from it. To believe that it’s real.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just pulled her closer, hand on her belly. “She’s gonna know,” he said softly. “Our daughter. She’s going to grow up knowing this is possible. Because she’ll have you. And she’ll have me too.”

“You,” Amelia said firmly, “are going to be her favourite person.”

He flushed, kissed her shoulder. “You’re both my favourite.”

—

Breakfast was a chaotic, sweet mess. His younger cousins had come by with orange balloons and mini trophies made of Lego. His grandmother insisted on touching Amelia’s belly and declared, in full authority, that the baby would be born with racing boots on already.

Someone pulled out a bottle of something sparkling, and Lando looked like he might cry for the tenth time in 48 hours.

Amelia stepped outside with her tea, just for a moment. The garden smelled like damp grass and daffodils.

Lando came out after her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, nose pressed into her neck.

“We really did it,” he murmured.

“You did.”

“No,” he said. “We.”

She leaned back into him, eyes fluttering shut.

For once, she didn’t argue.

—

The highly sought after private clinic was tucked behind a row of converted barns; all soft wood beams and white walls, the kind of place that smelled faintly of lavender and sterilised plastic. Quiet. Private. No waiting rooms. No fluorescent lights.

It had taken Amelia weeks to agree to in-person visits. Not because she didn’t trust the care, but because the idea of new faces, new spaces, new sounds — it made her skin hum in the wrong way.

But this midwife, Fiona, had been patient. Kind. Spoken to her over the phone like Amelia wasn’t strange or fragile or complicated. Just… herself. And today, for the first time, they were meeting in real life.

Amelia sat in the softly-lit consultation room, sleeves pulled over her knuckles, while Lando leaned back in the chair beside her, fingers loosely linked with hers.

The door opened, and Fiona stepped in; mid-forties maybe, silver at her temples, Doc Martens under a midi skirt. Exuding a calm energy.

“Hello, Amelia,” she said with a small smile. “It’s good to finally meet you properly.”

Amelia blinked at her. “You don’t sound as tall as you do on the phone.”

Fiona laughed, delighted. “That’s a first. Most people say I sound shorter.”

Lando grinned. “She’s very good at spatial audio. It’s… sort of freaky.”

Amelia elbowed him lightly. “It’s not freaky. It’s useful.”

“I know, baby,” he said, kissing her hair.

Fiona sat, not rushing. Just matching the room to Amelia’s pace.

“Shall we talk through everything slowly?” She offered. “We’ll do the checkup, listen to baby’s heartbeat if you’re feeling up for it — and then talk about next steps. I’ve got your notes printed exactly how you like them. Font size 13, double spaced.”

That surprised a smile out of Amelia. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

—

Fiona talked her through every step before touching her. Let Amelia guide where the Doppler went. Gave her control.

The heartbeat came through — fast and steady and perfect.

Lando stared at the screen like it was made of gold.

“There she is,” he murmured. “There’s our girl.”

Amelia stared at the graph. “Still sounds like a horse galloping.”

“Strong horse,” Fiona said. “Very healthy.”

They spent another fifteen minutes going over nutrition changes, sleeping positions, birth plans. Fiona never pushed. Never filled silence with filler words. Just waited.

“You’re very good at this,” Amelia said finally. “I don’t like many people.”

Fiona smiled gently. “That means a lot. Thank you.”

—

They stepped back out into the quiet spring air, a softness between them.

Lando opened the car door for her, waiting until she was settled before getting in himself. He looked over at her, one hand finding hers on the armrest.

“I like her,” he said.

“I don’t hate her,” Amelia replied, which was even better.

“You did so well,” he added softly. “I’m really proud of you.”

She glanced at him. “Why?”

“Because I know how much it costs you to do things that feel uncertain,” he said. “And you still showed up for her. For our daughter.”

Amelia’s eyes prickled, caught off guard by the depth in his voice.

“She deserves someone better than me, sometimes,” she whispered.

“No,” he said firmly. “She’s getting someone more brilliant, more brave, more herself than anyone could hope for.”

She kissed him. “Okay. Take me to get some chicken, please?”

—

The kitchen was full of soft light and the smell of roast chicken and rosemary potatoes. There were too many voices, too many overlapping stories, the occasional clink of cutlery — but somehow, it didn’t overwhelm Amelia the way it usually did. Maybe it was the dimmer switch Lando had installed last year. Maybe it was the way he kept checking in with her from across the room. Or maybe… maybe it was just the peace that came from knowing her daughter was still tucked safe inside her, heartbeat strong.

Dinner was warm.

They passed around the scan print-outs — Lando sliding them carefully across the table. His mum teared up a little at the clearest one, where the outline of a tiny face and curled fingers was visible.

“She’s so beautiful already,” Cisca whispered.

“She looks like an angry shrimp,” Amelia said flatly, which made Adam chuckle into his wine.

“An angry shrimp with a big Norris head,” Lando added.

“Oi,” Adam said. “Watch it.”

“She’s got Amelia’s precision, though,” Lando added, turning the scan toward his dad. “Perfect symmetry in the profile. Look at that jawline. Look.”

“She’s 38 centimetres long, Lando,” Amelia said, eyebrows raised. “She’s still just a smudge.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Let me have this.”

—

Cisca topped up everyone’s water and gently set her glass down. “Have you two thought much about… the birth yet? Or after? What it’ll look like, who you want with you, where?”

Amelia nodded immediately, already sliding her phone from the edge of her placemat. “Yes. I’ve got it all planned.”

She pulled up a bullet-pointed note, clean and colour-coded. “I’ll be labouring at home for as long as is medically safe, with Fiona monitoring. Then transferring to the birth centre — the one with the adjustable light panels and hydrotherapy. I’ve selected a playlist that aligns with optimal relaxation frequencies, and Lando will be coached on pressure-point guidance in case I don’t want verbal input. We’ll have backup bags packed and pre-positioned in the car by Week 37.”

The table went still for a moment. Not unkind. Just… a bit awed.

“And after?” Adam asked gently.

“Fiona will do at-home checks. I’ll be off work technically, but I’ll still be supporting Oscar’s data remotely if we’re out of hospital. I’m going to stay with my mum in Woking. Sleep will be rotational in the first two weeks depending on Lando’s schedule, but my mum had already agreed to step in. Breastfeeding is Plan A, bottle Plan B. I have a spreadsheet.”

There was a quiet pause.

Then Cisca reached over the table, her hand warm as it closed gently over Amelia’s. “That all sounds wonderful, my darling. But, and this is only a but, if it doesn’t go exactly the way you’ve planned, don’t panic,” she said. Her voice was soft but certain. “Sometimes babies decide to do things their own way.”

Amelia didn’t flinch from the contact — rare for her. She just looked at Cisca’s hand, and then at her face. “I know that,” she said, a little stiffly. “Logically.”

“But knowing it logically isn’t the same as feeling okay when it happens,” Cisca said gently.

Amelia looked down at the scan photo in front of her. Then quietly, almost like a confession, “I want to do it right. I want her to feel safe from the second she arrives.”

“She will,” Lando said, reaching for her hand under the table. “Because she’ll have you.”

—

The door was already open before they even made it up the path.

“There she is!” Zak’s voice boomed from the hallway as Amelia climbed out of the car, Lando trailing behind with his hand protectively on the small of her back.

Tracey appeared right behind him, dish towel still slung over her shoulder. “Let her breathe, Zak, Jesus.”

Amelia barely had time to blink before she was enveloped in one of her mother’s trademark, over-long hugs — all vanilla perfume and chaotic warmth.

“I can’t believe how much she’s grown,” Tracey murmured, hands sliding down to press lightly at Amelia’s bump. “My granddaughter’s in there, that’s crazy.”

“She’s the size a watermelon,” Amelia said, dry. “A big watermelon. But still.”

Lando grinned. “Not for long. She’s growing every day.”

Zak clapped a hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder. “Still wrapping my head around the fact that you’re gonna be a dad, son.”

“Same,” Lando replied with a breathy laugh.

—

The Browns’ home was bigger than you might expect, but still carried the energy of a family who talked over each other and left laundry on stair banisters. The TV was on in the background playing a re-run of some F1 docuseries, and Zak had already pulled out a bottle of strawberry alcohol-free wine.

“No, Dad,” Amelia said, waving him off. “No bubbles. I’ll get heartburn.”

“I’ve got ginger beer!” Tracey called from the kitchen. “And saltines!”

Amelia drifted toward the fireplace, fingers brushing over old framed photos. There was one of her as a little girl with a screwdriver in one hand. Another of Zak holding her on his shoulders at the Silverstone track.

She stared at that one for a beat too long.

“You okay, kiddo?” Zak asked gently, appearing beside her.

She didn’t look up. “Yeah. Just remembering.”

“You’d sit on the garage floor with the brake calipers,” Zak said, fond. “You used to name them.”

“They needed names. They had personalities.”

“You said one was ‘grumpy and over-torqued.’ You were five.”

She let out a tiny laugh.

—

Dinner was loud. American-style pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans drowning in butter. Tracey refilled everyone’s drinks every ten minutes. Zak told old stories about testing sessions Amelia had half-forgotten.

Later, Amelia found a quiet spot in her childhood bedroom, lights dimmed, the duvet still vaguely smelling of fabric softener. Lando leaned against the doorframe, watching her brush her fingers over an old model car she’d built with Zak when she was nine.

“You okay, baby?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m nervous to be staying here again, after having the baby. I wish we could just… have her in Monaco and disappear for a few months.” She frowned. “We didn’t plan our timing very well, did we? You’ll be mid-season, and Oscar won’t have me there, and—“

Lando crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.“Hey. Hey, calm down, baby. I think that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be,” he murmured. “You’ll want your mum, yeah? She’ll be able to help you adjust without being overbearing.”

She hummed against his chest, her hands closing around his shirt. “What if you’re not here when it happens?”

He was quiet for a beat. “I’ll come home as soon as possible, baby. I promise.”

“I don’t want you to miss a single session.” She said, hotly. “But I want you with me all the time and I can’t have both, can I?”

“No, baby. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He murmured. “It’s fine, baby.”

—

Amelia stood at the edge of the test platform, squinting at the flow viz spread across the prototype floor. She wasn’t officially here to work, just visiting. Just dropping in. Just… checking the numbers. Seeing the model. Touching the damn tunnel wall like it could somehow speak to her.

“It’s still bleeding airflow here,” she muttered to herself, pointing at the front of the floor, just under the bargeboard curve. “Boundary layer’s detaching early.”

“Still better than Ferrari’s design,” someone mumbled behind her.

“Low bar,” she shot back.

She didn’t look up. Her fingers danced automatically across the control screen. Toggling split channel overlays, flipping between computational fluid dynamics layers. She could feel her heartbeat syncing with the faint thrum of the tunnel, her mind slotting into gear like it always had.

Until she felt someone step beside her, too quietly for a regular engineer.

“Amelia,” Oscar said softly, hands in his hoodie pockets. “Hey.”

She blinked, her brain still five seconds behind in aero-language.

He glanced at the setup, then at her bump, then back to her face. “Did you… sleep at all last night?” He asked.

“I took a nap on Lando’s thigh for twenty-three minutes in the car,” she said.

Oscar huffed. “Very normal. Very healthy.”

She turned back to the airflow sim. “This isn’t right. The adjustment from the Miami spec — it’s throwing off drag balance on the mid-straight.”

“Amelia.”

She didn’t answer this time. Just kept muttering corrections under her breath, lips moving like she was translating a language no one else could see.

Oscar stepped closer, then placed one hand gently on her wrist — not to stop her, just to connect.“You’ve been here for hours. You can come back to this later,” he said.

“I don’t know how to be here without doing something.”

“I know,” Oscar said. “But we’re not racing this week. And you’re allowed to just… exist in this space without trying to fix every tiny issue that you see.”

Amelia looked at him. Her mouth opened, then shut again. He didn’t push. Just stood with her in the quiet hum of the room, solid and calm.

Eventually, she whispered, “My brain’s too loud when I stop.”

“Then let me help you turn the volume down,” Oscar said simply. “C’mon. Let’s go sit by the lake for a bit.”

—

They ended up outside with two mugs of ginger tea that Oscar had somehow convinced catering to let them take out of the dining hall. Amelia sat with her feet up on the bench edge, dress stretched over her bump, breathing slower now.

She watched the fountain spray in silence for a few minutes before saying, “Thanks.”

“For the tea?”

“For not treating me like I’m fragile,” she said. “But also not treating me like I’m a machine.”

Oscar smiled sideways. “You’re a human. A terrifyingly brilliant, data-possessed human. But still.”

She let out a tired laugh and leaned her head briefly on his shoulder. “Don’t tell Lando I had a moment.”

“Alright,” he said. “It’ll stay between us and the ducks.”

She smiled. “My ducky and my ducks — conspiring together. Cute.”

He rolled his eyes.

—

The morning sun hit the Emilia-Romagna pit lane with a sharpness that reminded Amelia of why she loved racing. Clean, brutal light cutting through the lingering coolness of dawn.

She stood just inside the garage, eyes scanning telemetry streams on her iPad, but her mind elsewhere. This was her second-to-last race before maternity leave. A strange mix of accomplishment and anticipation knotted inside her.

Lando caught her eye across the garage, giving a small thumbs-up. She returned the gesture with a faint smile.

Oscar approached, carrying his helmet. “Ready?” He asked.

“Of course I am.”

—

During a quiet moment before qualifying, Amelia slipped out from behind the pit wall to find Lando.

He reached for her hand, squeezing it lightly. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m okay. Just… thinking about how this is all starting to feel a bit too much like a goodbye for my liking.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll hold the fort. You’ll be back before you know it. You don’t need to worry.”

Her eyes softened. “I know. But it feels… weird.”

He held her. Kissed her. “You’ll be fine, baby.”

—

The race was intense. Strategy calls fired rapidly, tyres switching, gaps closing. Amelia’s voice came calm and precise over the radio, guiding Oscar through every corner, every lap.

When the checkered flag finally waved, Oscar finished fourth — solid, but just off the podium. Amelia exhaled, a complex wave of pride and bittersweet acceptance washing over her.

Lando’s race had been even more intense; a nail-biting late charge from Lando, a nail-bitingly close finish between him and Max.

They’d take second.

But she could see it. Hear it.

Her husband had enjoyed winning. And he was hungry for more.

—

Back in the garage, the team gathered around the screens replaying Lando’s brilliant win at Miami — a reminder of the highs to come. Amelia let herself smile, feeling the warmth of the team around her.

Lando slipped an arm around her waist. “Only one more weekend to go,” he murmured.

She leaned into him. “Yeah.”

Tom gave them a nervous smile. “I feel ready to take the reins. Do you think I’m ready?”

“As ready as you could possibly be.” Amelia told him.

Oscar laughed a bit. “I feel like I’m being passed between my divorced parents.”

Amelia rolled her eyes at him. “You’re ridiculous, ducky.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[satorupi]

the smallest sniffle out of you had nanami’s fork halting midway to his mouth, eggs hanging off the metal prongs. “what was that?”

you made a soft sound, having just sunk your teeth into your bread, chewing leisurely. you swallowed, head tilting with a quirked brow. “...what was what?” and you sniffled once more, as if handing him more proof of your state (or what he assumed was your state) on a silver platter.

“that.” he set his cutlery down and reached an arm over to where you were sitting next to him, the back of his palm resting against your forehead. “you’re burning up.”

“babe, you know i usually run hot.”

he shook his head, palms cupping your cheek, tilting your face in his hands as though looking for something. “not this warm, no.”

“oh, well...” you shrugged, taking another bite of your sandwich. “i probably just have a little cold then.” oh, how you’d regret those words—the ease with which you’d suggested a cold in your current state.

the word cold seemed to activate something primal in your husband. within minutes, he’d transformed your living room into a sort of medical center to hold you. said something about ‘not taking any chances’ with you and the baby.

digital thermometer, three different flavours of throat lozenges, a bulky humidifier he’d pulled from god knows where. enough vitamin c and zinc to keep you set for weeks.

you were only four months along at this point, but nanami had already transformed into the most devoted, slightly neurotic expectant father. past his usual devotion for you as his wife and into a more hybrid form, to best describe it.

“it’s probably just pregnancy rhinitis. the doctor said it’s common,” you tried to reassure him, but he was already mentally running through protocols.

“we don’t know that. you’re going to rest, and i’m calling in sick.”

“kento, you don’t need to—”

“nope. i’m not leaving you alone while you’re unwell and pregnant.” his tone brooked no argument, already set in his decision. “end of discussion.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

 “your immune system isn’t as strong as it would usually be since you’re pregnant now,” he explained to you seriously for what felt like the third time, fluffing pillows beneath you with military precision. “anything minor can develop into something major. that’s the last thing we want.”

“I don’t think the sniffles are that serious, kento.”

“sniffles can become bronchitis. bronchitis can become pneumonia. pneumonia can—”

“okay! okay, i get the picture.” you held up your hands in surrender, lips lifting into a small smile. “you have yourself a willing patient, mr. nanami.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

within the hour, he’d already called your obstetrician, researched pregnancy-safe remedies for a common cold, and bundled you under your favorite cashmere throw. the man who approached work and life with methodical precision now applied that same intensity to your minor ailment. possible cold—you weren’t entirely sure yet.

“the doctor advised me to keep you hydrated and well-rested. this is the best tea for your throat,” he reported, settling beside you with a steaming mug that emanated the familiar scent of honey-lemon. “also no medications unless absolutely necessary.”

for the next couple of days, you lived like an invalid. a cherished, doted-on invalid, but one nonetheless. instead of going into the office, he worked from home, laptop on the little bed desk you’d gotten ages ago while you snoozed against his chest.

whenever you stirred, he was immediately attentive—checking your temperature with one of those digital thermometers, tsking when it glowed orange on the screen, bringing you more tea, adjusting your position and the airflow of the humidifiers so you could breathe easier. it had turned out to be a cold, though mild.

“you really don’t have to hover,” you protested groggily during one of his temperature checks. “i’m so much better now.”

“you still sound nasally, so no, you’re probably not,” he observed, brow furrowed with concern. “and you’re not eating enough. stay here, i’m gonna make you soup.”

he’d taken to preparing small, frequent meals—bland but nutritious soups, fresh fruit cut into perfect pieces, whole grain toast with honey. everything was measured, planned, optimized for both your recovery and the baby’s needs.

“ken, you’re gonna get sick sticking around like this,” you warned as he climbed back into bed with you as night fell, tugging you into his embrace with familiar ease.

“impossible,” he said confidently, arms wrapping around you. “my immune system is excellent. besides, i need to take care of you and the baby.”

he’d said all this while letting you sleep curled up against his chest, breathing in the same air as your sick, congested self for hours on end.

he carried you to bed each night, despite your protests that you could walk perfectly fine. slept there with you throughout the night. in the morning, before you even woke, he’d already have a light breakfast prepped on a tray for you, an accompanying flower there just to see you smile.

“this is so excessive,” you’d told him on day three, watching him sanitize the en-suite bathroom doorknob for the second time that morning.

“incorrect. nothing is excessive when it comes to you two,” he replied matter-of-factly, moving on to wipe down the light switches.

the domesticity of it all made your heart swell, and to see him so set on making sure you were getting better? you could try to take precautions to keep the illness contained to yourself, but...you wouldn’t deny him the pleasure of playing doctor and taking care of you. you weren’t sure he would let you anyway.

by the fourth day, you felt completely normal again. better than normal, actually—all that rest and pampering had left you feeling more energetic than you’d felt in weeks.

“see? i was right,” nanami said with quiet satisfaction once that congested quality had left your voice, your temperature back to normal. “all you needed was some proper care and attention. no sick wives or babies.”

“my hero,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his midsection from behind. “though i think you might’ve been a tad bit overprotective.”

he’d looked so silently pleased with himself and those caretaking abilities that had nursed you right back to health.

which made it all the more amusing when you stirred the next morning to the sound of him trying to muffle a cough in the connecting bath.

“mm, ken?” you called out sweetly from your position on the bed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“good morning, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice noticeably hoarse. he emerged from the bathroom, hair slightly mussed, looking like he was trying very hard to appear normal. “how are you feeling?”

you eyed him for a moment, already picking up on little tells that betrayed his condition. “better. are you feeling okay?”

“fine.” but even as he said it, he sniffled, then looked annoyed at the betrayal. “perfectly fine. peachy.”

you watched him go through his morning routine, noting how he moved just a fraction slower, how he kept clearing his throat, how he sniffled softly when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

“oh, baby,” you cooed gently, immediately moving to his side. “you’re getting sick.”

“i don’t get sick.” his voice was getting more congested by the hour, but his denial remained absolute. you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him sick during the entire duration of your relationship, so why would he be sick now? “i have an excellent immune system.”

“usually yeah.” you pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, mimicking his own gentle gesture from days before. “you’re crazy warm, baby.”

“i’m not—” he tried to protest, but you were already guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed, standing between his thighs. “i need to get ready for work.”

“ken,” you said softly, taking his face in your hands. “you spent a full three days breathing in my germs and letting me plaster my sick self to your chest. your immune system is strong but...” you made a slight expression, thumbing over his cheekbones, “anyone would get sick after lingering in a hazard zone like that.”

he leaned into the coolness of your touch despite himself, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. “i’m good,” he insisted, though his voice was getting rougher, taking on a near drowsy tone. “i feel okay.”

yup. sick, alright. beginning stages, but sick all the same. “i’m calling in sick for you. lie down.”

“what?” he perked up, eyes creaking open, head shaking. “absolutely not. i have meetings—”

“—meetings that can wait.” you were already reaching for his phone. “your health comes first. isn’t that what you told me?”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

by evening, he was fully congested and running a low fever of 38°c (100.4°F). you guided him to the couch, the big man wrapped in the same cashmere throw he’d had you bundled in, his head angled onto your chest as you spoon fed him soup you’d made.

“this is ludicrous,” he mumbled around the spoon, even as he relaxed into your embrace. “i was so careful. i washed my hands constantly, kept proper distance when possible...”

you hummed, utterly enamored at his behavior despite yourself. hangs around his pregnant wife like a helicopter husband for days  --> is surprised when he gets the same cold she had.

“i should be taking care of you. you’re pregnant.”

“yes, pregnant. not physically inept, baby.”

“but the baby—”

“—is fine. we both are. and you’re going to be fine too, once you stop being so stubborn about being sick.”

he was quiet for a moment, letting you feed him another spoon of soup, throat soothed by the warmth. “...my throat is just a bit sore.”

“there we go.” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “poor baby. i’ll go wash this and get you some tea.”

“i can get it—”

“nanami kento, do not move an inch from that couch. i’m bringing you tea.”

you bustled around the kitchen, preparing his tea exactly how he’d made yours—honey, lemon, a touch of ginger. when you returned, he was huddled in the blanket, looking thoroughly miserable despite his attempts to maintain composure.

“here, sweetheart.” you settled beside him, holding the mug while he sipped. “slowly...don’t burn your tongue.”

and you practically helicopter-wifed him for the rest of the night, masked up just so you could somewhat safely sleep on the pullout in the living room with him. something about having your strong, well-mannered, and usually very collected husband all sniffly and seemingly more cuddly made you a teensy bit giddy. not that you’d tell him that. he was already properly knocked out, soft lips parted with slow breaths.

still very warm since the fever hadn’t broken quite yet—but you were hoping it would by morning. he did have a strong immune system, after all.

you called in sick for him for an additional two days, during which you'd be absolutely insufferable for playing nursemaid.

you’re sure he wouldn’t mind too much.

a/n: thanks for reading lol <3

[smokedaletobaccousa]

How to Choose the Right Pod System for Your Vaping Style

Whether you're a vaping veteran or just starting out, choosing the right pod system can significantly enhance your overall experience. With a wide range of options available each offering unique features, designs and performance capabilities it can be overwhelming to decide which one fits your needs best.

To make your decision easier, we’ve broken down four popular pod systems: the SMOK Nord Pro Kit, Uwell Caliburn A2, Voopoo Drag X Plus and Geekvape Aegis Pod System. This guide will help you understand how each device aligns with different vaping styles, so you can find your perfect match.

Understanding Your Vaping Style

Before diving into product specifics, it's important to understand your vaping style. Are you a cloud chaser looking for powerful vapor production? Or are you a former smoker who prefers a tight draw and higher nicotine levels for satisfaction?

Here are a few categories to consider:

Mouth-to-Lung (MTL): Mimics smoking a cigarette; tighter draw, smaller vapor clouds.

Direct-to-Lung (DTL): Inhaled straight into the lungs; looser draw, bigger clouds.

Nicotine Salt Users: Prefer smoother, high-nicotine e-liquids for a quick hit.

Freebase E-Liquid Users: Often use lower nicotine and chase clouds/flavor.

Now, let’s explore the top pod systems and see how they stack up for different vaping preferences.

1. SMOK Nord Pro Kit

Best For: Versatility, beginners and intermediate users.

The SMOK Nord Pro is a refined version of the popular Nord series. It’s compact, stylish and extremely user-friendly. One of its main attractions is the dual activation feature users can choose between auto-draw or button-activated vaping.

Key Features:

1100mAh battery capacity

3.3mL pod capacity

Compatible with Nord Pro Mesh coils

Adjustable airflow for MTL and DTL

Why It’s Great:

Excellent for both MTL and restricted DTL vaping

Coil options provide a tailored experience

Sleek design with easy side-fill system

Great for both freebase and nic salts

Drawbacks:

May not satisfy hardcore cloud chasers

Some leakage can occur if not maintained properly

2. Uwell Caliburn A2 Pod System

Best For: Simplicity, flavor lovers and nicotine salt users.

The Uwell Caliburn A2 is part of one of the most celebrated pod lineups. Known for its exceptional flavor output and consistent performance, it’s a top choice for vapers who want a reliable, no-fuss device.

Key Features:

520mAh battery (quick charging)

2mL pod capacity

0.9Ω mesh coil integrated

Pro-FOCS flavor technology

Why It’s Great:

One of the best flavor-producing pod systems

Lightweight and ultra-portable

Excellent for high-nicotine salt e-liquids

Very beginner-friendly

Drawbacks:

Lower battery life; not ideal for heavy users

Non-replaceable coils (you replace the whole pod)

3. Voopoo Drag X Plus

Best For: Advanced users, cloud chasers, power lovers.

If you're seeking sub-ohm performance in a pod mod, the Voopoo Drag X Plus is where power meets sophistication.

Key Features:

100W max output

Compatible with TPP and PnP coils

External 21700 or 18650 battery

Smart and RBA modes

USB-C fast charging

Why It’s Great:

Massive vapor production

Great for DTL vaping and sub-ohm enthusiasts

External battery = longer lifespan

High customizability with different coils and tanks

Drawbacks:

Not ideal for nicotine salts or beginners

Bulkier than standard pod systems

4. Geekvape Aegis Pod System Kit

Best For: Durability, outdoor use, balanced vaping.

Known for their rugged construction, Geekvape’s Aegis series is perfect for those who need a pod system that can handle wear and tear.

Key Features:

800mAh battery

3.5mL pod capacity

G-Coil system

IP67 rated for durability

Why It’s Great:

Extremely durable and portable

Ideal for travel, outdoor work or rough use

Good vapor and flavor balance

Supports both nic salts and freebase

Drawbacks:

Limited coil options compared to others

Slightly heavier than ultra-portables

Finding Pod System Near me

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[caitlynsrighteye]

By your side

Caitlyn Kiramman x reader | The battle w Ambessa

Contains: angst, fem!reader, reader fights with dual blades, established relationship, wlw, 1st pov

wc: 1.4k

Masterlist

Nothing else could've prepared us more for this moment. The city walls of Piltover are now broken down into debris and rubbish, screams, and war cries can be heard from both Enforcers and Ambessa's soldiers. We were surrounded by the red armored warriors in what seemed like a cage, trapped against the lion known as General Ambessa. She stood powerful and confident while Mel, Caitlyn, and I had to face this monster of a woman.

Everything moved so fast yet so slow at the same time. Before, we were rushing towards what we thought was Viktor with a bomb in my squad member's hands to end this once and for all. We kept our distance, waiting for the bomb to go off. Caitlyn and I look at each other, confused. The next thing I knew, I was hit on the temple of my head, watching Cait receive the same fate as I slowly passed out.

I wake to myself kneeling on both my knees. I lifted my head and wincing from the pain of a throbbing headache. My pupils dilated, becoming used to the brightness of the sun. I turn my head, and it's a polearm blade almost being placed onto the skin of my neck by one of the Noxeus soldiers.

My eyes finally adjusted. I look in front of me to see my girlfriend, Cait, in the same position as I am in a few yards away, but she had a rifle aimed at the back of her head, by someone wearing the same uniform as our side of the war.

Caitlyn glaces behind her, and the imposter removes their gasmask, revealing their freckled face. Maddie Nolen. My face burned in rage, and my forehead began to hurt from how far my eyebrows were furrowed. "You damn traitor! I'll kil-" nearly getting up from my seated position, I was hit from behind, keeping me in my spot. The polearm blade is now grazing a layer of my flesh. I groaned from the contact. My eyes connect to Caitlyn's sappire orbs. We both looked deeply into one another as we tried to figure out how to get out of this situation.

Moments later, Maddie falls onto Caitlyn and then onto the concrete ground with a bullet wound in the middle of her forehead. Mel comes out to confront her mother. I take a chance to grab onto the neck of the polearm, yanking it to pull the soldier over myself and have them fall onto their back, I stand quickly, breaking their weapon in half with my knee and kicking them in the head knocking them right out.

I unsheathe my dual blades that were held strapped to my thighs and rushed over to Cait where Mel and Ambessa were facing off. When I arrived, Cait punched Ambessa across her cheek. "Shut up and fight," she says. Throwing Ambessa a polearm to fight with. This is how we got into this mess. Cait and I fight her back to back, coming in close as Mel assists us a few feet behind using her newfound powers to take on the wolf. Caitlyn does her best, blocking and dodging the giant woman's attacks. She lands a strike to her inner thigh, and she groans before kicking Cait, causing the enforcer to be pushed back.

I jump in, taking my turn to attack. I'm known to be fast, swift enough to quickly maneuver around her blows because of my body size. Yet, she easily blocks. I managed to slice a stripe up her right forearm. The wrap around her arm with the enchanted runes attached to it became loose from the cut, but she caught me by the neck and rose me high into the air. Her grip tightened, blocking my airflow. I drop my blades to pull on the arm holding me. They fall with a clank and scratch the concrete. My feet kicked at her, but cause no reaction from the blood thirsty warrior.

Mel sends a burst of her power towards the head of the woman grasping my throat. She ducks and brings me down with her. I met the ground harshly, causing me to get winded. She then raises her foot up, and with her heavyweight armored boots, she stomps on my lower leg. A loud crack of my bone breaking can be heard. This injury would take me out of todays fight for sure. I scream from the excruciating pain of my leg.

Just as Ambessa is about to strike me with the tip of her bladed staff, Cait jumps in to block it. She quickly throws attacks at the soldier, but with having the lesser experience, she is easily taken over. She was pinned, sheilding my body with hers. The tip of Ambessa's blade almost grazed Caitlyn's left eye. She grew tired trying to keep Ambessa's weapon away. She turned her gaze towards me. Her eyesbrows sunk. I did not know what she was planning, but the look in her eye worried me. "Cai -" Before I finished, she quickly pulled the woman's weapon towards her so she could get a hold of the runes that were protecting Ambessa.

All grew silent for a moment. My face was scrunched, and my eyes were sealed shut. I felt warm liquid fall onto my face. Opening my eyes slowly, I see my blue-haired girlfriend. Her face was tilted slightly to mine, and blood flowed down her cheek. She sacrificed her eye to get the upper hand in the fight. "Now, Mel!" She yells, and the young woman attacks the general. That was the last thing I saw before I felt something grab onto my forehead, pulling me slightly off the ground and my vision beginning to blur.

The sun was hot, and birds flew overhead. Everything came to a stop. The Noxeus soldiers, Viktor's army, seemed to disconnect from the world as they all fell lifeless. I wake up, still laying on the ground facedown. I see Caitlyn in front of me lying on her back. I rush to stand, but my leg fails me. Groaning loudly from the pain, I crawl as fast as I could to reach her side. "Cait!" I say, using my elbows to support my weight as I look over her. One of my hands holds her cheek and turns her head towards me to get a better look at her.

Her uniform is torn, her beautiful blue hair disheveled. I use my finger to remove some strands from her face. Her face is cut, bruised, and bleeding from her nose and her eye that she has lost. My eyes water from the sight of her. She was breathing, yet she was in so much pain. The adrenaline hasn't run out yet. If it did, I probably would be feeling the large gash on my head where blood seeped out onto my forhead and the bone sticking out through my torn pants.

We laid there for what seemed like forever before Mel came back with enforcers to help us. It was hard letting go of her hand that I held so tightly that even though she was asleep, she could feel my warmth. We were both carefully carried to immediate medical care, where I was sedated for emergency surgery.

I laid somewhere comfortable. Slightly inclined, I was covered by thin sheets of a clinic bed. I was waking from a slumber that had to have lasted a couple of days. Opening my eyes to the sun gleaming through window curtains. I began to stretch but flinch, a wince eacaping my mouth. Glaring down, my broken leg is cushioned by a soft pillow. It was wrapped and splinched to keep the part straight.

"You're awake," that accent had always calmed me when I heard it. I turn my head next to me to find another bed with my one and only gorgeous blue-haired girlfriend.

Turning toward the direction of her soft, soothing voice, I see her. Vision focuses on her features. The expression on my face saddened. My eyebrows and mouth both frown after seeing my girlfriend wrapped in bandages head to toe. She laid in a bed next to mine. A wrap around her head, covering her left eye that was once so beautiful like the ocean. Her torso was bare. the only things keeping her covered were bandages, protecting the wound where she'd been stabbed and other cuts and bruises that had occupied her pale skin.

"Oh Cait," my voice sounded like it wanted to break. Oh, to have the strength to get out of bed and jump into her arms. She didn't deserve any of the pain that she had gone through. I wish i could just take all the pain away from her. Even through the hardships, she still managed to smile at me in hopes it'll comfort my mind. All she wanted was peace, yet it was always the justification for violence.

_________________________________________

Note: Born to enjoy reading, forced to write what i want to read. Needed me some angst during the war scene. Lowkey rushed the ending, thanks for reading♡

[nanaslutt]

Hiii hope you are well ❤️💜💕💕you're a amazing human being and I love your work 😘💖 requesting sukuna fucking you from the back while holding you in a choke hold with his big bicep (true form or not it's fine)?

Have a wonderful dayyy😭😭💜

This is uhhhhhhhhh read at your own discretion (ILY nonnie ty for the ask<3)

Contains: fem reader, true from sukuna, double penetration, blood, so much degradation, dirty talk, manhandling, rough sex, hair pulling, passing out, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, blood, dacraphillia, cumming inside, talk of pregnancy, dub con if you squint, mind break, strangling, breath play

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"Fucking." thrust "Take it." thrust. Sukuna fucked his inhumanly large dicks in and out of your holes at an almost intolerable pace. He had completely filled you up, not a single ridge inside your pussy was being neglected as his massive cocks abusing your sore holes.

He had two large lands gripping your waist, while he dug his nails into your skin, making pretty streaks of crimson blood drip down your hips and thighs. One hand was dangling by his side, occasionally leaving harsh slaps against the fat of your ass, while his other—arguably the meanest limb—currently had you in a chokehold.

The massive curse would squeeze his arm around your throat and completely constrict your airflow before he loosened it for a couple seconds, laughing at you while you gasped and sputtered, choking down the oxygen he allowed you to. You were positive he had ripped you open at some point, it had been hours and you still hadn't adjusted to his cock properly. Every time he pulled back his hips and thrust his cocks inside you, you felt like your guts were being shoved out of the way to make room for him.

You had gone numb to his nails that dug into the flesh on your hips, too focused on the painful pleasure you were feeling between your legs. "Fuck! Fucking bitch-" He cursed, squeezing your neck tighter and leaving a mean slap on your ass when he felt you cum around him for the nth time that night. The pulsing and clenching of your walls made the pace of his hips stutter before he got ahold on himself again. "Did I say" slap "You could fucking" slap "Cum?" he snarled, spanking your ass so hard you swore it would leave a permanent imprint of his hand against your skin.

"'M s-ooryy, sorry s-ahh!" You tried to speak through his heavy thrusts, but he was having none of it. "Didn't say you could fucking talk either," The king emphasized with a particularly hard thrust, that made you dizzy as you yelled out in pain. "Gotta shut you up." He growled, pausing his hips for a second before he cupped his free hand over your mouth, completely covering your mouth and nose as he once again squeezed his bicep around your neck. "Try not to die." He laughed menacingly into your ear before his hips started up a bruising pace.

Your eyes immediately rolled back into your head at the overbearing stimulation. You were thrown into fight or flight mode when you tried to gasp against his hand but to no avail. Sukuna kept his hand firmly pressed over your face to ensure that no oxygen would enter your lungs. "Aww, is the little slut crying?" He giggled, staring down between the two of you at the mean arch he had you in, watching his cock leave your asshole, lined with streaks of blood.

"You wanted this, kept fucking around so I brought you into my domain like you wanted." He snarled, gripping your jaw with his current hold on your face and turning it to the side so he could get a glimpse of your expression. Your face had gone pale, save for the deep blush that covered your cheeks. Your eyes had lost focus, continuously rolling into the back of your head with each thrust he gave you, and your soft cheeks were wet with your tears—those same eyes had begun to swell up from how long you had been crying.

He was right though, your fucked up body was loving this, you would scream that from the rooftops if he allowed you to, but right now it was quite evident he didn't want anything to do with your voice. "Oh fuck." He laughed, his four eyes all staring into yours as you did your best to keep yourself awake, trying to maintain eye contact with the curse to the best of your ability. "You really are crying." He bared his teeth to you as he smiled maliciously, both of his cocks twitching at your fucked up expression.

He watched intently with bated breath as your eyes fully rolled back into your head, your body going limp in his hold as he smiled, "Yeesssyesyes, fuck." He groaned, before releasing his hand from your mouth and simultaneously loosened his hold on your neck. Immediately his big hand started slapping your face harshly, "You don't get to get out of this that easily." He laughed, watching you slowly regain consciousness against him as you coughed and sputtered into the air when you came to.

"How was your nap?" His laugh vibrated your body, at some point he had picked you up a couple inches off the ground, and you internally thanked him as you had lost feeling in your legs quite a long time ago. Your moans echoed loudly in the space of his domain, whines turned into screams when he scratched his nails deeper into the skin of your thighs, reminding you of his hold there.

"You're a fucking mess." He chastized, as you gasped and cried into the space in front of you. Your smaller hands came up to grip his bicep, using the little strength you had left in your body you push his arms towards your neck once more, silently telling him to choke you out again.

Sukuna's eyes shot up in disbelief, were you seriously trying to order him around right now? You had balls, he would give you that. "Oh you want to die don't you, bitch?" He snarled, releasing you from the chokehold he had you in and instead used two hands to wrap around your neck and strangle you while he fucked his hips into you impossibly harder.

“You like this? Huh?" He growled as your cunt unashamedly squeezed around his cock, "Such a fucked up human I caught." He laughed to himself while you gasped and clawed at his hands, leaving angry red marks on his skin. "What's wrong? Gonna pass out again? Huh?" He cooed, feigning remorse while he felt your body try to fight back against him.

Despite how bad you had wanted him to choke you out, your body was going to register his actions as a threat no matter what. "God, stop fucking squeezing or I'm gonna cum inside." He said, making you panic slightly. You weren't on birth control, but you weren't even sure if a curse could get a human pregnant. Sukuna was a special case, which made you even more confused. Not like you had the brain power to go over the logistics of that right now anyways.

He felt your cunt and ass squeeze his cocks simultaneously at his words, also noticing how you tried to shake your head at him, warning him not to. "Oh does that scare you?" He asked, unimpressed when you continued your annoying moaning and babbling, not answering him. "I asked you a question, brat." He growled, squeezing your throat harder for a brief second before he loosened his grip, allowing you to breathe.

You gasped and choked on the oxygen, trying to turn your head to the side to look at him when you spoke, making little progress in your efforts as his hold on your neck was quite strong. "N-no, do-nt cum insdie." You cried, making him smile at your weeping face. "No?" He repeated, pouting his lip out at you in faux sympathy, "But I want to." He said, shaking your neck in his grasp and making your empty head shake around like a bobblehead toy.

You had no strength in your body left to fight him, opting to face your fate and let him have his way with you, you would deal with the consequences later. You couldn't lie that the thought of this terrifying man filling you up in both holes for the first time didn't excite you. The rational part of your brain was slipping further and further away from you the longer he fucked you. He was hitting all the right spots inside you, and at some point, the pleasure had started to overwhelm the pain.

He noticed your body had stop stying to fight him, falling limp to his ministrations as he pressed his hips flush against your ass and rotated it in circles, "You want my cum inside you, human?" He asked, his deep voice against your ear sent goosepumps down your arms. "Wanna be my concubine huh? Ill keep you here forever," He groned, his hips still rotating in circles and massaging your sweet spots, "Ill fuck load after load into your used-up cunt, till I get you pregnant." His voice was pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

You knew this was fucked up but you couldn't bring yourself to care right now, he was working you over so fucking well. "Yesyesyes Sukuna~ S-sukuna pl-ease~" Your hoarse voice whined out, broken up by his thrusts. In any other scenario, he would've cut you down for using his name without permission, but right now, your cunt and asshole were milking him quickly toward his orgasm, he was too close to care. He groaned at your words, his large hands abandoning their place around your neck to grab your tits and massage them, digging his nails into the flesh there, hard enough to draw blood as he used your body to ground himself.

"Fuck- sloppy fucking pussy gonna make me cum-" He groaned. His eyes wandered up to your neck, and he shook his head at the dark purple marks that littered your skin there, he couldn't help but think how fucking pretty it looked. The sight brought him closer to his high as his hips started losing their pace against your ass. "P-please- c-can I c-cum" You wined. He smiled at you, proud that you remembered to ask before you so greedily orgasmed without his permission. He was the one who was so kindly fucking you after all, so he should get the say in weather you cum or not.

"You can cum after me." He challenged, wanting to see if you could really make it. From how hard and rapidly your cunt was pulsing around him, he didn't think you would last much longer. "F-fuuuuck fuckfuck." You whined as he fucked the moans from your throat. He shook his head in disapproval, "Such a naughty mouth, remind me to take care of that next time." He said in response to your cursing as one of his large hands abandoned its hold on your hip to push your lower back down into a meaner arch against him.

The promise of a next time almost made you cum around him at what was to come. You had no idea how you held yourself back, maybe it was your inner consciousness afraid of what he would do to you if you disobeyed him, but you managed to hold out long enough for the king to cum. "Fuck, take it all, if you let a drop go to w-waste, I’ll kill you where you stand." He promised, clenching his jaw together as the rope started to untangle in his stomach.

His head tipped back, his jaw going slack as the first suprts of his cum started flooding your cunt and asshole. The second you felt his seed fill you up, you came around him, your holes milking him through his orgasm as you came harder than you ever have. If it wasnt for his four arms that held your body up, you woulve gone slack against the floor, "Fuuuuck! Fucking" thrust "Take my cum" thrust "Yesyesyes" The curse groaned, biting his lip at the intensity of his own orgasm.

His cum filled you up to the brim, the feeling of his warm seed filling both your holes at once felt strange and uncomfortable, but also weirdly right, you felt like this was your purpose—like his words were true, maybe your purpose really was to be here and be at his beck and call whenever he needed to release his stress, or simply wanted to get off.

He didn't wait for your own orgasm to finish before he released your body from his hold, letting your weak body fall to the ground of his domain by his feet, his cocks slipped out of you with a lewd squelching sound as you twitched below him in your aftershocks. The mouth on his stomach smiled at you, matching his own expression before it opened to lick your blood and juices off of his orgasm, and swallowing it greedily.

Your eyes fluttered as you started to come down from your orgasm. The massive figure in front of you ran a hand through his sweaty hair before his heavy leg kicked you in the stomach, not too hard, but hard enough to make you cough and direct your attention up at him. Before you knew it his face was in front of you and his large hand was in your hair as he raised you up from the ground with that grip alone, making you wince and whine in pain.

He stood to his full height once more, dragging your head and pressing it flush against his dirtied cocks, smearing your cum and blood on the side of your face as he gave you a disgusted look, "Clean your mess, useless human." He spat, digging his nails against your scalp. You gripped your hands into his massive thighs, and looked up at him from underneath your lashes, practically looking at him with hearts in your eyes as you rubbed your head against his thigh before kitten-licking one of his dick's tips.

He huffed out a laugh of disbelief at how obedient you were. How did he manage to find such a perfect fuck toy? Let alone a human toy at that. He could work with this.

[artstennisracket]

hi mel! congrats on 500, you deserve it nd so much more! <3

am I able to request R or G for Patrick Zweig, if no one has asked for any of those yet! thank you!

evaaaa my love! tysm for your request, I had such a hard time picking but then ovulation chose for me LMAO this is longer than I thought it would be? i was 🤏🏾 close to including that position where the guy has his foot on the girls head like pushing her head into the mattress but I refrained

nsfw: r for rough

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), breath play, cum play (a little), dirty talk, squirting, rough sex, p in v (reader receiving)

Patrick could be really rough. It was a spectrum really. There were times where it was slow and sensual, making love as he’d like to call it when he teased you. He would take his time. Slowly taking you apart, one touch as a time. But there were many a time where he chose to be rough (everything being discussed beforehand of course).

He liked it, you loved it. It was a win win. It was a big adjustment at first. Not because you’ve never experienced rough sex but because Patrick had the biggest dick you have ever been with. And he knew it. He liked making sure you’d never forget it.

He’d be fucking into you from behind, his hands having a bruising grip on your hips “Yeah? You like my cock stretching you out?” You offer no real response. Only moans and whimpers, the slight roughness of the drag of his cock in and out of your wet heat. Saliva still built up in your mouth from when he fucked your throat just minutes before. He’d pull your hair so you were no longer on your hands and knees, but your upper body pulled up with your back close to his chest. “Asked you a fucking question. Answer me,” He grunts into your ear. “Yesyesyesyes I love it. Don’t stop please,” you whine back.

Moving his hand from being tangled in your hair to wrapping around your throat. Squeezing down on the sides but also pressing down on the front to cut off your airflow, “Course you do. Fucking slut. What if I did stop? Left you here empty and desperate. Would you like that?”

You shake your head no as best you can. Trying to get out the words but only a few choked noises escape past your lips causing the smirk on his lips to grow. The wet squelching noises from your pussy getting louder. The noises from his hips slamming against your ass and his balls slapping against your folds feel more amplified now that it’s the only noise in the room. His cock was throbbing inside you, he was enjoying this. Your face is starting to get red from lack of air. He’s counting in his head, no need to worry, he knows how long you can hold your breath.

He lets go on the latter end of 30 seconds. Gasping for air as soon as you can breathe again. He shoves you down so your face down ass up. He smacks your ass a few times, adding to the slight redness that had already bloomed on your ass. Not to far away, there were hickies developing on your inner thighs from when he ate you out about an hour ago. His hands find their way back to your hips, pulling you against him to meet his thrusts. “Want me to cum inside you? Empty my balls deep inside your pussy?”

“Please please please,” your words muffled by the mattress. “Touch yourself. Want to feel you cum on cock first. Make a nice big mess for me. Then I’ll give you want you want.”

You move your hand to play with your clit, already covered in your slick and spit. You were so close already this wouldn’t take long at all. A few drops falling and before you know it you’re gushing, squirting all over Patrick’s cock as he pulls out to admire your his work. He sticks his middle and index fingers inside you, pumping roughly. Curling them against that spongy spot to get a few more gushes out of you. “That’s my girl. Made a huge fucking mess for me.” Satisfied, he slips back inside, fulfilling his promise of filling you up with his spend.

He pulls out to take a mental picture of you, dripping and soaked. He watches his cum slowly start to seep out of your hole, until he brings up his pointer finger to push it back in, deep inside.

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla @hanneh69 @urmomsucksfrogs @ctrl-mari @cha11engers @jesuistrestriste @imperishablereverie @shahabaqsa0310 @destinedtobegigi @ghostgirl-22 @artaussi @nozhdyved @asteroid-yuri @sweetheartfaist @jordiemeow @hangels @andyrambles @sugarfaist

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[fishhateme]

So... LinkedIn au part two, anyone?

this morning @adimouze got an actual linkedin notification while reading part one and a sign is a sign, so here goes part two of the linkedin au (btw if you think there's suspiciously not enough linkedin in here it's because i genuinely hate that capitalist hellhole with all my heart <3)

“Don’t worry, mate. People on LindkedIn are a bunch of cunts, anyway”

Max would have gasped, if he’d had less dignity, as he watched the man - Daniel, Daniel, Danyul in the flesh, the little icon from his LinkedIn feed, now sitting in the shitty bar, in front of him - swirl his $12 glass of rosé and sip it, scrunching up his nose the same way Sassy did when Max didn’t get her those little overpriced packets of turkey flavored wet food.

“Uh- I would say of course not everyone on LinkedIn is a cunt, maybe” Max said, completely and utterly dumbfounded, half because he was more than a little buzzed and half because he’d spent so much time thinking about finding Daniel that he hadn’t actually thought out what he’d do then (didn’t think he’d get this far, really). He could almost picture Lando laughing maniacally at the blush that was spreading all the way from his chest (thankfully hidden by his plain, black tee) to the very top of his ears, and he thanked whatever God was out there (Sir Isaac Newton, can you hear me?) that the younger engineer was too busy trying to pick up some Spanish car designer on the other side of the convention.

Max could blame the blush on the g&t’s, and not on the fact that his little virtual networking crush (what had his life come to) had the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen, staring him straight in the eyes.

“I would say that they are, then, if you don’t have the balls to” Daniel, who still hadn’t introduced himself, responded with a cheeky smirk, “They’re all stuck up pricks. They act like they only care about furthering physics and science and the greater good when all they want is their name on a plaque somewhere and a couple of sports cars so they can wank off to the airflow of the diffusers or some shit”

Max thought that was such a ridiculous notion, that respected aerodynamics engineers would spend their entire careers longing for a luxury car (and- okay, yeah, his desktop was an Aston Martin Valkyrie, but that was different, he knew that was just as out of his league as the guy standing in front of him right now). Furthermore, a pesky voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like Jos was telling him that this guy was an ingrate, a disrespectful, unprofessional man who’d get nowhere, but Max bit his tongue and then washed it away with a gulp of his g&t, letting Daniel speak because he clearly wanted to rant.

“I’m serious, mate, all these people ever come to do to conventions like this is flaunt their achievements. Like-” he adjusted his stance, wiggling his body so he could move the shitty bar stool without actually getting up, suddenly getting very, very much in Max’s personal space, his thick, meaty thigh (who wore shorts to a networking event? This guy was crazy) almost brushing against Max’s knee as he leaned over to whisper and point, “See him? That’s Zak Brown, he owns McLaren Aerodynamics.”

Shit, wasn’t that Lando’s boss? Now Max felt ever so slightly guilty for nodding along to the Brit’s rants about his work, without actually ever hearing anything. “If you talk to him, he’ll invite you to a game of golf, and if you say yes he’ll take you there in a Lambo and offer you a round of Chandon or some shit, his treat. You know how he gets all that money? Because people love to spend it, shit, I love it too, but don’t you ever stop to think about where it comes from?”

Daniel leaned in even closer, his hot breath against the scorching heat of Max’s helplessly flushed ear, his words ever so slightly slurred like maybe it hadn’t been his first rosé. Maybe he’d started off with something stronger in his car (was pregaming work conventions... a thing?), and now he was trying to look semi-dignified and failing.

“He gets it from defense contracts”

Max blinked owlishly at that, like maybe he’d heard it wrong. Surely he didn't mean to say what it sounded like he was, at the very least, implying. “Uh- what? I thought they made, like…” he tried to concentrate, genuinely wrack his brain to remember what Lando had mentioned “Uh, trains? High speed trains, don’t they- isn’t that what they make?”

Daniel laughed at that, a honky, unabashed laugh, throwing his head back and showing off those pearly whites as his curl bounced. “That’s what they’ll tell you on their website, mate. That they care about the environment and are working with the UK government to make-” hic, “Make uhh, a- a greener future or some shit. And- yes, they’ve got contracts with the UK government, plenty of ‘em, but most of them are defense”

At Max’s shocked expression, at his gaping mouth, Daniel sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, and yeah, he was definitely more drunk than Max, somehow.

“Missiles! They make missiles, Maxy”

Max didn’t think Lando was capable of even designing a missile for a fruit fly, much less for… actual humans. Fish, maybe. But humans seemed odd. “How are you so sure?”

Daniel seemed to deflate at that, like everyone had said the same thing. He pulled back, elbows on the bar and head hung low between his sagged shoulders, and Max found himself missing the warmth of his tattooed thigh against his knee, even though he still felt feverish from the alcohol and the flusteredness of it all.

The Aussie hiccuped again, blinking a couple of times. “Worked there” he said, and he sounded almost beaten down as he added, “Then I quit. Eeeh, not true, actually, got fired. Publicly it was a mutual agreement. Doesn’t matter” he stopped to down what was left of his rosé, grimacing although it must have been quite a pleasant, sweet taste, not at all a man’s drink, like Jos would say. “Now I make about a tenth of what I did and I teach the next generation of missile designers how to maximize… missileness”

Max hummed, quietly. He didn’t quite know what to say at that - he made a mental note to ask Lando about some things on the drive back, sure, but other than that. He got a sense that maybe the funny LinkedIn man had turned into a sad, hot, somehow still funny LinkedIn man.

Maybe he just needed a friend. Someone to listen.

Max grimaced at that last thought, scrunching up his face and staring down at his g&t with hatred, like his favorite drink had been tainted with feelings, and they were rapidly making his way into his bloodstream.

What was he even thinking?! Sure, the guy was funny and clearly had had some success at some point of his career and he was kind of possibly the hottest man Max had ever seen but he was also clearly a loser. Besides, they were strangers! They hadn’t even introduced themselves to each other! Daniel didn’t even know Max’s-

Wait.

“How do you know my name?”

Daniel’s eyes, previously fixed on a poster of a cowboy that advertised some sort of insurance Max couldn't care less about, widened almost comically. He stared at him for a beat too long before chuckling awkwardly. “Uuuuh, what?”

“You called me Maxy. You said, they make missiles, Maxy” Max said, finally feeling the expected effect of his g&t’s, that was, some fucking courage. “How do you know my name is Max”

A second passed.

Then another.

Then a third, and by the fourth Max had just now noticed the convention was blasting some shitty, outdated jazz music, which worked more as a sleep inducer than a mood setter.

By the fifth, Max was thinking maybe Daniel wouldn’t answer, so he doubled down and looked eyes with him, but Daniel immediately looked away, flustered and biting down on his plush, pink lip, frowning as if deep in thought. “Uuuuh” he stammered, rubbing his face with the heels of his palms again, chuckling awkwardly, “Would it be too lame to say I follow you on LinkedIn?”

part 3

[mayhem-neverending]

Nightmares

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Word Count: 2,213

Summary: Short fic about Gojo seeking you out after a nightmare. Friends to lovers.

Warnings: some violent graphic content

Note: This is my first time writing Gojo (on Tumblr - I'm very slowly working on a long fic on AO3). This came to me last night, and I thought it was a nice enough idea to write it. I know I'm a Naruto girly on here, but nothing wrong with expanding horizons, right?

Moonlight shone through the crack in your thick curtains, illuminating your deeply slumbering form. The room was still; the night was cool enough to leave the a/c off without turning on the heater. The only airflow came from the slight crack in your window. You were perfectly still, slow, deep inhales displayed in the gentle rising and falling of your chest. Your phone repeatedly vibrated on the other side of the bed, but it didn’t alert you in the slightest. Not even a twitch of your fingers to acknowledge the disturbance.

There was a low whirr that sounded in the middle of your room followed by shallow, erratic breaths. Soft, quick footsteps to the edge of your bed, the rustle of fabric, breath desperately trying and failing to be controlled. Fingers trembling in front of your face, a weak attempt to determine whether breath entered and exited your nose, but they were too out of it to tell. 

A harsh whisper of your name exited their mouth, and when you didn’t answer, a louder, broken call of your name dragged out next to your ear. 

You jostled awake, eyes shooting open and a sharp inhale as you scooted away from the voice. You were jumbled, your heart racing as you tried to compute what you were seeing. Your name fell from their lips again, a mix of desperation and relief, as your eyes finally met theirs. 

The faint glow of blue eyes in the darkness brought you back to reality. “Satoru?”

He looked wild and so vulnerable. He was only in a white t-shirt and boxers, hair wild from tossing in his sleep and blue eyes rimmed with red as fat tears poured from them. His shoulders shook as a sob broke from his lips. His hand landed on the bed next to you to steady his weight. 

“Satoru, what happened?” you asked, panic rising in your throat. He had never just appeared in your room before, and never in the middle of the night.

He shook his head, unable to speak. You threw the blankets off of you, instinctively coming up on your knees to bring your face to his. You inspected him with your eyes, looking for any injuries, but all you could find was his far away look. Whatever had happened, he still wasn’t quite with you. 

You took his face in your palm, thumb swiping at the unending flow of tears under his eye. He was shaking violently, you noticed. With your free hand you found his and entangled your fingers together, squeezing in the hope to ground him as your heart raced. He was looking into your eyes now, and you intentionally slowed your breathing, hoping to calm him enough for him to talk to you. 

Another sob escaped his throat and his weight collapsed against you. You barely saved the two of you from falling, having to use more strength than you wanted to admit to hold him. You softly shushed him, the hand on his face going to the back of his head and running fingers through his fluffy hair. 

“Come here,” you whispered. 

You readjusted your legs and helped him climb onto the bed, leaning back so that he could lay with his head on your chest. He curled his lanky body around you, touching you with every part of him he could and caging you in his tight grip. His long fingers dug into the flesh of your side, right beneath your ribs as he adjusted himself to lay his ear directly over your heart. 

You continued your ministrations to his hair; concern rising like bile in your throat. Feeling his tears pool on your shirt, you counted to your breaths in your head to keep yourself calm. In for four, hold for four, out for six. You repeated this action several times until your heart began to slow.

“What’s wrong?” you asked again as tenderly as you could muster. 

Satoru tilted his head to look up at you, the tears slowing but the far away look still clouding the edges of his expression. “It was- it was so vivid,” he choked. A dream, you realized with relief. He had a bad dream. 

“You can tell me about it if you want,” you wiped another tear from his eye. 

He sniffled and his fingers dug further into your skin. It was starting to hurt with how tightly he was holding you.

“You-” he shuddered. 

You patiently watched on, softening the muscles of your face and letting his eyes search yours. “Maybe I’m still in the dream,” he whispered to himself. 

His face scrunched in despair, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his beautiful crystal blue eyes. “Maybe they really did murder you, and I’m just dreaming you’re okay,” 

His breathing picked up and your eyes widened. He was having this visceral reaction over a dream where you were killed? He curled in on himself again, sobs wracking his body. It must have been a brutal nightmare for him to still be confusing reality. 

“Satoru,” your voice came out gentle but firm, hoping to reach him amid the sobs. 

He just barely moved his head to peek up at you with his now swollen eyes. Your heart broke for him. “I’m right here, I’m alive. You aren’t dreaming anymore,”

“You’re really here?” he asked into your chest, still unconvinced. 

The dream he had was horrendous. It started with you lovingly kissing him goodbye as you went grocery shopping, and giggling when he pulled you back in for a series of kisses all over your face. Then, he was somehow at the school, sprinting down the never ending corridor in a loop as he listened to you scream and beg for mercy. By the time he finally wrenched the door open, everything was silent. 

Your mutilated, barely recognizable corpse lay on the floor, limbs spread out and at odd angles. He dropped down beside you in the massive pool of your still warm blood. It was everywhere, still seeping from the wounds and bruises that littered your body. He saw everything with his six eyes. Everything that they had inflicted upon your innocent self. 

“I’m right here, sweetheart. What did you see?” you tilted his chin so that he was fully looking at your face. 

“They tortured you, I-” his tongue was heavy in his mouth, unable to form another word. 

Your hand gripped the one that was leaving bruises in your side. Lifting it up, you asked, “Where?”

“Where?” his voice came out strangled. 

He watched as you brought his hand up to your face. “Where? Did they hurt my face?”

He nodded slowly. You pressed his fingertips against the soft skin of your cheek. “Nothing here, see? No cuts or bruises,”

His breath hitched. “Where else, Satoru?”

He traced lower, stopping at the base of your throat, right above the collar of your shirt, ghosting along where the image of a large gash had been. He trailed lower, the hole in the middle of your chest fresh in his mind. He laid his hand flat over the spot on top of your shirt, but it didn’t help, he could still clearly imagine the way it would cave in under his hand. 

Wordlessly, you took his hand and guided it beneath your shirt, directly where his hand had been. He let out a small, relieved sigh at your soft skin and sturdy sternum beneath his fingers. He trailed lower, on his own accord, to feel across your abdomen, silently searching for the bruises and stab wounds he had so vividly witnessed. There was nothing there but smooth skin and soft flesh. He blinked hard, his senses fully returning to him now that he knew you were okay. 

He shuddered, laying his palm flat against your stomach as the last dredges of the dream washed over him and away. He looked up and met your attentive eyes, becoming acutely aware of himself. Aware of his hand on your bare skin, the wet spot on your shirt where his tears and spit collected. You watched his body coiled tightly around you, the tired tenderness you bore for him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know what came over me,” 

He uncurled himself and sat up, removing his hand from your stomach, looking away from you. You took his other hand in yours. “Don’t apologize,”

He was exhausted from the sobbing, the dream, and the adrenaline crash that now sagged his shoulders. You continued, a raw edge to your voice “I’m glad to know that I’m important to you,”

His head whipped back to meet your eyes, his own widened in shock. No belittlement, no judgment, no mockery of The Strongest crying like a baby over a bad dream. His mouth opened and closed. He decided on, “Of course you’re important to me,”

More than he cared to let you know.

“Why are you sitting up? Come lay back down with me,” you tugged gently on his hand. 

“You’re not kicking me out after all that?”

Your brows scrunched together. “Of course not, you’re important to me, too, you know,”

He shifted, eyes cast downward. “But aren’t you bothered?”

“By what?”

He struggled to verbalize what he was feeling. He always did when it came to real emotions. When he finally spoke, he tried to say it jokingly, but he couldn’t quite reflect it in his tone. “Oh, you know, Gojo Satoru, The Strongest, blubbering like a baby in the middle of the night over a dream,”

You sighed out and he tensed, ready to face what he knew was coming, fingers twitching as he awaited you to kick him out. “Even if you’re the strongest person on earth, you’re still just a person. Just Satoru,”

You sat up and took his face in yours, forcing him to look at you. The ‘but’ he was about to say died on his lips. He held his breath as you pressed a kiss on his cheeks, lips wettening with the tracks of tears that remained. He could have cried again at the way you handled him so purposefully, not like a tool to be used but something precious to be preserved. 

The breath he was holding puffed out against his lips as you pulled away. You pushed his hair away from his eyes. He felt each of your touches linger against his skin. Why did you do this to him? Make him so weak?

You exhaled through your nose with humor, and he realized with utter mortification that he had said that out loud. Like he hadn’t embarrassed himself enough already. You hummed and cupped his cheek. 

Your eyes were bright and full of sincerity. He felt himself get lost in them, in the calm waves of emotion. He had never met someone as honest as you, who always knew what to say to him without himself knowing what he needed, or buttering him up. He loved that about you. He loved a lot of things about you. In fact, his nightmare reinforced the fact that he needed you and he didn’t know what to do about it. It terrified him more than any curse ever could. 

“I love you,” you said simply, the phrase easily slipping from your lips as if you’d said it a hundred times.

It took him a moment to register that your mouth had moved with how enraptured he was in your eyes. And then he heard it, repeating in his mind like a prayer to a melody. He inhaled sharply, eyes suddenly fervently searching yours. Did you mean that as a friend, or as a lover?

“You love me?”

You found his hand and squeezed his fingers between your own. “I do, I love you. You don’t need to say anything, I just wanted you to know, especially after that dream you had,”

You pulled your fingers from his grasp. “I’d like it if you stayed, but you’re free to leave if you want. I won’t be upset,”

His mouth was agape, illuminated blue eyes drinking you in. His heart beat unsteadily. “As-as a friend? Or-?” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. This night was bringing out all of his vulnerabilities and laying them out for you on a platter. 

You suddenly looked at him a little shyly, tucking your chin down for a moment before taking a breath to respond. “Or,”

Satoru laughed breathlessly, a grin splitting his tear stained face. He launched himself at you, suddenly uninhibited, and knocked you back against your pillows. He pressed wet kisses all over your face to which you couldn’t stop yourself giggling at. He hovered just above your lips until your giggles had just subsided, and kissed you. Once, twice, and then you got a hold of him, fingers scraping against his undercut as you slowly pressed your lips to his, moving them against his own. It was slow, a push and pull without hurry. 

“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth as you broke the kiss. He dove back in, the same sensual pace as your hands moved to explore each other. 

You pulled apart and he breathlessly repeated, “I love you, I love you, I love you,”

“Fuck, I love you,”

[roseghoul26]

Part 1

Javier Escuella x femVirgin!Reader

Synopsis: You and Javier are to attend a party in Saint Denis, hoping to rob the owner of the establishment. Your role is to distract the man while Javier sneaks up to his room, stealing bonds rumored to be worth a good bit. The only problem is, the two of you are pretending to be husband and wife, which would be fine if you weren’t completely in love with the man. Will you be able to muster up the courage to finally confess to him, or will your personal anxieties hold you back from getting what you want?

Tags: fluff, smut, friends to lovers, fem!Reader, reader is described to have longer hair but that’s about it, reader is afraid of intimacy, but like still wants it, unwanted touch (not from javier), unwanted sexual advances (not from javier), non consensual touching (not from javier), basically any noncon stuff is not done by javier, degrading language towards women, first kiss, love confessions, virgin reader, not beta read, angst, unsafe sex

Author’s Note: i know english and german, not spanish. sorry. also i totally wasn’t projecting while writing this ahaha :D

also this was supposed to not have multiple parts but i broke it down into two just for reader digestibility

part 1 ❉ part 2

You were certain that Miss Grimshaw was trying to kill you.

If she pulled any harder at the corset currently strangling you, you’re sure your lungs would collapse. A startled cry left your lips when she tugged again, causing you to nearly topple into her. Miss Grimshaw rescinded with a disapproving nose, roughly adjusting you back upright. 

The two of you were in someone's tent, Miss Grimshaw practically pulling you in a few minutes ago with a garment in her hands. You had been on guard duty, and you had seen Charles give you an almost apologetic look as she took over for you. 

“You’re actin’ like this is your first time wearin’ a corset,” She reprimanded, pulling yet again at the strings.

You were no stranger to corsets, that was true, but you’ve never had to wear one this tight. Usually they were tight enough to accentuate your figure, but it still was breathable enough that you could move with ease, which was necessary in this lifestyle. This time it was pressed so snug against your body that you feared a sudden movement would pop a rib.

“Not like this!” You snapped, your discomfort causing your fuse to become short. 

“Don’t take it out on me, girl. You can thank Dutch for this.”

You scoffed. “Of course. How does he expect me to move like this?”

“That’s the point. You’re not supposed to.” She emphasized her point with another tug, restricting your airflow even further.

“What?” 

“He wants you to be the distraction, and the only way you’re doin’ that is if we get this corset on.”

You rolled your eyes. “You know that ain’t true. You know damn well I can distract someone without having to kill my lungs.”

“Not this time. You’re goin’ to a party, accompanying one of the men as their newlywed wife. Your story is that you used to be a working girl, but you’ve now settled down with your rich ‘husband’. You’re gonna distract the man of the house with your assets, and by implying that your new husband ain’t takin’ good care of you, if you know what I mean. Rumor has it that he’s a frequent customer of the local brothels, so it’ll be easy to get his attention.” Miss Grimshaw chuckled lightly. “While he’s taken in by you, your ‘husband’ is gonna sneak up to his rooms, looking for bonds or somethin’. You’re gonna have to ask Dutch or someone for the details. He just told me to make you look… irresistible, which is what I’m tryin’ to do, but you keep complainin’!”

“Sorry…” you grumbled. You weren’t too fond of the plan that was just presented to you. As a master conwoman, you were no stranger to using your body as a tool, using your assets to get what you wanted. But if this corset was telling you anything, it was that you were going to be quite out on display, your breasts barely contained in the garment. You knew you would probably be safe with whoever your “husband” was, but you didn’t trust the other men at the party. You were already mentally preparing yourself for the words you were going to be hearing tonight, and for the possible gropes and touches of disgusting men. 

And because you had such little movement, you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself as well as you could. The thought of being so defenseless had you shuddering, which didn’t go unnoticed by Miss Grimshaw. “You’re gonna be alright. Besides, Arthur’ll be taggin’ along with the two of you as extra muscle. Lord knows he’d never let anythin’ happen to you.”

“Arthur ain’t my ‘husband’?” You were expecting the cowboy to be your other half for the night, as the two of you had played that role several times as Mr. and Mrs. Callahan. The two of you worked well together, a natural comradery making it a very convincing act. So much so that some of the gang members had even questioned yours and Arthur’s friendship, but the two of you quickly shut those thoughts down. The two of you were practically siblings, and besides, you had your eyes on someone else in camp. 

“Not tonight. He said he’ll probably be recognized and wouldn’t be able to be someone else, so he asked for someone else to play the role tonight.”

“Please don’t be Micah,” you groaned.

“Dutch ain’t a fool. He knows the two of you would never be a convincing couple.” You could tell she was imagining you and Micah pretending to be sweet on each other, and she laughed boisterously. “The two of you’d kill each other before you even got to the party! That would be a sight to see, though.”

“So who’s gonna be playing my ‘husband’, then?”

Because your back was turned, you missed the mischievous look that flicked across her face. “That will be Mr. Escuella.”

“Javier?!” The remaining air in your lungs came out in a wheeze, and you started coughing. Trying to suck in as much air back in proved to be a difficult task, and you found yourself growing lightheaded for more reasons than one.

“That’s who I said, right? I recommended him myself; I know it won’t be hard for you to pretend that you’re married.”

“What do you-”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, girl. I know you’re sweet on him.”

“Sure, say it louder so the whole goddamn camp knows!” You huffed, and you prayed that it wasn’t evident that you were blushing. Were you really that obvious?

“I apologize,” she laughed, not sounding sorry at all. “I think the ‘whole goddamn camp’ already knows, girl. Everyone but Javier, that is.” You felt her tug one final time, before tying the strings into a tight knot. Sucking in a deep breath, you tried to calm your racing heart. You were never nervous like this before jobs, but with the new knowledge of who your “husband” was, along with some more personal worries, it was hard to stay calm. Of course you got paired up with the man you’d had your eye on since the moment you joined the gang.

But it wasn’t just being paired up as Javier’s wife that worried you. You had people you could confide in for that, with or without damage to your pride. No, your other anxiety was something that you wouldn’t admit to another soul. The whole backstory that you were going to have, being a working girl, was something that was going to be hard to fabricate because you didn’t have a lot of knowledge in that area. You knew what you had to say and what to do; you were inexperienced, not innocent. You were just concerned that you weren’t going to be able to pull a convincing act, putting you and Javier into danger. 

And you were partially afraid that you would have to do some things that you’d never done before, but instead of it being with someone you trusted, it would be with random gross men at a random gross party. You’d never touched someone in an intimate manner before, and the thought of doing it tonight worried you deeply. You knew that Dutch wouldn’t make you use your body in that way, but things happen, and you were always determined to get what you wanted.

You just hoped that it wouldn’t go that far.

You felt Miss Grimshaw pause a moment, smoothing down the back of your dress with her hands. “You know, he’s sweet on you too.”

Temporarily forgetting your personal worries, you stiffened under her touch. “Alright, now you’re just tryin’ to make me feel better. And you’re startin’ to sound like Mary-Beth.”

“I’m serious! You don’t see the way he stares after you, or hear the way he’s constantly askin’ me about you. Trust me when I say he’s sweet on you too.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded.

She muttered something under her breath before she was turning you around, forcing you to face her. “I’m just sayin’, tonight would be a good night to test the waters.”

How were you supposed to tell her that you were scared to get close to him?

“Now you’re really startin’ to sound like Mary-Beth.” You felt her fiddle with the neckline of your dress, pulling it down even lower. You let out an indignant squawk, slapping her hands away. “Any further down and I’m gonna get arrested!”

Holding her hands up, she scoffed and rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. “Now, you sit right here and put these on,” she gestured to the stool behind you, and handed you a delicate pair of deep red heels. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Complying, you tried your best to sit down, but found it quite hard to do so. The corset dug even further into your skin, so you ended up having to do a weird crouch on the stool. It was uncomfortable, but it worked, and you were able to slip off your old boots to put on the new shoes. The leather was stiff, practically brand new, and you knew that your feet would be blistering by the end of the night. 

True to her word, she was back momentarily, her arms full of products that she dumped on to the nearby bed. You realized now that you were Arthur’s tent, the canvas pulled down to give you space to change. You’d have to thank him later. 

Miss Grimshaw got to work, dusting your cheeks with pink blush and painting your lips with a deep red rouge, which matched the color of your dress. A thin line of black kohl was applied to your upper eye, and you tried your best to not blink as she worked. When she was satisfied with your makeup, she got to work on your hair, pinning it up into a fashionable yet simple updo. Without having your hair to hide behind, your chest felt even more exposed. 

The whole process took about thirty minutes, the evening sun beginning to set when you stood. Your mind was racing the entire time, and you were grateful that Miss Grimshaw didn’t try to distract you with small talk. You needed time to prepare yourself, and she gave it to you. 

She presented you with a small handheld mirror, and you were finally able to see yourself since the ordeal first began. You had to admit that Miss Grimshaw did a fantastic job at getting you dolled up, a newfound confidence calming your racing heart. The blush was placed in just the right way to emphasize your face shape, and the rouge made your lips look full and plush. Even the updo worked well with your features, drawing attention instead of hiding them. 

Taking a step back until you were able to see more of your body in the mirror, and you had to stifle a gasp. Everything about you screamed lust, from the way the corset hugged your hips, to the way it pushed up your breasts, causing them to nearly spill over. The deep red of the dress, like you saw, matched perfectly with your lips, the velvety material pleasant to the touch. Thin black lace lined the sweetheart neckline, the material surprisingly soft against your skin. The black lace pattern continued down the bodice, continuing in places down the skirt, which halted right at your ankles. There weren’t any sleeves on the dress, and you felt Miss Grimshaw place something into your hands: two elbow length gloves the same color of the dress.

Quickly sliding them on, you felt her clip some ruby earring to your ears. She stepped back, a pleased smile on her face that mirrored your own. “I told Javier that it would fit!” She exclaimed, and you gave her a confused look.

“He picked it out. Although, I don't believe he thought it would be this… revealing.”

“He… He bought this for me?” Your cheeks were as dark as the dress.

“He picked out every part of that dress, had it handcrafted just for you.” 

You pushed down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. All of this had to cost so much! Instead of facing your heart, however, you put on an air of annoyance, placing your hands on your hips. “So he knew ‘bout this job, but I didn’t?”

She didn’t respond, but the smirk on her lips told you everything you needed to know. “You found out in time, didn’t you? Now,” he clapped her hands together, and grabbed the final item off the bed. It was a small black clutch, and you watched her place the rouge in there before handing it to you. Inside, alongside the rouge you saw a small tooth comb, one you recognized to be a knife in disguise, along with a small handkerchief.

You gratefully took it, tucking it under your arm. You went to try and leave the tent, but you felt her stop you with a hand on your wrist. Before you could register what she was doing, she had sprayed a few spurts of perfume on you, the floral scent ticking your nose, nearly causing you to sneeze. She let go of you then, practically shoving you out of Arthur’s tent, your new shoes catching on the mud. 

Blinking away the setting sunlight that blinded you, you were startled when a loud wolf-whistle cut through the camp, causing you to nearly drop your clutch. Sean stood a few feet away, unabashedly staring at you as you walked out of the tent. “Nice fuckin’ tits, lass!” He said it so loud, and if people hadn’t turned their heads at the whistle, they sure were looking now. 

You flipped him off, a scowl crossing your features as you marched away. He didn’t get the hint, and you knew that he was trailing after you. “Hey, don’t be like that now!” He was very clearly drunk, stumbling over his steps, nearly falling face first a few times.

Standing at the center of camp, you crossed your arms, trying your best to cover your chest. “Fuck off, Sean.” You glanced around, and you found a few pairs of eyes on you. Some of the looks were kind, like from Arthur and Hosea, who regarded you without any lecherous intent behind their eyes. You heard Hosea comment on how you cleaned up nice, and Arthur, who sat next to him, nodded in agreement. Smiling warmly at them in response, you felt a tad bit less exposed. 

“Well that ain’t no talk for a lady. Where's your manners?”

Fighting the urge to shove him away from you, you smiled with malice. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you put on your best posh voice, resting your hand over your heart. “Please fuck off, Sean.” Not giving him time to respond, you stalked over to the other side of camp, where you saw Tilly, Karen, Mary-Beth, and Abigail gathered around one of the fires. Clemens Points had its advantages, the multiple fireplaces away from the men in the center of camp being one of them. You did a quick detour, stopping by your belongings and grabbing a silver ring, tucking it into the clutch, before heading over to the girls.

Wolf-whistles and cheers left the girls' lips, and you put on a little show as you made our way over. Instead of feeling degraded like you did with Sean, you felt confident. You halted in front of them, doing a little spin with an almost proud smile on your face. 

“Goddamn, girl! Where’ve you been hidin’ all that?” Karen teased, and you waved her away. “You look incredible!”

“I feel incredible,” you beamed. 

“Where did you get that dress? It looks so expensive!” Tilly commented, and you moved close enough so they could feel the material, letting out unanimous content noises when they felt how soft it was. 

“Well…” you almost didn’t want to tell them, knowing their reactions were going to be extreme. They knew you had feelings for Javier, and this was just going to add fuel to their conspiracy that he felt the same. “Javier got it for me.”

Stunned silence was all there was, until they all erupted at the same time, questions and comments spilling from them so quickly that you couldn’t even hope to process them. Rolling your eyes, you pulled away from them, your skirts falling back around you.

”Javier bought it?” Mary-Beth was eating this whole situation up. “Does that mean… are you two…?”

“No. He was just being nice.”

The girls gave each other knowing looks, and you watched as Karen rolled her eyes, and Mary-Beth gave you a disbelieving look. “Now, I know you ain’t dumb, but you’re makin’ it really hard to say that,” Karen muttered, and you scoffed. 

“I’m serious! He was just being nice, nothin’ else!”

“Sure,” Tilly laughed. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

You glanced over at Abigail, the one person who had yet to say anything yet. “Abi, please, tell them.”

She sighed, setting the embroidery that she was working on in her lap. “Well, it’s not a simple friendly gesture to buy someone a dress like that…”

You groaned. “You were supposed to be on my side.” 

Abigail just shrugged, barely able to hide a laugh. “Did he just buy the dress, or…” she gestured to your earrings. 

Whatever expression that was on your face was a sufficient enough answer for the girls, who in turn began to laugh. “So, not only did he buy you a beautiful dress, but he also bought you earrings? He’s in love.” Mary-Beth said in almost a sing-song manner. 

“He is. Don’t you dare try to argue otherwise,” Karen threatened. 

“I…” you trailed off, defeated. “Even if he is, nothin’ is gonna come from it! Don’t get those ideas in my head!”

“We are doing nothin’ of the sort. We’re just stating the facts.” Tilly’s eyes flicked to something behind you, and you watched her playfully smile. “But if you don’t believe us, why don’t you go ask him?” She pointed behind you, and you turned your head. Javier was indeed there, but luckily his back was turned to your group, in the middle of a conversation with Dutch and Hosea. 

Even from the glimpse you got, you knew he was dressed up well, a black blazer fitting tightly to his form, accentuating his shoulders and tapering down nicely to his waist. His pants matched color wise, and were just as tight as the jacket, doing little to hide the thick swell of his thighs, and his ass-

Someone clearing their throat had you turning your head back around, finding a group of amused girls waiting for you. Karen produced a handkerchief, practically throwing it at you. “For your drool,” she smirked, and you felt your ears burn. You hadn’t meant to be that obvious with your ogling. 

“Shuddup,” you threw the cloth back at her, and she laughed uproariously, the other girls joining in as well. 

“Why don’t you tell him?” Abigail asked, a sincere curiosity in her question. “You’re obviously both taken with each other, and even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Rather you get your heart broken and know then spend the rest of your life wonderin’.”

“I-I’m not quite sure. I’ve never had a relationship before, and I guess I’m just scared of them, I guess. I don’t wanna do somethin’ wrong. And besides, he’s a ladies man, suave, a charmer. And I’m just… me. I’m rather boring compared to him, and I don’t wanna make him feel, I dunno, trapped with me.” You weren’t quite sure how to explain to the girls that you feared he might find your lack of experience unappealing, how he would want someone that could keep up with him. Additionally, you felt ashamed to admit your fear of intimacy after hearing your entire life that it was something you should want. And you do want it, but you couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

“Just do somethin’ before you can’t, alright?”

You watched again as Tilly looked behind you, nudging Mary-Beth who sat beside her, and the two of them shared a look. “What?”

“Oh, nothin’,” they smiled, yet they kept their eyes locked behind you. 

“Please don’t tell me he’s comin’ over here.” Their responding giggles told you that, yes, Javier was indeed making his way toward your group.

“Do not say anythin’. Especially you,” you pointed at Karen, and she held up her hands in defense. 

“Hey, I’m just sick of seein’ the two of you dance around each other.”

“We are not-” you pinched the bridge of your nose, annoyed. “Why does everything keep thinkin’ that?”

“Because we’re not blind. Now,” Karen did a spinning motion with her finger, “go greet your ‘husband’.” 

Looking over your shoulder, you saw that he was only a few feet away, a warm smile gracing his features when you made eye contact. You reciprocated, trying your best to not look as nervous as you felt. 

As you did a quick scan over his body, you felt your heart rate pick up. He looked good, which he always did, but even more so now. Wearing a simple white button up under the black jacket, you saw ruby cufflinks peek out, and you noticed some more details now that he was closer. The inside of the jacket was a deep red, similar to your dress, and was made of a very fine looking silk, and his usual red necktie was around his neck. A gold pocket watch hung from his vest, and you were shocked when you noticed that it looked exactly like the bodice of your own dress. Upon closer examination, you realized that it was indeed made out of the same fabric of your dress.

By this point he had reached your side, standing close enough next to you that could feel his heat, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. You were glad for the dimming light, as it made it harder to see the darkening of your cheeks. If this is what your reaction was to him simply standing next to you, then you had no idea how you were going to react when he was pretending you were his wife.

“Hello, Javier.” Was your voice shaking? You’re certain it was.

“Hello, ‘wife’,” he winked, laughing when you scoffed. Thankfully he didn’t seem to catch the way you blushed even deeper. “Good evening, ladies,” he nodded to the other girls by the campfire. They responded in unison, but you noticed that Javier didn’t pay them much mind, his eyes only on you. “You ready to go?” 

When you nodded, he held a palm up for you, which you grasped gently in your gloved hand. And because of course he had to, you watched as he bowed slightly, kissing the back of your hand with soft reverence. He kept his eyes on yours the entire time, making the act feel more intimate than it was. He’s just playing the part, calm yourself. Forcing down the panic, you watched the edges of his eyes crinkle when you giggled lightly, a smile on his lips when he stood upright. You felt him keep his grip on your hand, tugging you away from the girls, who called on you to have a good night between giggles.

As Javier led you away, your hands interlocked, you felt him lean close to you. “Do you like the dress?”

You secured the clutch under your arm. “I love the dress! Thank you, Javier. For everything,”

He shrugged with an uncharacteristically bashful smile, but it was quickly replaced with his usual confident one as he leaned closer to you again. “You look beautiful, mi amor.”

You’d heard him use that last phrase with you before, its frequency increasing over the last couple of months. You had no idea what it meant, and every time you asked he would change the subject. Even when you asked the others around camp, they refused to tell you, a look on their faces that you couldn’t quite recognize. 

“So do you. I mean, you always do…”

“Do I, now?” You could hear the smugness dripping from his voice.

“Oh, hush,” you shoved him with your shoulder, finding yourself barely able to move the man as you slowly walked, still getting used to your new shoes. You hadn’t meant to say that much.

“No, no, tell me more,” he laughed, and you shook your head, laughing as well. 

“I ain’t inflatin’ your ego any more, Mr. Escuella. I’m sure someone else will do that for you.”

“Sure. But I want to hear it from you.”

“Nope.” You emphasized the p sound with a pop of your lips. “My lips are sealed.”

With his free hand, you watched as he placed it over his heart, feigning hurt. “You wound me. I thought you loved me.”

His comment had you panicking, but you hid it behind a laugh. Did he know? Did someone tell him? Oh God, please don’t let him know. 

He continued, unaware of your current inner turmoil. “My ‘wife’, refusing to compliment me. It’s outrageous!” 

Right. He was just playing into the role again. With an inaudible sigh of relief, you were able to calm your thoughts. “Well, if our backstory is to be believed, then there ain’t much to compliment you on.”

Javier barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s the story we’re running with, aren’t we. Rich husband and dissatisfied wife.” The mirth in his eyes dissolved into something more serious, something more… amorous. “It’ll be a hard role for me to play, because I could never leave you unsatisfied.”

“What do… oh.” You were at a loss for words, and the intensity of his gaze had you melting. It wasn’t the first time that Javier had flirted with you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time he’d ever teased the idea of the two of you being intimate. It’s not that you were fully opposed to the idea, but it scared you. Actually, it terrified you. Throat suddenly dry, you cleared it, no doubt looking quite taken aback. “Well, I-”

“Oh, so he gets treated kindly, but I get told to ‘fuck off’’,” Seans loud complaining had you snapping your head to the side, the moment between the two of you shattered. You hadn’t even realized you were back in the main camp, too engrossed in your conversation with Javier. 

Glaring at the red haired man, you flipped him off again, and you heard the man beside you chuckle. “And I’ll say it again. Fuck. Off.”

“Y’know what, lass, I’ve tried bein’ nice-” “Complimentin’ a woman’s tits ain’t nice, Sean.”

Anger flashed across his features, and he started making his way toward the two of you, still as drunk as he was moments ago. Stiffening your shoulders, you braced yourself for confrontation, balling your free hand into a fist. Sean’s attention was momentarily taken off you, his eyes going behind you. Whatever he saw must’ve frightened him, his normally pale face going even paler. “I- Well… have a good night then.” He quickly scurried away, leaving you very confused. Glancing back at Javier, you failed to notice him tucking his knife away, hidden under the layers of clothing.

“What was that all about?” You asked him, falling back into a casual stance. He shrugged, and you grinned. “Guess I’m just that scary, then.” 

“Oh, yes. You’re terrifying,” he jested, sarcasm evident in his voice. 

“Hey!” You slapped him on the shoulder, and he snickered. “I’m plenty scary. Have you seen me with a knife?”

“Honestly, I’m more scared of seeing what you’ll do to yourself than anyone else.”

You scoffed, but you were still smiling. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to teach me.” You definitely weren’t coming up with an excuse to be with him more, and you definitely weren’t coming up with an excuse to watch his dexterous fingers work their magic with a blade. 

Javier had a soft look on his face. “I guess I will, then.”

The rest of your short walk to the edge of camp near the entrance was done in easy silence, and you were about to ask how exactly you were getting to the party, but it was answered when you saw a two-horse carriage pull into the camp, with a very discontent looking Bill atop it. He stopped a few feet from the two of you, annoyance evident in his body language.

“What kind of party are we goin’ to that we need a carriage? And how the hell did we get one?”

“An expensive one. And you’re asking a group of thieves how they got their hands on a carriage?”

“Fair point,” you laughed, laughing even harder when you saw how absolutely ridiculous Bill looked. He was dressed in a suit as well, but it was very clearly a size too small, the pants riding up far enough to expose what felt like half of his lower leg. A large top hat sat on his head, with a single, meager looking feather sticking out of it, bent in all the wrong directions. A scowl crossed his face when he saw you laughing, and you tried to hide it behind your hand. 

“Whatcha laughin’ at?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” you gestured to his whole getup.

“Ain’t my fault the old driver was short. And don’t go laughin’ just yet, I’m the one gettin’ you to the damn party.”

“You’re right. My apologies,” you sighed. “How ‘bout this. To make it up to you, I’ll see if I can’t steal some whiskey. The expensive stuff.”

You saw that he pretty much immediately made up his mind, but he still took the time to think, just for the sake of it. “Fine. But I don’t wanna hear another laugh from you.”

You nodded as Javier brought you to the side of the carriage, opening the door for you. Helping you into the carriage with the hand that held yours, you quickly sat down, adjusting the skirt to rest comfortably around you. There wasn’t much you could do for the bodice, the frame of it digging into your skin, but you refrained from grimacing. You expected Javier to follow in after you, but he didn’t, simply stepping back and slowly closing the door. 

“You ain’t gettin’ in?”

He shook his head. “Not just yet. I gotta go talk to Arthur before we set off.”

In all honesty, you had completely forgotten that your friend was accompanying the two of you. “Is he riding in here with us or…?” The carriage was big enough for two, and you’re sure you could squeeze a third person in if you tried hard enough. 

He shook his head again. “He’ll be riding behind us on horseback. He’s security, after all.”

Nodding, you settled back into your seat, at least as best you could. “All right. Well,” you shooed him, “I won’t hold you up any longer.”

Smiling gently, he closed the door, lacking shut with a soft click. It was eerily silent within the carriage, and you were sure that you could scream, and no one outside the carriage would be able to hear you. All the sounds from outside, from the chirping of crickets to the water lapping at the shore were silenced, leaving only your labored breathing and your thudding heart. 

Glancing out the window, you were able to see the receding figure of Javier, most of his form indistinguishable in the dimming light. Like every other time you interacted with Javier, you were going back over the conversation in your head, overanalyzing everything that you said and did, pinpointing moments where you should’ve said something different, or just kept your mouth shut all together. 

But now you found yourself thinking over what he said. You were replaying the moment where he called you beautiful, following it up with that one phrase that, whenever he said it, had a look in his eye that almost seemed like… longing? You weren’t quite sure. 

The sincerity behind his words had you temporarily questioning everything that you knew about your relationship with the man, but you quickly pushed those thoughts away. You were scared, to be honest, to imagine the two of you as anything more than friends. Because what if you were better off as friends, a romantic relationship ruining whatever connection you had. What if he found you boring, or he grew to disdain you? 

Why couldn’t things be simple? Why were you so scared of getting close to him, so scared of him touching you? Why couldn’t you be more confident and straightforward with your advances? Why couldn’t you just tell him how you felt and hope it all works out? 

Groaning, your head rolled back, hitting the wall of the vehicle. You still watched him, a black silhouette that had his back turned to you, deep in conversation with Arthur, who was standing next to his horse. 

The click of the door had you snapping out of your thoughts, straightening up immediately. Javier greeted you with a small smile as he climbed in, stopping mid-way when he heard Arthur shout something at him, which you weren’t able to make out. Javier rolled his eyes, and you thought he was blushing for a moment, but you played it off as a trick of the light. 

“What did Arthur say?” You laughed as Javier settled into his seat across from you. The carriage was large enough to fit two people, sure, but you still felt his knees brush against yours. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, nearly causing you to jump. 

“He was just being a fool. It doesn't matter.” He clearly didn’t want to continue talking about it, so you let it drop, ignoring the curiosity nagging at you. “Are you ready?”

As I’ll ever be. “Yes.”

In response, you heard him knock loudly on the window, signaling for Bill to start moving. The carriage suddenly moving caught you off guard, causing you to fall forward. You caught yourself, your hands on his knees. You didn’t hear the light gasp that came from Javier, smiling sheepishly as you righted yourself, placing your hands back on your lap, securing your clutch there. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was breathless, and you figured that he was nervous as well. 

“So, tell me about this party.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

It was about a twenty minute ride to Saint Denis, where the party was being held. It was one similar to the one Arthur, Dutch, and some of the others went to a few weeks prior, happening in one of the extravagant houses that lay on the edge of the town. The owner of the house, one Lee Edward Reginald III, was known to have bonds that he constantly bragged about to anyone who asked, apparently worth a fortune. 

The two of you formulated your story during the drive. Your names were William and Anna Howard, and the two of you had been married for two years. Hailing from a small town east of New Austin called Fairington, the two of you had stuck it rich when you found a vast supply of oil under your homestead. The two of you had traveled all this way to hopefully establish business partners in the west, and to begin creating a name for yourselves in the more “civilized” Saint Denis. 

You saw a wooden sign that marked you were close to Saint Denis, and you felt your anxiety begin to return. Trying to calm yourself, you repeated in your head that this was no different than any other con job you’ve done, and you weren’t nervous before those. This should be no exception.

“So, how did we meet?” Javier’s question halted your spiraling.

“Hm?” 

“How did we meet? Someone’s bound to ask.”

“I think the story Miss Grimshaw told me is that I used to be a working girl, and we met at the bar when I tried to offer my services.”

“Not too different from how we actually met, no?”

You laughed. “The only similarities between our stories is that we met at a bar. From what I remember, you tried to rob me as I drank alone.”

“I thought you were an easy target. I was mistaken,” he rubbed the side of his face where you had punched him all that time ago. “And I didn’t realize you had robbed me until way after.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever returned that ring back to you. How many months ago was that? Seven? Eight?”

“Something like that,” he smiled, reminiscing over your less than pleasant meeting. You’d joined the gang not long after, Javier having recommended you to Dutch himself. If anyone could rob a member of the Van Der Linde gang and get away with it, they deserved a place with them. 

“That reminds me…” you reached for your clasp, pulling out the ring you grabbed earlier. You almost wanted to slide the ring on his finger yourself, but instead you held it out to him in your palm. “A married man’s gotta have a ring, right?”

Gingerly taking it from your hand, you watched him examine it in the low light, shock causing him to laugh lightly. “You still had it? I would’ve thought you sold it already.”

You shrugged. “I just kept forgettin’ to sell it.” The truth was that you couldn’t bring yourself to sell it, always tucking it away whenever you’d bring your haul to the fence. Eventually, you just kept it with your small pile of belongings in the small lean-to tent you shared with some of the girls, a small token to remember him by. You’re not sure why it meant so much to you, but it brought a smile to your lips every time you saw it. “You can keep it, after we’re done.”

“No, you earned it. I’ll make sure you get it back.”

You held back a sigh of relief, having grown surprisingly sentimental toward the piece of jewelry. “So, how long did it take you to notice it was gone?”

“An embarrassingly long time,” he rescinded. You weren’t satisfied with that answer, and you raised a challenging brow at him. He sighed. “About ten minutes after you left.”

A loud bark of laughter left you. “I took it from you right as we started talking! And we talked for, what, half an hour? It took you that long?”

“In my defense, I was distracted.”

“How? If I remember, you weren’t even drunk.”

“All my attention was on the gorgeous woman in front of me. Someone could’ve held up the place, and I wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“Sure, I looked real pretty,” you rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “With the mud in my hair, and the scraps I was wearin’, I’m sure I was the prize woman of the town.”

“You didn’t have mud in your hair,” he laughed. “It was on your face.”

“Oh, that's much better, then.” 

He laughed, his mustache following the movement of his lips as he smiled. “Even if you were covered in dirt, or if you were dolled up like you are, I’d still think you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” It was now that you wished he was sitting next to you, rather than in front of you, just so you didn’t have to feel his eyes on you.

“Really?” It sounded less confident than you’d like, sounding more like disbelief than anything. You knew you were pretty, but to hear it from him made you believe it with full certainty.

“Would I lie to you?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. When you shook your head, you felt him gently grab your hand, holding it palm-up in his own. Instinctively, you pulled it away, and you immediately regretted it, even more so when you saw the hurt and confused look on his face.

“I…” you swallowed, shame burning your face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “You confuse me. I can’t tell if you want me too, or if you’re disgusted by me. I honestly cannot tell.”

So he did feel the same. Swallowing, you mustered enough courage to set your hand back in his. “I do want you, Javier. I really do. It’s just… I’m scared.” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet it sounded like you were shouting to your ears.

“What are you scared of?” His question wasn’t judgemental, simply wanting to know.

“It’s real stupid,” you sighed, no longer being able to look him in the eye. 

“Mi amor, look at me. Please.” When you did, he smiled reassuringly at you. “Tell me. I want to help you.”

God, why was he so sweet? And how was he able to crash down the walls you build up in your mind, to never tell another soul about your fears? You turned your hand so that you could grasp his fingers lightly. “I’m scared of this,” you shook his hand. “I’m scared of your touch. And I’m scared of changin’ what we have.” When he started pulling his hand away, you gripped his hand tighter, keeping him there. “But I want it so badly. And I want you, so, so badly. ”

He certainly looked confused now. “I’m trying to understand, I really am, but…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing.

“It’s like, whenever I feel your hands on me, my heart is elated, but my brain freaks out, and not in a good way. And I guess I’m afraid that you ain’t gonna like what you see when you get close to me.” Both physically and personality wise. When you were met with silence, you were mentally berating yourself for practically dumping your issues on the poor man. “Look, if this just changed the way you feel, I understand.”

“I never said that. It doesn’t change anything.” His words were short, but he wasn’t angry. “But I guess I’m just curious as to why?”

“Because I-”

A loud rapping on the glass cut you off, and you jumped slightly. Bill stood on the other side of the window, looking pissed off. It finally occurred to you that you had reached your destination, the carriage long since halted. With a sigh, Javier leaned back, pulling his hand away, giving you a look that says we’ll finish this conversation later.

As he got out, your mind was reeling. He felt the same way towards you, but you didn’t know if you should feel elated or terrified. You didn’t know what was worse, having feelings for someone and them not knowing, or having feelings that were reciprocated and being too afraid to do anything about it.

Sighing, you barely noticed him holding out a hand expectantly to you. You hadn’t budged from the carriage, pretty much forgetting about the party. Sucking in a breath, you took his hand, letting him help you out. 

The heels of your shoes clicked pleasantly against the cobbled street as your feet made contact with the ground. Looking around, you saw that Bill had parked the two of you a block away, giving you plenty of time to prepare yourselves.You could hear the music from the party already, a lively jig mixed with laughter and cheers. Waving goodbye to Bill, he left the two of you alone. Quickly, you took out the rouge, applying it to your lips with practiced movement, not even needing to look in a mirror. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Javier watch you, looking away when you focused your attention on him. 

Tucking the clutch in your hand, you took in a deep breath. “Arthur’s already there. Ready?” You heard the man beside you ask, and you nodded. He began to move, resting a hand on the small of your back to lead you, before almost immediately retracting it.

“Are… Is that alright?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. We’ve got a job to do.” Javier opened his mouth, ready to protest, but you cut him off. “I appreciate it, I really do, but right now we just gotta pretend that the conversation we just had didn’t happen.”

Nodding, you felt his touch return, but not where it was. Instead, you felt him link his arm through yours, and he continued to lead you toward the party. “You’re almost worse than Arthur, refusin’ to touch me anywhere else than my arm.” You joked, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Does he know?”

You shook your head, and the two of you fell into a semi-uneasy silence. You could tell that Javier was overthinking things. “Don’t worry too much, Javier. I knew what was going to happen tonight. Do what you need to do in order to pull a convincing act.” When he didn’t respond, you glanced over at him. He smiled back at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You leaned in to him. “You do remember I said I did want your hands on me, right?”

He relaxed a bit. “I do.”

The two of you were growing closer to your destination, the music growing louder and louder. “I think the only reason why I’m scared is because it’s… unknown to me. You know when you’ve never done something, and it seems terrifying, and then you do it and it turns out it ain’t all that bad? That’s what it is.” You took a moment to breathe. “So, basically what I’m tryin’ to say is I’m alright with you touchin’ me tonight. Please.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “I trust you, Javier.”

Deep brown eyes peered into your eyes, looking for any uncertainty. When he found none, he relaxed even further, and you watched as the smile now reached his eyes. “Only tonight?”

There he was. There was the confident, flirtatious man you’d fallen for. 

You laughed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Escuella.”

He tsked, shaking his head. “I don’t know a Mr. Escuella. Are you cheating on me, my dear wife?”

You dramatically gasped in horror. “I would never, Mr. Howard! You insult me by merely suggesting the idea!”

The two of you fell into laughter, and you felt the hand around yours move back to your back, rubbing soothingly there. For the first time, you felt yourself not immediately wanting to jump away, and you instead settled against him. 

As the two of you walked into the party, you ignored the eyes that immediately jumped to you, eyes racking over your body in a less than kind way, from both men and women. All that you could see right now was the soft way Javier regarded you, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Pressing yourself against him so that he was holding you in a side hug, you felt him brush his lips atop your head, so lightly that you would barely call it a kiss. But the gesture had you melting, nearly turning into a puddle on the floor.

You saw Arthur out of the corner of your eye, in the middle of a conversation with some rich looking folk, and you regarded him with a small smile, and it barely even noticed by the other man. The hand on your back tugged slightly, pulling you alongside Javier as he led you toward the group with Arthur in it. Javier introduced himself, and you shook hands as well, introducing yourself with the names you’d come up with. 

As Javier talked, you found yourself zoning out, too distracted by the hand on your back to join in fully on the conversation. You failed to notice the way that the other men, besides Arthur, ogled you unabashedly, and you felt his hand curl around your waist, fingers wrapping around your waist and pulling you tighter to him.

Despite what you thought, you found that you were at ease, not even a hint of feeling uncomfortable. A warm feeling settled in your chest, something that you always felt when you thought of Javier. But it was turning into an inferno, threatening to consume you, taking over every thought and feeling in your body. 

You were so in love with him.

Before you could even register what you were doing, you rested your hand on his back. Javier was clearly not expecting this, based on the way he stiffened, but you felt him relax instantly. You could hear the way his tone changed as he talked, barely able to fight a smile. 

But what shocked you the most is that you found yourself wanting more. And you wanted it now. Every nerve in your body craved his touch, and you were finding it harder and harder to detach yourself from him. And you were supposed to pretend that you didn’t want him?

It was going to be a long party.

[mentatemulator]

Tune Up

A short for the robot-fuckers, based on a dream i had last night.

~

Her workspace is pitifully small, more a cubbyhole than a proper access point. You have to kneel down to the floor to see her, twisted up with her knees to her shoulders, arms through the middle, slender fingers tapping away at her console. She's been complaining about claustrophobia, and that's not supposed to happen. So you unplug her network cable and pull her out onto the floor. She sprawls out, clearly grateful to be out of there. She's a strange model. Definitely repurposed from sex work, but the modifications are extensive, and you doubt most people would be interested at this point, what with most of her torso open to the air, giving her better airflow for all of the overclocked processors.

She still has a pretty face. And a clearly functional pussy. Bright blue labia is an interesting choice, and you wonder idly who made it.

You spread out your tools and prepare to start making adjustments, but as soon as you touch her, she's got you flipped over onto your back, straddling your waist and staring right into your eyes. You look to the human techs around you, and none of them comments, except for one who shrugs at you. This is just something she does, evidently. Whatever, you've worked in worse conditions.

You put your hands into her, start opening panels. She puts her hands on you as well, eyes never wavering. The soft pads of her fingertips travel across your face, your neck, shoulders, and pause over both breasts long enough to give your nipples a playful squeeze.

You jump a little, and feel your face grow hot. Is she trying to make this more difficult? Or is she just having fun? You apply a gentle electric current to a troublesome component, and she moans. It's the first sound she's made, and you silently give your compliments to whoever fine tuned her voice box.

You keep working, and every new tool you apply, or component you touch, seems to excite her more. She's grinding into your stomach with that designer pussy, and you can feel how soft and pliant it is. A tiny bit of lubricant leaves a wet spot on your shirt.

It's embarrassing to work with an erection, but you can't really help it. She must have been good at her old job. When you pause to grab a new tool, she abruptly lifts herself up and re-positions, letting her unbutton your pants with unnatural speed. You stop, thinking you should chastise her, tell her to cut it out. But no one here is paying this show the slightest bit of attention. And her hand does feel so good on your cock. So what the hell, if she's gonna have fun with this, you might as well have a little yourself.

She slides her plush blue pussy up against your shaft, and you have to bite your lip to keep from gasping. You keep working, but you can't help a little whimper when she slips you inside. It's warm inside, and wetter than any human you've known. You start to wonder if the client is going to charge you for this, but you're frankly beyond caring.

She works up a rhythm while you try to finish your adjustments, her voice getting louder. One of the techs does take a moment to watch, but you decide you don't mind. It is getting a little bit hard to focus on your task though.

She tries to pin one of your arms to the floor, and you decide she's gotten slightly too unruly. You push your free hand deeper into her mechanical guts and grip her exposed spinal support. You know just where to push your thumb...

She gasps in the way only robots can, full of static and pitch distortion, and you feel massage motors clamp down on your cock. But her fingers loosen, and the strength has gone out of her. Determined to finish, you push yourself up and flip her over. Final adjustments are made. Panels are closed up. And now you are just thrusting into an overstimulated, pliant fuck doll. You can't really justify continuing, seeing as you're on the clock. But how the hell would you ever be able to stop at this point?

That one tech is still watching, and possibly touching herself, you're not sure. You grunt with what you realize is a lot of pent up frustration as you feel yourself getting close to orgasm. Your instinct is to pull out and unload onto her belly, but there is no belly to cum on, and you really do not want to have to do a deep clean of all the components you just tuned. So you let go inside, pumping her as full as you can after years of estrogen treatments, losing your balance as you cum harder than you have in months.

Her arms are there to catch you. She's smiling up at you, satisfied, maybe even just a little bit affectionate. You spend a long moment relaxing into her embrace, regaining your composure. A text notification pops into your peripheral view, and you open it into your left eye screen.

Thanks for the tune up ;)

If only every job was this rewarding.

[responsivethoughts]

The Grumman X-29 Experimental Aircraft

The Grumman X-29 was an experimental aircraft developed by the United States in the 1980s, aimed at testing advanced aviation technologies. One of its most unique features was its forward-swept wings, which improved maneuverability and reduced drag. However, this design introduced significant aerodynamic challenges, such as the tendency of the wings to twist under stress. To address this, the X-29 utilized advanced composite materials, which provided the necessary strength without adding excess weight.

The X-29 was inherently unstable due to its forward-swept wings, necessitating a sophisticated digital fly-by-wire control system. This system allowed a computer to continuously make adjustments to keep the aircraft stable during flight. Additionally, the aircraft featured canard control surfaces, located in front of the main wings, which enhanced control and maneuverability, particularly at high angles of attack.

Another key feature of the X-29 was its variable-geometry engine inlets, designed to optimize airflow into the engine across different flight conditions. This design allowed the aircraft to maintain efficiency at various speeds and altitudes. Together, these innovative design elements made the X-29 a complex and advanced aircraft for its time.

The X-29 first flew on December 14, 1984, under the management of NASA and the United States Air Force. Two X-29 aircraft were constructed, and they accumulated over 400 test flights. These tests focused on exploring the aircraft's unique aerodynamic and flight control characteristics, providing valuable data on how forward-swept wings performed under various conditions.

The primary objective of the X-29 program was to investigate technologies that could be used in future fighter aircraft, with a particular focus on improving maneuverability and control at high angles of attack. Although the X-29 was never intended to enter production, the insights gained from its development contributed to future advancements in aircraft design.

While the X-29 did not see operational service, its legacy is significant. The technologies it explored, including forward-swept wings, composite materials, and digital flight controls, paved the way for innovations in fighter aircraft. Today, the X-29 is remembered as an important milestone in the study of unconventional aircraft designs and aerodynamics.

An interesting and lesser-known fact about the Grumman X-29 is that, despite its radical design, the aircraft reused components from existing fighter jets to save on development costs. Specifically, the fuselage of the X-29 was derived from the Northrop F-5A Freedom Fighter, and its landing gear was taken from the General Dynamics F-16 Fighting Falcon. This blending of cutting-edge technology with proven components from earlier aircraft helped keep the project within a more manageable budget, demonstrating a creative approach to experimental aircraft design during that era.